"I feel...like it's my fault," Bea said, "everyone tells me not to feel that way, but I do. I took something that was important to her, something she had, in theory, been doing already for an extended period of time, and I gave it to others. It was a betrayal, and in hindsight, she had every single right to be mad at me about. In turn, I'm mad at Michelle because she told me that Casey, and her emotions, were not my responsibility, but the thing is...they weren't anyones. She had no family. No romantic partner. She had nobody but me. So, if she wasn't my responsibility, whose was she? Her own? No. That's callous. Nobody should be alone."

The therapist nodded, taking it all in as Bea and Leslie sat on the couch together. Ever since Casey had killed herself, the two of them had made it a habit of coming here once a week to try and work through Bea's grief. Thusfar, however, it hadn't really been all that successful and endeavor, sad to say.

"I understand that your entire...schtick, so to speak, is caring about everyone, especially kids who had nobody else to care about them, but-"

"It isn't a goddamn 'schtick'," Bea grumbled, Leslie and the therapist exchanging a glance, indicating the therapist had indeed messed up with that verbiage; they tapped their pen on their clipboard a few times anxiously and quickly course corrected.

"Um, right, I'm sorry, I apologize. But even still, she wasn't a child. She was a grown adult," the therapist said.

"Was she?" Bea asked, "because trauma stunts the developmental process. So, sure, from the outside they may look like adults, but emotionally, psychologically, they're still the terrified little kids they were when the trauma occured. Saying she was a grown adult is only accurate if you're speaking of her physiologically."

Leslie exhaled and took one of Bea's hands in her own, squeezing gently.

"Hey," she said softly, "you cannot save everyone."

"I have to," Bea said, on the verge of totaling losing it, "I have to, cause nobody else will."

Her thoughts turned from Casey to Liam, to their daughter. Every single time she closed her eyes lately, she saw her little girl. She saw the day they left her. She saw the betrayal, front and center. Seemed all she'd done her life was betray little girls. Maybe that was why she'd attached herself so tightly to Michelle, because in a way, she saw a woman who hadn't really had a mother, and so in a sense, Beatrice could make up for her past mistakes.

"Does Michelle know about this?" the therapist asked and Bea scoffed, chuckling, shaking her head.

"We've barely spoken since the incident. We spoke at the speech, but that was about it. Since then I've kind of kept my distance, which I'm sure has hurt her but...it's better this way, cause I know...I know that the next time I see her face..." Bea stumbled for words, biting her lip, "...will be the last time I see her face."

***

Michelle was standing outside The Hole.

The lot was busy, bustling, preparing for the next shoot, but Michelle wasn't involving herself, opting instead to stand outside The Hole and simply stare at a nearby billboard featuring Bea's face. She was chewing gum as she stared at the billboard, featuring Bea, Liam's character and a few other puppets, advertising the show, and she shook her head as the doors to The Hole opened and Eliza stepped outside.

"Did you wanna come back in?" Eliza asked, wrapping her arms around Michelle's waist from behind, hugging her, "it's cold, and I could make you warm."

"I don't even think being here is good for me," Michelle said.

"Was it Keagan?"

"I mean it's not her fault someone sought her out as a line to Bea," Michelle said, shrugging, "that's what Keagan does, she...she finds things. That's how this all started. I can't blame her, she's my friend, and she's an unwilling participant. No. It's Bea's fault. It's Bea's fucking fault for doing this in the first place, for creating this landmine that was set to detonate at a later point in time, taking out everyone around her with it."

Eliza pulled away and looked at the Liam puppet under her arm, before sliding it back onto her arm and raising it up, standing in front of Michelle now.

"Don't be mad at her," Eliza said, pretending the puppet was talking, making Michelle smile softly, "she was young, she didn't mean to. You can't blame someone for something they didn't mean to do. Ask Eliza, she would know."

Michelle's eyes moved from the puppet up to Eliza's face, her eyes now cast to the ground, making Michelle slightly nervous. Was Eliza using this puppet as a way to work through things, or was this a subconscious thing she wasn't aware she was doing, thinking this puppet was actually Liam? Her heart ached at the idea of the second being true.

"He's right," Eliza said quietly, still looking at her shoes, "it isn't her fault. And even if it were, it's only partially, cause there's still the dad to blame, whoever he ends up being, if it even matters. But he's right."

Michelle pushed the puppet down a bit and took Eliza's soft face in her hands, pulling her in close and kissing her softly. Eliza blushed and gave in, her knees buckling as she leaned into it, so happily kissing Michelle back. Michelle and Eliza rested their foreheads against one another, both trying not to giggle uncontrollably.

"You make me feel so grounded in a world of uncertainty," Michelle said.

"And you make me feel like there's more to me than my work," Eliza replied.

"I love you, baby," Michelle whispered.

"I love you too," Eliza said, before holding the Liam puppet back up and adding, "and I love you both!" making Michelle cackle. Just then a car came screeching to a halt in the lot, almost doing a donut as it stopped, causing Michelle and Eliza to look up, surprised by the sudden noise and arrival. The car idled momentarily before turning off and the door opening, Justine stumbling out. She was wearing a pleated grey pencil skirt, a blue button down blouse with a cream colored houndstooth cardigan over it, her hair looking as though she'd at least tried to make it into a bun but had done so sloppily. She stood and stared at the girls over the roof of her car.

"Justine?" Michelle asked, "what are you doing here?"

Justine turned and looked up at the billboard, then pointed at it.

"Fuck that dog!" she shouted, making Michelle laugh nervously to herself.

***

"I don't know what to do," Leslie said, sounding exhausted, as she sank back into the couch. Bea had retreated to the restroom momentarily, leaving the therapist and Leslie alone. The therapist nodded, bouncing their knee as Leslie continued, adding, "I've...I feel, like, fuck, I've done all I can at this point, and it's absolutely killling me to watch this and what the guilt is doing to her."

"Until she accepts it wasn't her fault she won't move forward, it's simple as that," the therapist said.

"I don't think she can," Leslie said, "I genuinely...knowing her intimately, loving her, I don't think she's capable of allowing herself that grace. She's too harsh on herself."

The door opened and Bea quietly slipped back inside, shutting it gently behind herself. She then seated herself back on the couch beside Leslie, who leaned in and planted a small kiss on her cheek, making Bea smile and blush, just a little.

"Beatrice," the therapist said, "you grew up with a good family. Great parents. Where do you think this need to be a mother to every little girl comes from?"

Bea knew the answer, but admitting to it would forever change her relationship with Leslie, as well as Leslie's perception of her as a whole. No. She couldn't have that. She wouldn't. Bea shook her head and shrugged. Perpetuate the lie to keep the peace. That had always been their plan. Now, with Liam gone, the responsibility fell to her and her alone, even if it meant isolating the ones she loved around her further.

"It can't just be related to the show, to the morals you want to express," the therapist said, "because it obviously runs so deep in your soul, or else you wouldn't be feeling this way and doing it to such a degree offscreen. I'm just...I'm trying to figure out the source. Help me, Bea, so I can help you, and we can help eachother."

"There's nothing to figure out," Bea whispered, eyes looking at her hands between her legs, "please stop looking. I'm as plain as day."

Leslie felt her heart hurt just a little more. Beatrice sounded so wounded, so run down. But, as the therapist had said, without her cooperation, all their efforts were moot. Bea put her hands in her hair and started crying, making Leslie lean over and pull her head to her chest, rocking her gently.

"There there, I've got you," Leslie said softly.

"I'm a bad person," Bea whispered through her tears, her breathing shaky, her voice weak.

"Why do you say that, sweetheart?" Leslie asked.

But Bea, as per usual in these sessions, didn't elaborate. Elaborating meant facing the truth, and the truth would tear her whole world apart. No. Stoicism in the face of uncertainty, that was the path forward.

No matter what the cost.

***

"Goddamn dog came into my home, cleaned up my kitchen, removed all my alcohol!" Justine shouted as she stumbled towards Eliza and Michelle, "who is she to have such moral superiority!? As if she's better than me."

"Did you drive here drunk?" Michelle asked, now sounding more concerned than finding it amusing as she had before; she lowered her voice even more to spare Justine the embarrassment, adding, "Justine, did you drive here intoxicated? When did you start drinking?"

"When did I stop?" Justine asked loudly, "I'm drunk from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, and it wasn't an issue until she decided to stop by and take it upon herself to act like a goddamn AA sponsor!"

"I'm...going to go inside," Eliza said sheepishly, backing away. Michelle understood, and didn't stop her.

"This is serious, you cannot be driving under the influence," Michelle said, "for fucks sake, Justine, there's schools between here and there, not to mention the people who bring their kids to the lot. Or even hurting other drivers, pedestrians, yourself."

"As if hurting myself would be bad," Justine said, taking Michelle by surprise. Justine walked, or rather shambled, over to the nearby wall and leaned against it, sliding down it as she cried softly, "it's one thing to lose someone once, but to lose someone twice? That's...that is a loss that is insurmountable. I didn't have a choice in losing him, that was an accident, that was the result of weather and poor plane maintenance. But her?"

She didn't even need to say their name. Michelle knew all too well.

"...she didn't have to die," Justine continued, her voice so weak and soft, as if she were scared of hearing herself, "she didn't have to die, and she did, and it's my fault, and I could've stopped it. I couldn't stop the other one but I could've stopped this. But she's dead. She jumped off that bridge thinking nobody loved her. She was my friend. She was my friend, and I killed her. I was selfish for an hour and I killed her."

Michelle approached the wall and sat down beside Justine. Justine fall into Michelle, sobbing against her shoulder, as Michelle reached up and ran her fingers through her hair.

"You didn't kill her. She killed herself," Michelle said, "that's a distinction you need to recognize. Your actions didn't motivate that. After learning what her life had been like, I...I can't say I was too surprised. I mean I was surprised in the moment, cause, yeah, you never expect that. But in hindsight? Fuck. Impressive she made it that far, even. You didn't kill her, Justine."

"Why..." Justine asked, looking up at Michelle now, their eyes locking, as she uttered, in the lowest voice possible, "...why does everyone I love keep dying?"

That did it. That broke her. Michelle herself was now feeling tears form on her face.

"Uh," she said, wiping her face on her other arm, "um, fuck. I can't answer that, I'm sorry. I...I genuinely wish that I could, but I can't. If it's any consolation, though, it happens to everyone. Everyone that loves others loses them to death eventually."

Justine grabbed Michelle's arm and cried even harder. Michelle exhaled.

"I know how you feel," she continued, "I know it's not the exact same, Casey and I didn't really have the working relationship that you two did, but I know how you feel. After she died, I took it upon myself to bring Beatrice back from the brink of a breakdown once Liam left, and I...I need to save those around me, because I pushed Casey away from the production. I was the one who told Bea not to worry about her, which sent her spiraling, and onto your doorstep. You wanna blame someone for what happened? Fucking blame me, okay?"

Justine looked up at Michelle, their eyes meeting yet again.

"You didn't kill her, Justine, I did," Michelle said, crying now too, "and I'm gonna pay for that for the rest of my life, or die trying to save everyone else instead."

Another car pulled up and Beatrice climbed out.

"The hell is going on out here?" she asked.

Michelle stared Bea down.

"I have something you need to see," Michelle said flatly.

***

Inside The Hole, Eliza was sitting at her work desk, staring at the Liam puppet, still on her hand, raised to eye level.

"I can't help them," Eliza said.

"You can, you just don't know how to yet," the Liam puppet said.

"No," she shook her head, "I love Michelle so much, but I can't help her. I can't even cope with you being gone. That's why you're here now. And if...if she ever gets the idea of what you are, to me, then that's going to scare her and make her stop loving me."

"You know that girl could never stop loving you," the Liam puppet said, and Eliza lowered him onto the table, pulling him off her arm and laying him there. She leaned back on her chair, pulling her legs up into her chest and wrapping her arms around them, a physicality she always retreated to when things got scary. She knew the puppet wasn't talking. She wasn't hearing his voice. She was simply utilizing it in a way that helped her cope with the grief of his absence. Besides Bea, and her family, Liam was the only other person she had known for that long, and for him to now be gone, it had gnawed a hole clear through to her heart, and she didn't know how to handle it.

"...I wish it had been me," Eliza said softly, to a room full of nobody but puppets.

***

"Where are we even going?" Bea asked as the three women marched across the studio, heading to the trailers in the back.

"You'll see," Michelle said.

"I don't have time for cryptic vagueries today," Bea said sternly.

"You had time to clean my fucking kitchen," Justine said coldly, catching Bea off guard.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was helping you regain sobriety an inconvenience to you?" Bea asked, as Michelle opened the double doors at the back, the three of them continuing to head outwards and towards the trailers, now within sight.

"Do you really think the wisest way to respond to someone drinking to deal with loss they feel responsible for is to antagonize them further on the subject?" Michelle asked, and Bea shut up. Michelle was sounding...like her. Bea should've been proud, but instead, all she felt was even more ire for the woman now.

"Oh, you think...you think that was an inconvenience? Well you know what was a real inconvenience?" Justine asked, "telling a woman so devoted to the craft you'd built that she couldn't be a part of it because of her emotions, things you tell children every day they shoudln't be ashamed to feel or show."

Bea began to snarl through her teeth without saying a word, her insides fuming with rage. How dare Justine think she had the right to speak to her like this. Justine wasn't even really involved in this production, what the fuck was she still even doing in their lives?

"It's appropriate that your age range for your work is small children, considering the way you act," Bea replied sternly, making Justine laugh.

"That's a rich one coming from a woman who talks to puppets on fucking television!" Justine said, "no, ya know what, it actually makes sense you would pretend to be a dog, because you're definitely not a human, and everyone loves dogs, and you need everyone to love you, don't you?"

"You wish the worth of your work remotely rivaled my own," Bea said.

"Unlike you, Beatrice, I don't fucking judge myself based on arbitrary standards of the content I produce, you know why? Because it isn't indicative of my value! We are in the same business, we both make things for kids, the only difference between us is that I recognize that what I do is a job, and you think you're a saint for doing something other hosts have done longer and better than you have and ever could! It's a fucking TV show, get over yourself."

"I'm trying not to hold a lot of what you say in high regard considering you're drunk," Bea said, "but being drunk doesn't give you a license to just insult everyone around you."

"I'm not insulting everyone around me, I'm only. insulting. you," Justine said.

"Guess it was inevitable you'd turn to being an alcoholic, seeing as how you're a writer and all," Bea said.

They finally reached the trailers, as Michelle gathered her key from her pocket and put it into the lock.

"At least I'm not afraid to practice what I preach. You spout all this bullshit about togetherness and understanding, all while hiding everything about yourself, because to allow yourself to be a fully fledged person would mean you're not a faceless entity that children can project themselves onto."

"And what do you preach, exactly? How mommy gets drunk to escape her problems?" Bea asked, and that got it, as Justine turned and socked her in the nose hard. Bea stumbled back down the ramp a little as Justine recoiled in pain, nursing her fist in her hand. Michelle finally got between them.

"Guys! Chill the fuck out!" she shouted, "we are all suffering from the same thing, okay? She died. We all lost her. The last thing we should do is turn against one another."

"Why did you even bring me out here?!" Bea yelled, "she wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you convincing me that I shouldn't chase after her!"

Michelle couldn't believe her ears. Bea was...blaming...her? Was that...was that what was happening right now?

"You...it was...you think it was my fault?" Michelle asked, her lip quivering, voice broken now, "...I just didn't want you to be stressed."

"Well I'm stressed. I'm stressed every goddamn day now," Bea said, "I was supposed to protect girls like that and you stopped me!"

"Then allow me to fix the goddamn problem!" Michelle shouted back, turning and kicking the door to the trailer open, "enjoy!"

Beatrice's eyes widened in shock. Time itself stood still. No noise penetrated this moment. There, sitting in the trailer before her, was a young woman who looked suspiciously like a mixture of both herself and Liam. No. No no no, there was no way, this couldn't be, how could this be happening? Bea slowly walked in, and Claire looked up from her chair. Bea reached out and slowly, so slowly, put her hand on Claire's cheek. Claire closed her eyes and smiled.

"Mom," she whispered.

Bea turned and looked back at Justine and Michelle, standing in the doorway. She then pulled her hand back and walked up to Michelle, looking her directly in the eyes, before taking her hands in her own.

"Michelle," she whispered.

"I didn't know you blamed me, but I...I guess I was hoping this might be a way I could make up for it. I took a girl away from you, and now I'm giving you this one back. Keagan, of course, is who actually got in touch with her first, but I asked if I could introduce you two, because I knew...I had to atone for my part in Casey's death. We...we built this thing together, you and me and Keagan. Just like you and Liam. We cannot devolve into what we're devolving into, Bea. We just can't. What we have built here is just...it's far too important for that."

"Michelle," Bea said, smiling, squeezing her hand.

"Bea, I'm sorry," Michelle said.

Bea turned and looked back at Claire, before looking back at Michelle, their eyes locked, their whole history lay bare between them. She smiled so wide, making Michelle giggle in response.

"Oh, Michelle," Bea said, "...you're fired."

Justine had never been a big drinker.

Even when she'd been younger, it simply had never been an activity that she'd found much pleasure in, but now...now she seemed like no matter how much she drank she couldn't stop being thirsty, and she couldn't stand the idea of being sober, so being drunk for as long as she was awake seemed to be the only option. She groaned as she woke up on the bed, still in her clothes from the previous night, and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She slowly sat upright and figured, if nothing else, she should at least try to get some food inside her. Justine climbed off the bed, knees weak and wobbly, as she put her hand out and placed her palm on the nearby dresser to help steady herself. Then she started to make her way downstairs, a risky move in and of itself, considering. When she breached the kitchen doorway, however, she stopped and stared. There was Casey, standing at the stove, cooking.

"...Casey?" she whispered.

"Good morning," Casey said, turning to face her; her appearance was different, the color faded from her skin, her clothes sopping wet, her hair matted down from water. Justine slowly slunk into the kitchen and seated herself at the table.

"...what are...what are you making?" she asked.

"Fish," she said.

"For breakfast?" Justine asked, laughing nervously.

"For my breakfast. This is yours," Casey said, grabbing a packet of airline peanuts from the counter and plopping it down in front of Justine, who recoiled at the sight. Terrified, she looked up at Casey, their eyes meeting, though there was definitely no life behind her eyes.

"...why are you in my kitchen?" Justine asked, her voice shaky.

"Cause you want me to be," Casey replied.

And then she woke up, vomiting. Justine rolled to her side and continued throwing up off the edge of the bed. When she finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and tried to catch her breath. She was so shaken from this dream, to see Casey again, but in that manner, had rattled her deeply. Justine did her best to scoot up the bed and lean herself up against the headboard, sighing and trying to catch her breath as she ran her hands up into her hair.

"I need a drink," she said.

***

"That tickles," Eliza giggled as Michelle kissed just under her ear.

Eliza was propped up on the nearby worktable, Michelle's hands on her hips, giving her soft kisses, teasing her, the both of them giggling. They had gotten breakfast on the way in, and then headed directly for The Hole, because Michelle simply didn't want to be apart that morning, and who was Eliza to argue. Besides, she figured, the more time she spent with Michelle, the less time she spent alone with the Liam puppet, and that was for the best.

"Do you like when I whisper in your ear?" Michelle asked, her lips right against Eliza's lobe.

"It feels funny, but it does feel nice," she replied softly.

"Yeah?" Michelle asked, her hands running up into Eliza's bushy mop of hair, adding, "you like that my pretty girl?"

Eliza blushed crimson and nodded as Michelle kissed down her neck and stopped on her collarbone. They still hadn't slept together, but that was fine. This level of intimacy was good enough for them both. Eliza liked the attention and Michelle liked taking it slow, giving things a chance to blossom naturally. Just then the door to The Hole swung open, and Keagan walked in. The girls stopped and quickly readjusted themselves, causing Keagan to chuckle as she approached.

"Sorry," she said, "did I interrupt?"

"Interrupt what? We obviously weren't doing anything lewd at all whatsoever," Eliza replied, making her laugh harder.

"Um," Keagan said, trying to stifle her laughter, "uh, Eliza, I need to borrow Michelle for a bit."

Eliza's smiled quickly faded. She knew that tone. It was time. Time to introduce Michelle to Claire. Eliza cleared her throat, her eyes darting around the room anxiously.

"Shouldn't I help?" Eliza asked, "wouldn't that be a good idea?"

"...sure, yeah, you're right, that's probably smart, have as many hands on deck as possible," Keagan said, "we're gonna go to the radio office. Just follow me."

Michelle, confused by the shift in tone and vagueness of it all, felt mildly concerned, but she knew neither woman would ever do anything to hurt her in any way so she trusted them. She picked Eliza up off the table and put her back on the floor, making her laugh again, then took her hand as the two followed Keagan. Eliza, as they exited The Hole through the swinging doors, glanced back at the Liam puppet sitting on her workdesk, and bit her lip. Her own secret, she figured, would pale in comparison to the one about to be unveiled.

"Why the radio offices?" Michelle asked.

"Bea never comes over there," Keagan said, "in fact only Steph does, and she's not here today, so. Just kinda want some privacy."

"Oooh, are we planning a surprise party for Bea?" Michelle asked, half joking.

"...you could say that," Eliza muttered under her breath.

***

Justine was sitting on her front porch now.

She had sobered up quite a bit, and was now watching the people of her neighborhood go about their day. She took a long breath in, then held it for a moment before expelling it. She was doing everything in her power not to get stinking drunk again at least until evening rolled around; after all, she did have a reputation around here to consider. She finally gave in and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, opting to light one up. She was doing her best not to smoke too much too - a habit she'd kicked after the crash - but right now she was so on edge and it seemed like the lesser of two evil vices, all things considered. As she clicked her lighter, a car pulled up and stopped in front of the house, and a woman stepped out before casually heading up to the front steps and stopping. Justine glanced up at her, she was an older woman, wearing a nice blouse and slacks, her hair well groomed.

"Hello," Justine said.

"I got your address from Liam's office," Bea said, "I hope it's okay that I come by here."

"Course," Justine said, blowing smoke out as Bea seated herself in the wicker chair beside her.

"Heard about your efforts with the book," Bea said, "the one that Casey left behind."

"Did ya now?" Justine asked, turning the cigarette between her fingers, admiring the light.

"I just...I wanted to come by and see if maybe you needed any help, or, perhaps, wanted a contributor," Bea said, "I guess I feel greatly responsible for what happened to her, and I...I just want to extend my efforts any way that I can to ensure she has a legacy of some kind."

"You feel responsible? That's weird, because I'm the one who killed her," Justine said, he cold, flat tone surprising Bea as she took a long drag and continued, crossing her legs, "she came by here, needing to talk, begging me to give her just a little bit of my time, and I didn't. I had people over. A social calling. I'm pretty sure she went and jumped immediately after that. She's dead because I had a party. You can't have joy in this life without giving sorrow to others."

"Well that just isn't true," Beatrice said, reaching out and putting her hand on Justine's knee, adding, "you had no way of knowing what state of mind she was in. You weren't her mother, her sister, or any familial kin."

"But I was her friend. Her creative partner. I have to be held to some level of accountability," Justine mumbled, her voice breaking, her eyes welling up with tears, "I had a moral obligation and I failed to uphold it, and as a result, she is dead. You of all people can't fucking sit here and tell me that people aren't supposed to help one another, it's what your entire goddamned brand is about! Being there for others! Listening! I didn't listen. And she's fucking dead."

Bea nodded slowly, taking it all in, as she pulled her hand away and sighed, easing herself back into the wicker. She looked around as the sky turned colder, and a soft, light rain began to drizzle down around them. Bea chewed her cheek and sucked air in through her teeth.

"People always say not to blame yourself, but sometimes, in order to process, to cope, to move on, that's exactly what one needs to do," Beatrice said softly, "there's no wrong way to work through things, and being told you're not to blame doesn't automatically make you feel less guilty. If anything, it just makes you feel even worse, cause, well, great, now you're not even grieving correctly, are you good at anything?"

Justine chuckled a little at this sentiment, which made Bea crack a smirk.

"I think," Bea said, continuing, "we need to work together, to make this happen. I...I really need to help you do this, if you'd be kind enough to let me. I think, maybe, together, we can kind of process it all, and create something great for her to leave behind."

"She already left something great behind. All I'm doing is polishing it," Justine said, and Bea smiled again, nodding. Justine truly believed in Casey and her work, and it was nice to see that, even if nobody else might, she would at least be remembered by one single person on this planet who clearly missed her very, very much. Justine took another long drag, then exhaled, tossing her bangs from her face before adding, "you can help if you want, but only my name goes on it with hers in the boilerplate."

"Understood and agreed upon," Bea said.

Justine didn't know it, but Bea had ulterior motives, though nothing sinister. She just felt like she had done the same thing to Casey that she had done to Claire, she had left her behind for the good of her work, and she hated that she'd made the same mistake twice. Now she was attempting to do whatever she could to rectify that to some degree. Justine invited Bea inside for some lunch, which she graciously accepted. Upon entering the kitchen, however, Bea noticed the enormous swath of alcohol bottles and containers, and quickly realized that the biggest demon Justine had wasn't her guilt, but was, in fact, her vice as a result of said guilt.

Bea had her work cut out for her.

***

Michelle, Eliza and Keagan stopped at the radio office, and Michelle couldn't help but notice the degree to which Keagan had ensured privacy within the studio. The curtains were drawn, shut tightly, and the door was locked. She stood behind a ways, arms folded, as she watched Keagan reach into her pocket for the keys. Eliza looked down at her shoes, catching Michelle's attention.

"What's wrong baby?" Michelle asked, and Eliza blushed a little.

"I just...I really hope you're okay after this," Eliza said quietly, making Michelle all the more nervous. She looked up again, hearing the jingling and spotting Keagan holding an enormous keyring full of keys.

"Are you a medieval dungeon master?" Michelle asked, making Keagan laugh.

"Quiet wench," she replied, causing Michelle to laugh in response.

The lock clicked, and Keagan put her hand on the knob, then stopped. She turned and looked toward Eliza and Michelle; Eliza and Keagan's eyes met, and they nodded as Keagan sighed deeply before shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry Michelle," she said softly, before opening the door, reaching in and flipping on the light. The room filled up with bright lights as Michelle entered and spotted a young woman, a little bit older than her, sitting at the editing bay. Eliza entered after Michelle, closing the door behind her so Keagan could secure it once again.

"You know this isn't Al Capone's vault, right?" Michelle asked.

"I do know, because unlike that, there's something in this room," Keagan said as the woman at the bay turned in the spinny chair to face them.

"This thing is complicated," she said, "there's so many buttons and knobs and, like, you'd think with things being so digital now that it'd be different, I guess? You've still got such an analog setup."

"Well, it's not just for editing," Keagan replied, shrugging, "it's also for taking the calls, stuff like that. Um, Michelle," she said, looking towards her now, "this is Claire, and Claire, this is Michelle."

"Hiya," Claire said brightly, clearly feeling more chipper today.

"Yes, hello," Michelle replied politely, smiling nervously, before asking, "is this, like, an intern, your assistant, I gotta be real with ya, Keagan, I'm at a loss here."

"No," Keagan said, "Claire...is Beatrice's daughter."

A long, heavy pause hit the room. The air was as still as air could possibly be perceived as being. Eliza and Keagan watched Michelle for any kind of reaction, but she remained stoic, cold, emotionless.

"...run that by me again," Michelle finally said.

"I'm Beatrice's daughter," Claire herself reiterated, "gods honest truth."

"...you know, I thought that, at this point, I wouldn't have to struggle to breath anymore, but you damn knocked the wind right out of me, I'll give you that," Michelle said, "uh...I...I need to..."

And with that she turned and faced the door to hide her tears.

"Did I do something wrong?" Claire asked.

"No, you didn't," Keagan remarked quietly, "Can't say the same for your mother, though."

***

Michelle was sitting in front of the TV, a big blanket wrapped around her, the lights in the room off. She was squeezing a stuffed dog to her chest, pretending it was Beatrice, as she watched a rerun of the show that day. The show hadn't had a new episode in months. She didn't understand why it wasn't coming back. Footsteps. Her mother entered the room, causing Michelle to look upwards at her as she stood in the doorway in her overalls, a paintbrush tucked behind her ear, her hands messy with material residue.

"Your father isn't coming home," she said sternly.

"Why not?" Michelle asked, "he's been gone so long."

"And he intends on keeping it that way. Says it's too difficult. You're too difficult. Everything encompassing your medical situation has him on edge, and scared, because he's weak. Can't be around it."

Michelle felt her pulse quicken. Her father was staying away because she was sick? That didn't seem right...he'd never really...though...she had heard them fighting about it, so maybe he had been upset about her illness...

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"He's not even in town, Michelle," her mother replied, "he probably won't be for a good while. Said he had to get away from all of this. But don't worry, I'm still here, and I'll take you to your appointments, help you manage your health, your breathing, okay? Just because he's a coward doesn't make you one."

"It's my fault though?"

"It's nobody's fault you're sick," her mother said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed now, "but it hasn't helped things. Your father and I have always been shaky, but this pushed it all out into the open and over the edge. So, yes, one could make the argument that had you been healthy, we could've kept pretending, gods honest truth."

Michelle nodded slowly, gently, squeezing her plush dog tighter. She looked back at the TV now as her mother readied to return to her work.

"Why aren't they showing new episodes?" she asked.

"Show ended, I believe," her mother said.

"So dad is gone, and the show is gone?" Michelle asked, fighting back tears now.

"Seems that way. I'll be back out in a bit to make us lunch, okay?" her mother said, before rushing back off to her paints. Michelle stared back at the screen, her face now wet with a deluge of tears, even though she made no audible noise to indicate their presence. Her father had left. The show had left. Her mother probably would too, if she were given the opportunity.

Why did everything she love leave her?

Beatrice was vomiting.

This was the third time this week, and she wasn't even sure why. It was 4am and she was leaning over her toilet, holding her own hair out of her face as she stared down at the now stained porcelain interior. She laid her head against the toilet and chewed her lip. She had to be at the studio in an hour, and she hadn't eaten breakfast or bathed, and now she was scared to do both. What if she threw up breakfast. What if she threw up in the shower. Neither option sounded particularly enjoyable or worth the risk. So, instead, Bea got up from the floor, brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and got dressed. She then exited the apartment, got into her car and headed to work.

Upon arrival, Bea parked in the parking lot, climbed out of the car and locked it, before turning and heading inside. As she did, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and smirked when she saw it was Liam. His hair messy, his face unshaven, dressed in casual work clothes, he looked handsome as ever, a joint hanging from his lips that he was attempting to light as they walked.

"So, how was your night?" he asked.

"It was wonderful, a coworker and I had dinner, then we went to their place and we watched classic foreign films and debated the artistic merit in todays media landscape before ravaging eachother on the couch," Beatrice said, as she and Liam stopped at the door outside the studio. Liam smirked and took a long inhale before passing it to Bea, who hesitantly took a hit.

"That does sound nice," he said, "it's weird, I had the exact same night."

Beatrice laughed, coughing out smoke as she handed him back the joint. They'd been sleeping together for years now, and it was nice, Beatrice had found, to have that kind of company in her life. Besides, she and Liam were two halves of the same mind, in a lot of ways. Both creative, with Liam being more business driven than her, so they made a great pairing, especially in the kind of world they inhabited, career wise. A true power couple. Liam took another puff, then exhaled, squeezed the tip and tucked it into his shirt pocket before turning to head inside when he felt Beatrice grabbing his tie and yanking him back to her, kissing him, making him laugh. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her back happily before parting and heading into the studio together.

And it was good that they would have this one night and morning to look back on, because this was the day that Liam would ruin her life, in more ways than one.

***

Liam was laying on his couch, staring at his TV as he watched a show about Antiques, arm half buried in a box of cereal. He watched with intense interest as the show switched gears, away from a doll collection, and instead now focusing heavily on a beautiful armoire. Vintage, large and oak with glossy finish, it looked pristine. Liam nodded along as he listened to the narration of the presenter, as they informed the person who'd brought it in exactly what it was they had. A clunk. His remote had fallen to the floor, and Liam rolled over a bit, reaching for it. When he rose back up from this position, he realized the camera had cut to a shot of the presenter, and he found himself still, almost frozen, at the sight of him.

A tall man, with well kept blonde brown hair and wearing a gorgeous cobalt blue suit with a dark yellow tie, his face lightly salted in stubble. Liam's eyes widened as he watched this man speak passionately, not taking in anything he was saying he was so focused on the mans features. Liam felt something inside him shift, and he sat upright now, slowly shoveling cereal into his mouth. His door opened, and he turned, taken totally by surprise, at Beatrice as she entered, softly shutting the door behind her.

"You look glum," Liam said, mouth half full of cereal.

"I didn't interrupt you did I?" Bea asked, and Liam shook his head as he stood up from the couch and wiped his hands on his pants.

"No, of course not," he said, "not at all. Um. You didn't call, what...what are you doing here? Did we have a date or?"

Beatrice carefully set her things down on his kitchen bar facing outwards towards him and then placed her palms flatly on the tile, sighing deeply. Liam got nervous. This sort of physicality rarely was followed by anything good. Beatrice wouldn't look back up at him as he shifted himself towards the counter and sat down on a stool opposite her.

"Bea?" he asked.

"...we have a problem," she said quietly.

"I guess you...you found out," Liam said, catching her off guard. Now she looked up at him, face screwed up in confusion as Liam sighed and said, "yeah, I knew this would happen. I knew I'd have to face this. Um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry but we needed the funding, and...and ya know, these sorts of restaurants are all the rage now and-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bea asked.

"...this...this isn't about the..." Liam asked before stopping himself, "what is this about?"

"What are you talking about?" Bea asked, now concerned.

"Uh..." Liam said as he watched Bea connect the dots in her head and her eyes widen, her jaw drop a little, her lip quivering.

"You didn't," she whispered, the rage in even a whisper barely hidden, "you fucking didn't."

"I'm sorry," Liam said.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted, "you absolute son of a bitch! We talked about that!"

"Bea, listen to me," Liam said, walking around the counter and taking her hands in his own, linking their fingers as he looked her in the eyes, continuing; "listen, it was a literal necessity. They provide us with funding and, as a result, we do small promotions for the restaurant and they get to use our likeness in the establishments, it's a win/win, okay? Artistic integrity is great but it doesn't pay the bills or produce work."

"I was already mad at you, but now I'm furious," Bea said.

"What else could I have possibly done?" Liam asked, laughing.

"You got me pregnant, how about that?!" she shouted, and Liam's entire demeanor shifted. His smile instantly vanished, his anxious laughter turned to silence, his posture softened. He backed away, opened the freezer and grabbed a bottle of vodka, popping it open and taking a drink right out the spout.

"fuck," he said.

"Yeah, fuck is right," Bea said, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

***

When Bea and Liam had initially met, each one hadn't expected this to turn into what it would eventually become. Liam loved her immediately, but platonically, not romantically. He admired her creativity, her brazenness, her bravery to just go for the gold and chase her dreams the way dogs chased cars. Likewise, Beeatrice loved him for a multitude of reasons, but, again, not exactly romantically. But the more time spent together in this creative partnership, the more they began to see how obvious it was they were right for eachother in every possible way...except for the sexuality.

Liam had always hidden his interest in men. He'd always known it, but he'd hidden it. At least, after a certain age. When he was a young boy, he'd known another boy, named David. David and Liam had been in school together, been best friends, but when they reached middle school, when David started being interested in girls, Liam felt jealous. He wanted David's attention all to himself. Instead, he went along, also trying to like girls, simply so they had something to talk about beyond mere boyish interests.

Likewise, Beatrice had also always known about herself, but had tried to hide it even more than Liam had done for himself. She'd been so obsessed with certain girls growing up, certain women around her, that she would write their names in fancy cursive in her notebooks, fantasize about being with them, but would always know what society would do if she acted on any of it. She couldn't live like that. Moreso, she couldn't put her parents through that shame, even if she knew they would love her regardless.

So each hid it, as was custom back then. And then they had Claire, and, ironically enough, having a baby as a seemingly heterosexual couple was the one thing that finally pushed their hidden homosexualities out into the open.

Bea and Liam would attend dinners, playdates, school functions, play the role of doting, loving parents - which they were, none of that was ever pretend - when in reality they weren't straight in the slightest. And one night, at a social function for the kids in the neighborhood, Bea found herself in a neighbors bathroom when a woman she only sort of knew from Claire's school, asked to come in so she could adjust her makeup. Bea, having finished her business and now only washing her hands, agreed. And while the woman reapplied her eye makeup, she scoffed and shook her head, saying a single thing that would forever alter the way Beatrice saw love.

"They think having a baby is going to make them love eachother," she said, "but it doesn't, and I can say that with certainty, as it didn't save my marriage, and we still divorced. You can't love something you weren't designed for."

And with that having been uttered, Beatrice knew, deep down in her soul, that one day she and Liam would have to face up to what and who they were, and that Claire was the colatteral damage. And she fucking hated herself for that fact. But what she hated herself for more than that was she had had a chance to avoid her daughter from ever being hurt like that...

...by avoiding having her altogether.

***

"How much could it cost?" Bea asked, causing Liam to shrug as he poured her another shot before taking another long drink himself.

"Quite a bit, I would imagine, but it's not like we can't afford it now with what we just made from this franchise deal," Liam said, "but that's only if you want to do that."

"Perfect timing, huh? One problem solves the other," Bea said, "...this show is like our child, we don't need another."

Liam smirked and nodded as he watched Bea down her shot. Liam looked towards his wall and saw the photos of himself and his parents, how happy they were, and remembering his childhood. His home. His family. He felt a twinge of hesitation in his heart, and he glanced back at Bea, who was now smiling herself. He smiled at her, confused, as she looked up at him.

"I love my parents," Bea said, "my parents are so good. They were always so supportive, encouraging, they were, just...they were everything, still are. And, maybe, you know...maybe this wasn't planned and we're not prepared, but maybe it could be okay?"

"Don't be blinded by nostalgia, Bea, okay? And don't do it for the sake of my feelings. You're a woman, you're the one with the organs to make this come to full fruition, it is entirely up to you. I'm just...here to offer support and guidance if I can, where necessary. I'm okay with whatever choice you wind up making. Besides, a life like we have, with all the work that we do, could we realistically make time for a child? In a meaningful manner?"

"Don't know until you try, right?" Bea asked, "We're already 7 years deep into this, I think we could manage. We can definitely afford it."

Liam nodded, agreeing, even if he wasn't certain. But the more Bea talked about it, the more convinced he became it could be a good thing. And yet, in the back of both their heads, was that doubt. That nagging doubt. Not about their love for a child, their inability to be parents. That was never once brought into question. But about themselves. The truth of each of them. Truth each had tried to hide from the other. Bea tapped her shotglass on the counter, indicating she wanted another, snapping Liam back to reality. He poured her another shot and watched her drink it as she paced around his kitchen. She stopped and looked at the fridge, her eyes scanning over the photos he had plasted to the fridge with magnets and she smiled, chuckling.

"I remember this," she said, reaching out and touching one; she continued, "this was when we went to the fundraiser a few years ago, remember, and we took my parents? They were so excited to come see what the declared the 'fine arts'. Like, guys, just cause it's at a museum doesn't make it fine arts automatically."

Liam chuckled, remembering. Bea sighed and tapped the photo with her nails.

"...this will ruin our lives," she added, "this will absolutely ruin our lives, guaranteed. But, maybe...we deserve to have our lives ruined a little bit. We've had it too good for too long, after all."

Liam threw his head back and cackled, which, in turn, made Bea laugh. She reapproached the counter.

"If we do this, though," she said, "We cannot hold it against one another, okay?"

"Agreed."

"I will be mad at you for many things, but having a child will not be one of them. This is our decision, not theirs. They get no ire from it. I refuse to bring a child into the world if that's what awaits them."

Liam was so smitten with her in these moments, where she showed so clearly how empathetic and intelligent she was. How much she understood a childs psyche. And all without having undergone severe trauma or abuse. Beatrice was, by definition, the perfect antihesis to the belief that great art and compassion can only be borne from deep pain and suffering. Liam sat upright on his stool best he could, the both of them fairly drunk, and he stuck his hand out for her to shake.

"It's not a business deal," she said, the both of them laughing as she walked around the counter and climbed into his lap, whispering, "now kiss me before I change my mind."

Claire would be born nine months later. And six years after that, just as Beatrice had predicted, their lives would be ruined. But never because of Claire. At least, not in their eyes. Claire, however...Claire had never gotten over it.

***

"I always wondered what I did or said that made them leave me," Claire said quietly.

She was sitting in Justine's kitchen with Keagan while Justine drank a beer. The lights were dim, the air was quiet, and Keagan was simply taking in what Claire was saying, occasionally side eyeing Justine, seeing as she'd already drank quite a bit this evening.

"I was six, and they were all I knew, and then sudenly I was with an entirely different family. I think, maybe, they didn't expect me to remember them, and maybe, had I been, liked, four or something, that could be true, but I remembered. They were so good, how could I not? I remembered everything."

"Well, soon as we verify some things and form a plan of approach, we can bring this all to her attention, okay?" Keagan said, smiling warmly, "until then, you're free to stay here, nobody from production is going to come around and see you, so you'll be hidden away until the perfect time."

Claire nodded, then asked to use the bathroom. Justine directed her to it being down the hall and on the left at the very end. Claire exited the room, as Keagan turned to face Justine, who finished her drink and opened yet another. She'd gone through the entire six pack of ciders in the span of an hour. Justine laid her head flat facedown on the table and exhaled loudly.

"Are you okay?" Keagan asked.

"No," Justine said sternly, "of course I'm not okay. I'm working on the book of a dead girl, a girl who's only dead cause I didn't make time for her, why would I be okay?"

"Casey wasn't your responsibility, you know that right?" Keagan asked, and Justine scoffed as she looked up, smirking.

"That's what Michelle said to Bea the last time they saw her. Then she killed herself. I'm starting to think, I don't know, we all might be responsible for eachother," Justine said, her speech slurred. She was asleep seconds later. Keagan couldn't shake that out of her head, but she also couldn't deal with it right now, so instead she got a quilt from the couch and laid it over Justine before propping her head up on a couch pillow on the table. Keagan entered the living room to find Claire sitting on the couch now.

"What if she doesn't wanna see me?" Claire asked.

"That's not gonna happen," Keagan said, chuckling, "you're her daughter, so you say, I can only imagine she'll be excited as all get out to see you."

But Claire had a point. Neither knew it then, but the past was about to repeat itself. Claire was going to arrive, seemingly out of the blue, and Bea's life would be ruined once more, in the best kinds of ways. Keagan began pulling her coat on, reaching for her keys in her pocket, when she felt Claire's hand grabbing her wrist.

"Don't go just yet, okay? It's...it's lonely, far away from home," she said, and Keagan nodded, sitting beside Claire, the two just talking endlessly into the evening, the only ambient noise filling the silence being Justine's snores from the kitchen. Keagan knew all about found family, and even if Bea had trouble adjusting, she wouldn't let Claire feel alone. She knew what that felt like. They all did. But she bit her lip as Claire told her more about her childhood, and she thought about the one thing she had to do next that she really wasn't looking forward to.

And that was telling Michelle.

The felt had never felt better in her hands, the sewing machine clicking with an eerie precision as she continued her efforts to capture the essence of his personality. Eliza had always been excellent at making puppets, at getting their emotions just right, but for whatever reason, she'd been struggling with this one for weeks now, and hadn't yet managed to get it just the way she'd wanted. The way she'd hoped. She pulled away from the machine, the table, and pushed her glasses up her face so she could rub her eyes, groaning. The Hole was starkly quiet in a way that unnerved even her for a change, and she thought to herself maybe now would be a good time to get a snack.

Eliza headed out from the building and entered the main production area, walking to the vending machine. She stopped, slipped her hand into her pants pocket and pulled a few quarters, jingled them in her palm, and then started feeding them into the slot. She wasn't entirely sure what exactly it was she wanted, she just knew she wanted something that would be tasty enough to make her forget, even albeit momentarily, about her troubles with her work. She stared at the contents of the machine, running the gamut from salty pretzel sticks to chocolate covered raisins to, for some reason, a box of what looked like some kind of foreign trail mix.

She could still hear his voice in her head. She rested her forehead on the machine and raised her wrist, absentmindedly pressing in a selection, then listening to the whirring of its innards as it sprang to life to grant her request. She heard it drop into the bucket below, knelt down to retrieve it and when she stood back up, she screamed at the sight of someone standing behind her, visible in the reflection of the glass of the machine. Course, it was just Keagan. Eliza turned to face her.

"You can't sneak up on me like that!" she said sternly.

"Sorry," Keagan said, her voice hushed, as though she were frightened someone would hear them, despite them being, as far as she knew, the only two in the building right now; Keagan glanced around and stepped closer, "I need you to see something."

Eliza nodded, then quietly followed Keagan down the hall. They walked for a while, until they exited the building and were on the backlot of the studio now, where the mobile buildings sat. Keagan pulled a set of keys from her pocket, Eliza munching away, silent and confused, but watching intently as Keagan unlocked the door and then stopped, palm on the door as she turned to face Eliza once again.

"You can't tell anyone what you're about to see, is that understood?" Keagan asked.

"What are you hiding, a dead body?" Eliza asked, as Keagan pushed the door open, and the two of them stepped inside. There, sitting at a table, was a young woman, about Eliza's age, honestly. She had familiar features.

"You're back," the woman said as Keagan approached, "I was starting to think I was gonna just be a prisoner in here forever."

"I'm sorry that took so long, and don't worry, you won't be stuck here much longer, I've arranged it with a mutual friend of ours that you can stay with her for the time being," Keagan said, causing Eliza to furrow her brow in a mixture of confusion and suspicion; Keagan then turned to Eliza, motioning towards her with her hand as she said, "This is Eliza, she does all the puppetry and set stuff for the show. And Eliza, this is Claire."

Eliza reached out and shook Claire's hand, as she'd always been taught to do.

"Nice to meet you," they said at the same time, laughing nervously at the accidental synchronicity.

"And Eliza," Keagan said, exhaling as she looked back to Claire, "this is Claire. Bea's daughter."

Eliza had been hit with some whoppers in her lifetime. The death of her mother. Her feelings for Michelle. Liam's absence. But Bea having a daughter? That one took the cake.

***

Lexi was laying in bed when her curtains opened.

She wasn't undressed, hell, she wasn't even in pajamas. She had slept in her clothes - low rise jeans and a shirt with a leather jacket - after having passed out from drinking too much. As she lifted her head, hand half covering her eyes, she spotted the culprit of this invasion of privacy to be none other than Michelle herself.

"What are you doing here?" Lexi asked, groggy and frustrated.

"I'm getting you up," Michelle said, "what does it look like I'm doing? Now get up."

"Leave me alone," Lexi said wearily, tugging the blanket up over her head.

"Your life doesn't end just because his did," Michelle said, causing Lexi to pull the blanket back down a little, their eyes meeting; Michelle sighed and sat on the side of the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she added, "listen, I know what it's like, you know? To have your father taken away from you? You don't even get to say goodbye, or anything. He's just...gone. I know that feeling, Lexi, like, way too well."

"First he left me on purpose, then he left me by sheer happenstance," Lexi said weakly.

"He didn't leave you on purpose, he went to jail," Michelle replied, "and, for what it's worth, he was framed, as we know, so it wasn't even his decision."

"Yeah, well," Lexi said, rolling over to avoid further contact, "it was his decision to be involved with people like that, to work all the time and forget he had a daughter. I bet if I'd been a son he would've included me. Made time for me. But no, same gender as my mother, whom he also couldn't stand, so I had to be excluded as well."

Michelle sighed. She could hear, and understand, the deep pain in Lexi's voice. She stood back up and started to pace, rubbing her forehead. Finally she stopped and looked at Lexi, who was now staring at her.

"Come with me," Michelle said, "you want to prove your father wrong in regards to your knowledge about business? Come with me today."

"Where are you going?" Lexi asked, and Michelle grimaced.

"To help Bea settle Liam's estate," she replied quietly.

***

Eliza, now seated back in The Hole, was stitching.

This was deliberate stitching though, the kind that came with intent, not something she was doing as a way to maintain her sanity. The kind she did on days she was feeling bad to keep herself from falling further apart. Actually, as it turned out, this was a puppet she'd been working on for a while now, and she was finally coming close to completion, maybe another week or so at best. Not that she'd show it to anyone. As her fingers busily worked, her mind turned back to what Keagan had told her about Claire.

She'd come here from the city, and she'd been staying in a hotel on Keagan's dime, without Lexi knowing. The whole thing smelled like an emotional bomb waiting to go off, and frankly, Eliza didn't want to be at ground zero for this one.

So instead she set her sights, her focus, entirely on the puppet. She had everything she needed, of course - after all, the studio kept her fully stocked with material - but she also had the things she really required beyond that to make it personal. The items that had once belonged to them. Hell, even the fabric for the puppets suit had been made entirely out of one of their actual suits. She had reference photos, though, again, not that she'd need them. She knew what they looked like. After all, she'd only spent a good portion fo her life around them.

Beatrice had a daughter. Eliza bit and chewed her lip as her glasses slipped further down her nose. If Michelle learned this...course, Keagan had made her swear to secrecy for the time being, not that she would've said anything anyway but still. But if Michelle were to learn, no, when Michelle learns of this, goodness, the total and complete obliteration of her heart would be impossible to watch. Eliza knew of the road of shrapnel that was ahead of her, and sadly, her vehicle wasn't all terrain. Eliza finally stopped, her busy hands now sitting calmly in her lap as she leaned back in her chair, pulled the loupe up from her eye and exhaled deeply, blowing her hair from her face.

Everyone grieved in their own way, this just happened to be hers.

***

"I'm still not entirely sure what it is I'm doing here," Lexi said, as she and Michelle walked from the car into the law offices where Bea was preparing to meet with Liam's attorneys. To spare her the trouble of having to manage his estate while working through her grief, Liam had made it so that a few months could pass before Bea was contacted about the whole matter, and she did greatly appreciate that.

"You majored in business, that was, like, your whole thing," Michelle said, "I just...I guess I thought using it as a way to get you out of the house, and maybe be a voice of reason here, would be good for you."

"I don't think anything is good for me," Lexi said.

"Not even Keagan?" Michelle asked, grinning, but Lexi didn't return a reply, which made Michelle worry; Michelle tossed her hair, cleared her throat and added, "look, really it's just a way to make sure Bea doesn't get screwed, you know? Not that Liam would try to do that, but still, it's good to have extra eyes on stuff such as this and-"

"She's so busy with that call in show that I rarely see her," Lexi said, "between her work and my work and...I just...how do you stay a couple when you rarely interact? That might work for others, but that doesn't work for me."

Michelle and Lexi stopped in the hall, letting some people walk by them, waiting for them to pass before continuing.

"Have you told her this?" Michelle asked, and Lexi, leaning agains the wall, arms folded, shook her head. Michelle sighed, adding, "well don't you think you should, especially since it pertains directly to her?"

"I guess I don't think you should have to constantly be fixing things for a relationship to be manageable. Something shouldn't be so broken that it so consistantly needs replacing," Lexi said, shrugging, "and she would probably agree, but you know Keagan, she's like...well, she's like Bea. She's whole heartedly in love with the work. It's weird, it's like...it's almost like you and Keagan are both sides of Beatrice but cleaved into two halves."

"That sounds...painful," Michelle said, the girls chuckling.

"Like," Lexi continued, "you know, like...Bea loves her work, but she also loves the people around her. Keagan is like her in the sense of loving the job, and you're like her in the sense of loving the people. Not to say they don't overlap for both of you - obviously, you're capable of caring about the artistry just as much as she's capable of caring about the people - but I'm just saying it's like Bea's two main interests got split between you two, and she's...she's always going to drift more to work than to me. That isn't a dig against her, either, it's just who she is. She's driven. Motivated. I respect that, it's....it's like, one of the things about her that I was wildly attracted to, but at this point in my life..."

Lexi looked down the hall, tears forming in her eyes as she bit her lip, voice wavering.

"Attraction to a singular trait doesn't mean said trait can carry that attraction forever," Lexi finished, "at some point, you need more than that. Not everyone does. But I do."

Lexi and Michelle locked eyes, and Michelle nodded slowly, her heart breaking a little. She knew what this was. She was witnessing, first hand, the death of a relationship, whether it wanted to die or not. Michelle sighed and they continued walking again, Lexi wiping her eyes with her palms.

"Eliza and I...I think maybe it's that age gap that helps us," Michelle said, "she's old enough to recognize that her work isn't her defining legacy and reconciling the fact that her connection to someone, like me, is far more important in the long run."

"Well lucky you then," Lexi said coldly.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you feel-"

But before she could finish, they reached a room where Bea popped out through the door, exhaling, rubbing her forehead. She smiled at them both, then hugged each one of them tightly.

"Thank god you're here, both of you," Bea said, "I don't know what to make of what he's left me."

"...what did he leave you?" Michelle aske.

"Everything," Bea said softly.

As Michelle would soon learn, she meant that quite literally. Everything the franchise had ever made, that'd he gotten paid for, he'd kept. He kept, gained interest on and put aside for Beatrice in the result of his early exit before her. Now that that plan was the reality, this meant Bea was on the cusp of inheriting a lot of money, the kind of amount of money she didn't know what to do with, and that scared her. Wealth of that magnitude scared her to death.

"Alright," Lexi said, rolling her eyes, "allow me to help where I can."

And with that, she walked past Bea and into the office.

***

"Do you...do you think she'll be happy, you know, to see me?" Claire asked.

Claire and Keagan were still seated in the mobile office on the backlot, while they ate food Keagan had ordered in for them.

"I can't imagine not, if what you're saying is true, which, considering what you've told me so far, is hard to imagine it isn't. You're way too specific and detailed to be some kind of con artist," Keagan said.

"I just really wanted to know her," Claire said, "I always wanted to know my mom and...and when I finally had to face the truth of my birth parents, I just felt like I had to reach out no matter what the outcome might be."

Keagan smirked and nodded, listening closely. After all the horrible things Bea had endured in the last few years, she figured having Claire in her life may finally make up for it all. But for everything that seemed like it had the potential for positivity ahead, the same couldn't be said for Eliza, who finally finished her work and stood up, gripped the puppet and slipped one arm inside it before raising it to match her eye level, smiling.

"It's so good to see you," she said, sounding so relieved at its presence. And why wouldn't she be?

She had always liked having Liam around.