Beatrice and Michelle were standing in front of a small window, peering out at the room of women preparing to perform for them. Beatrice sipped her tea as Michelle ate a cinnamon roll, neither one saying a word. Bea lowered the mug from her lips and clasped it between both hands, sighing heavily. Michelle glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. Bea felt like she'd been here before, but for a different reason. Back when she and Liam had made the deal with the pizza place, she had to watch other women don shoddy Beatrice costumes that they could use in store for birthdays, meet and greets and more. And now, here she was again, doing it once more. Ya know, she thought to herself, for all that Liam tells me it's different, it really isn't all that different. She turned to Michelle.

"Last night," Beatrice said, "when we were laying in bed, and I was talking Leslie's ear off about doing this today, I realized that all I ever do is complain."

"God, I know, you're exhausting," Michelle replied, the both of them giggling.

"I want to like what I do enough, trust enough in the process, to not have to complain about it all the time. I'm trying to let her go. I'm trying to let others have her. But it's hard. These women...I'm sure they're all talented, wonderful people, but they don't know who Beatrice was. Is. They can't carry themselves the way I do, speak with the same cadence. It isn't the same dog."

Michelle nodded, listening. Beatrice raised her mug back to her lips and sipped again, then smacked her lips and sighed.

"I guess," she continued, "all I can do is continue trying. I was lucky enough to make it in the entertainment industry. People try and tell you it's about talent but it's only maybe 30% talent, and it's 70% luck. You can be the most talented person on the planet and still not catch a break. So many people go unrecognized, unappreciated. Why do you think paintings triple in value once the artist is dead? Because nobody knew or liked them when they were alive. So I got lucky. Now is the time to raise up others, give them the chances I was given. You're not meant to act as a barrier once you've achieved your goals, you know? You're meant to act as a ladder, to help others achieve them to, or reach even greater heights. Art is...is about boosting others, not tearing them down."

Michelle smiled big. She loved how Bea spoke about art, almost as if it were a religion, and to Beatrice it was. She loved art almost more than anything else in the world, and it made the most sense to her of all the subjects. When she was a little girl, she used to ride her bike down to the library, with Bea by her side, and they would get so many books on art out and take them home where she would spend hours reading up on them. Mediums she wasn't even really interested in, she would read about. Paintings, sewing, glass blowing. Anything she could find. Because to bring something of beauty into a world that wasn't beautiful, to grant it that serenity even only momentarily...that was something Beatrice could understand.

"Well," Michelle said, "Better not keep 'em waiting."

Bea nodded, as she and Michelle headed through the door, clipboards in hand.

                                                                                                       ***

Liam opened his front door to find Eliza standing on his porch. Surprised, certainly, but more surprised by her forcing her way into his home. He shut the door after she'd barged in, and watched her walk in circles, clearly exasperated. Eliza looked like a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing was wrinkled, she looked like she'd barely been sleeping. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"Why did you have to tell me that!?" she shouted.

"I'm sorry," Liam said, knowing immediately what she meant, "I had to tell someone, and I couldn't tell Bea, not just yet. Eliza, it's a sign of trust, you know? It's...you go so far back with us, I can't help but feel safe telling you."

"Yeah but what am I supposed to do with that?!" Eliza shouted, "I mean...you...you know what loss does to me! You know how it affects me! Don't act like this is somehow the noble thing to do, cause now all I do is worry and freak out and...and I can't sleep and I've just been crying nonstop and-"

Liam approached Eliza and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. Eliza fought it for a moment before giving in and sighing. She shut her eyes and hugged him back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, perfectly natural reaction," Liam said, "I'm the one who should be sorry, having to die, dropping it on you."

"You can't help dying, everyone dies," Eliza replied.

Eliza stayed there in his arms for a bit and thought back to when she'd first been hired. She thought back to when she first met Liam and Bea and had been brought on to make the puppets and other props. How she felt like, in them, she'd found a mother and father figure who would love her no matter her limited mental capacities and her other countless issues, issues that, to people who truly loved and appreciated her, wouldn't seem like issues. Would seem miniscule or nonexistent in scope.

"I was baking some brownies, do you want a brownie?" Liam asked, and Eliza nodded, squeezing tighter; Liam smirked and patted her on the back, "that's my girl. Let's have a tea party."

                                                                                                          ***

"You have an impressive resume," Bea said, "multiple theme park character experience, theatre work, honestly, I won't lie, you seem ideal."

The woman in front of them smiled politely and crossed her legs. Michelle rolled her eyes and looked away. They'd been doing this all day and she'd seen so many actresses now that she knew when they were acting even when they insisted they weren't. The thing about acting, she'd come to realize, is how fake a person can be outside of the job. Never fully trustworthy, everything about their personality coming down to a perfectly curated performance. Michelle stood up and excused herself, heading out of the room and down the hall to get a drink from a vending machine. Standing there, she pulled her wallet from her back pocket and removed a dollar bill, smoothing it out on her leg and then pushing it into the machine.

"Where is everyone?" Casey asked, scaring Michelle. Michelle grabbed her drink once it dropped and turned to face her.

"You look like shit," Michelle said, "are you okay?"

"Where's Bea?" Casey asked as Michelle unscrewed the lid to her drink and had some before offering it to Casey, who shook her head; Casey continued, "Liam isn't in his office, Eliza isn't in The Hole, where is everyone?"

"Calm down, I don't know where Liam is, and as for Eliza I assume she's at home. I'm her girlfriend, not her ankle monitor. Bea's in the room down the hall, we're interviewing people. Are you okay?"

Casey looked towards the door and glared.

"Interviewing people for what?" she asked.

"Well," Michelle started as they began heading down the hall back towards the room, "we need people for public performances. Meet and greets, stuff like that, so we brought in a lot of actresses to see how well they'd do. I was just in there with her a minute ago, we can-"

Casey walked faster, pushing her way into the room. The woman Bea had been speaking to had since left, leaving just Bea alone now in the room. Bea turned and looked at them as they entered, smiling, happy to see them.

"Hello!" Bea said.

"Why are you interviewing people?" Casey asked sternly, "You already know me! What about me?!"

Bea looked past her at Michelle, who had now entered the room behind her, both confused. Bea thought about what Casey meant by this, but couldn't place it. She shook her head, and Casey, clearly exasperated, started pacing back and forth, grabbing at her hair. She looked like she hadn't slept, she looked like she hadn't showered, she looked messy and as if she'd been up doing drugs all night. She stammered, tripped a little, then turned back to facing Bea.

"When we met, this is exactly what I was doing!" Casey said, "remember? At the pizza place?! I was playing you! But now when it comes to finding people you go outside, you source new people, you don't even consider me?! Why am I never fucking good enough for anyone?!"

"Casey, calm down," Bea said, approaching her, "what...what is..."

"You're just like the rest of them," Casey said, thinking back to her parents, back to the interaction she'd had the other day with her former babysitter, "you pretend like you care but you don't, you just want to find people to do things for you without ever giving them anything back in return, you're a fucking liar, and then people have the audacity to call ME a user!"

Michelle finally walked past her, standing between the two and facing Casey.

"You're gonna have to stop right now," Michelle said coldly, "I will not let you stand here and speak to her this way, this is not acceptable, nor appropriate workplace behavior. If you won't control yourself, I will have to have you removed until you can be calmed down."

"Fuck you!" Casey screamed, then looking past her at Bea added, "fuck both of you! Fuck everyone! I'm perfect for this! This is what I did! You don't care! You never fucking cared! Nobody ever did!"

"Casey, calm down, okay?" Bea said softly, "we can find something for you if you'd like to do this too, it didn't even occur to me that you might, I figured you'd be too uncomfortable with public-"

"It never does occur to anyone does it!?" Casey screamed, crying hard, "I don't want to be an afterthought, I should've been the first choice, but I'm never anyones first choice! I'm always the leftover! Just once, just one goddamned time, I want people to think of me! I'll make everyone think of me!"

Casey turned and ran out of the room,leaving a bewildered Bea and a stunned Michelle in her wake. Bea plopped herself back down onto the chair as Michelle sat down slowly in the chair beside her. Bea stared at the floor as Michelle ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She didn't know what the hell just happened. She could chase her. But she figured Casey was irrational right now, that she needed space. Michelle glanced at Bea, whose wide eyes said all that needed to be said.

"You're not like that you know," Michelle said, "what she said about you, I mean. You don't just use people."

"...she hates me," Bea whispered, and Michelle didn't know to respond to that. She just reached out, instead, and held her hand.

                                                                                                        ***

"I remember back during original production," Liam said, the two of them now sitting in the kitchen as he had served them brownies and tea, "you were almost never insecure of your talents, and for someone your age back then that was refreshing. We had to do so much work with other people on the show, trying to get them to believe in themselves, but you just...did."

"I have always known what I'm capable of, even if others have doubts about my intellectual capacity," Eliza said, sipping her tea and then picking up the remainder of her brownie, biting into and chewing as she spoke, "besides, I had support, I had my parents. They may not have really understood it, but they told me how talented I was, so."

Liam smiled and looked around his kitchen, his eyes landing on his cane as he sighed.

"You know what I'm gonna miss most?" he asked, Eliza shaking her head as he continued, "so many people say they'll miss their friends, their families, their lovers, all valid things to be fair. Others try and be more intellectual about it, say they'll miss the small, easily ignorable things like the sunshine or the birdsong. But me? I'm gonna miss me. I know it sounds selfish, self absorbed, but I spent so many years cultivating who I am as a person, and I'm gonna miss that person. A lot of time and effort went into making me who I am, and it hurts to know that I'll be gone, and I won't get to learn about new things I would enjoy or have new experiences I can remember fondly."

"I don't think that's selfish at all, in fact...I think that's very down to earth," Eliza said, "I think more people should think that way but, well...a lot of people hate themselves."

Liam chuckled, making Eliza smile weakly. She stared at his face, as if trying to burn it into her memory. This man. This man she'd known for over twenty years. He was going to be gone. How could she go on with that being the case? And what about the show? Liam had played such a pivotal role for so long - both behind the scenes, creatively and business wise as well as literally being a starring voice - that for them to lose him was almost...almost inconceivable to her. How would they go on?

"I'm not sure what to tell Bea, to be perfectly frank with you," Liam said.

"Well I think she's gonna find out sooner or later, once you die," Eliza replied, making Liam laugh.

"I just mean," he added, wiping his mouth on a napkin before setting it back down on the table, "it's going to be very hard on her. We've had a somewhat tumultous relationship, but we've been best friends for almost thirty years. I don't know how she's going to handle this. Hell, I don't know if she's going to handle this. She's already suffered so much loss..."

While Eliza continued to eat her brownie, Liam thought back to all the things Bea had lost. Her dog. Her mother. Claire. Goddamn Claire. Now he would be added to the list, nothing but a fond memory of something she loved with her whole heart that also had the gall to leave her behind, albeit unintentionally. He hoped, however, that she understood none of these were her fault, even Claire. They did what they had to do. Liam bit his lip and shook his head.

"When do we tell her?" Eliza asked, breaking his concentration, causing him to glance back in her direction.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure the opportunity will present itself soon enough," he replied, shrugging.

Oh how right he would be.

                                                                                                     ***

Justine was standing in her home, laughing and talking with a small group of friends. She had a weekly meetup with a group of women, all of whom were childrens book authors or illustrators, and it was the one thing she looked forward to the most every week. Standing there in her white pencil skirt and her dark blue long sleeved blouse, her hair up, her makeup just right, she kept picking at the snacks she and others had laid out on the table for the get together as she listened to her friends stories and anecdotes and opinions on the industry and their lives in general. A knock at the door caught her attention though, and she went to answer it, only to find Casey standing on the porch, looking disheveled, her eyes darting everywhere.

"Hi," Justine said, as she glanced over her shoulder, then exited to the porch, closing the door behind her, "are you okay?"

"I just need someone to be nice to me for like five minutes, okay?" Casey asked. Justine nodded, and the two went to the porch swing, seating themselves side by side. Casey rubbed her blood red eyes and sniffled.

"What's going on?" Justine asked.

"I'm so tired," Casey mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"Get some sleep, go home and try to rest, cause you don't seem-"

"Not actually tired," Casey said, "tired of everything. Tired of existence. Being lied to, being used, being taken advantage of. Never being good enough."

"Who said you weren't good enough?" Justine asked, sounding upset.

"A lot of times there's no words, and it's the actions that prove it," Casey said, "never actually being a part of something, even when asked to be. Never being fully included or involved the way others are. I'm not even good enough to be working with you, let's be honest. My skill level compared to yours is garbage."

Justine reached out and put a hand on Casey's arm, then looked back at the door to her home, where her friends were still having fun together. Justine thought about asking Casey to join them, she was an artist after all, but she was unsure if this was the right decision; after all, she was the only one actually familiar with Casey and her work, her abilities. It might be awkward for everyone involved. Justine sighed and looked back at Casey.

"Can we maybe meet tomorrow?" Justine asked, "I'm currently doing something, and I do really want to talk to you, help if I can, but I'm literally right in the middle of this and-"

Casey lost it. She got up and she ran down the porch, stumbling as she slipped on the  grass, then getting back up and heading across the street as a car nearly hit her. She screamed at them, kicked the grille of their car and then got back into her car and took off. Justine stayed on the porch, watching in shock. She felt awful. She shook her head and invited her in, or talked more to her, but she needed this meeting today for her own sanity. It's one of the few times she gets to feel okay about herself and her own life. Justine walked back to the door, opened it and stepped back inside, back to the serenity of her joy.

Meanwhile, as Michelle and Bea were heading to the parking lot, to their respective cars to head home, Bea couldn't shake the incident from earlier.

"You know," Bea said as they walked down the hall, sharing a small bag of chips, "I feel terrible. I feel like I should do something for Casey, make her feel more welcome and needed."

"I hate to say this, especially given all you've done for me, but...not everyone is your responsibility," Michelle said, chewing, stuffing chips in her mouth, "you can't save everyone, Bea, nor is it your duty to do so. I understand that you see yourself in me, in Eliza, in Casey, in Keagan...we're all artists and stuff. But, ya know, some people can't be saved or helped, especially if they won't let themselves be. I tried to get Casey into a drug program, but it didn't really take, and I tried to include her more in what I did, but she still felt like an outsider. She's a nice person but she's this...this self defeating, self fulfilling prophecy, and until she learns she can break free of it, nothing anyone does will ever really help her. She needs to WANT to be helped first. I know that's so tropey to say, but fuck it."

Bea nodded, listening. Bea thought about Claire. She thought about telling Michelle about Claire. It would help her understand so much more, but...but it also might complicate things. Raise more questions than provide context. Best to leave the past in the past, she figured. They exited and hit the parking lot, the evening starting to set in. Michelle and Bea had parked side by side, as they always had, and each reached out, opening their respective car doors before stopping and facing eachother once more.

"You know," Bea said, "I always put others ahead of myself, and maybe it's...maybe it's okay to do the opposite for once. Maybe you're right. Thank you, Michelle."

"Of course," Michelle replied, as they hugged one another, got into their cars and headed their opposite ways towards home. When Bea arrived, she found Leslie in the kitchen, already preparing dinner. Bea walked in and hugged her from behind, and felt such a sense of peace come over her, all her fears and doubts and anxieties melted away right then and there, that it was hard not to admit that nobody but herself was her responsibility and Michelle had been right after all. And Michelle, when she got home, she found Eliza sitting cross legged on the couch reading, and when she walked in, Eliza quickly scrambled off the couch and threw her arms around Michelle, surprising her as she kissed her face everywhere. Michelle giggled and returned the affection happily, before the two of them sat back down and talked about their day.

Casey, though, Casey pulled up and parked alongside the rail. She reached up, turned the little overhead light on and then retrieved a pen and paper from the glovebox of her car, uncapping the pen and scribbling something on it. She then stuck it into the windshield of her car from the inside and climbed out. Casey headed across the road from where she'd parked, to the opposite side, and looked over the edge. She was on an enormous bridge, the wind blowing her hair into her face, and she took a deep sigh.

It would be so easy. It would all be so easy. And what would she really be missing, after all? She just needed to be brave enough to do it.

But people often misunderstood the definition of bravery.

Liam was sitting in one of the armchairs in the office, looking out the window nearby, his fingers twiddling on the top of his cane where Martin's ashes were housed. He bit his lip as he watched a bird land on a branch, pick at something on a leaf, and then take off again into the sky.

"Take as much time as you need," a woman said, and Liam looked towards her. She was wearing a powder blue suit and a button down white shirt with a black tie. She smiled at him and Liam smiled back, nodding.

"Um, I guess I knew it was inevitable," he said, "death always is, after all. I guess what I didn't expect was how it would happen, but I guess who does? Who expects to die in the way they do? At least, in my instance and instances such as mine, we're sort of lucky. We get time to plan. We aren't just killed on impact in a car or...or crushed by an anvil or something."

"Alright, Bugs Bunny, calm down," his therapist, Melissa said, jotting something down, the both of them chuckling.

"I just mean I should count my lucky stars that I am going out the way that I am, because I have time to tie up loose ends. Not everyone gets that. More often than not they leave behind big messes to be cleaned up. I'm not going to do that. I'm taking my messes with me. Nobody will have to worry about anything in regards to my life outside of my estate perhaps, meager as that is."

"...and what about Claire?" Melissa asked, and Liam snapped his eyes to hers.

"What about Claire?" he asked sternly.

"Well, you went through the trouble to find her, did you think about saying anything to her?" Melissa asked.

"Why would I? We haven't been in contact since she was very little, why should I re-enter and complicate her life now?" Liam asked, "I mean, honestly, what would that solve?"

"It would give her a chance to know you a little better before you go. You never know, she might appreciate that," Melissa said, "but obviously it's up to you, don't get mad at me for asking the things I feel need to be asked, Liam, that isn't fair to me."

Liam exhaled and nodded, running his free hand through his thinning hair.

"You're right, I'm...I'm sorry," Liam said, "I've been snapping at people lately and I don't like it. I guess I just feel as though now that I have a finite amount of time I don't like having my time wasted on things I don't think are important. Claire is an adult now. She has no need to be dragged down with us."

Truth was though...he did want to. He wouldn't, but he did want to. It'd been so long, and he knew she was fine, that she'd turned out okay, that her parents had raised her well in the end, but he still wanted to. But he knew it was the wrong thing to do. After all, why bring someone into your life, maybe get them to care, only to leave so shortly after? That just seemed cruel to him. And this was a sentiment that Casey herself was about to discover.

                                                                                                  ***

Casey was sitting in the car, watching Micah gather groceries from her trunk. Casey bit her lip, and, with her now or never mentality, forced herself out of the car and across the street. As she got closer, she noticed Micah struggling, and she quickly swept in to help.

"Can I take one of those?" Casey asked, and Micah turned, smiling politely, thanking her. Casey took two separate bags and carried them up the porch and into the house. There were no children. No husband. Photos on the wall showed a happy, loving family, but she and Micah were currently the only ones in the house. Casey followed her into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

"Thank you so much," Micah said, "I guess the kindness of strangers is appreciated, as they always claimed."

"I'm not really a stranger," Casey mumbled, "was it just too much to carry, or?"

"No, I hurt my elbow playing tennis last week. My husband and I have weekly games, trying to stay fit, but last week I took a bad spill and a bad swing, so I'm just...I'm in pain," Micah said, chuckling, "...did you say you aren't a stranger? Do you live in the neighborhood?"

Standing in the kitchen, looking at Micah, Casey suddenly had a dawning realization of the passage of time. She was older. She didn't look old, but she was mature, if that made sense. Casey hated the idea of aging. She didn't want to get old. She didn't want to get enfeebled and need help. She wanted to be young forever. Casey cleared her throat and leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

"Um," Casey said, "I don't live in the neighborhood, no. Uh...we...we've met before though. A long time ago. My name is Casey Kochawski. You might not remember, I mean, I was a little girl back then, but-"

"Casey," Micah said quietly, and Casey nodded, a lump in her throat; Micah pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, "no, of course I remember you. You don't forget a situation like that. It's because of you that I wound up doing the work that I do, protecting children, placing them with foster families, getting them out of abusive environments. I always felt so guilty about not being able to do more for you, it spilled over into an entire career."

Casey sat down as well and exhaled.

"I mean, I wasn't your responsibility," Casey said.

"But you were," Micah said, "you were my responsibility. I was there to keep you safe, and I couldn't keep you safe from them. As a babysitter, my one goal is to keep children safe from harm, but...but when I can't be there twenty four seven and the harm is ongoing, it just breaks my heart. You deserved better."

Casey smiled. She was so prepared for this meeting to go badly, and instead it was going exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Even after all these years, as a woman reaching middle age, Micah proved she was compassionate, considerate, comforting. All the things she'd long since expected her to be and had remembered her as. Casey nodded, smiling, looking at her hands on the kitchen table.

"Thing is, everything's pretty okay now in my life. I've got a good job, two good jobs in fact, and I'm making money with my art, and I guess I just wanted to say thank you to being one of the few adults who tried to make my childhood normal and safe. That meant a lot," Casey said.

"It makes me sad, the adults who hate children. I understand not wanting your own, that makes sense to me, but to outright hate a child...to hate the concept of a child...these terrified little base people who barely have any world experience or knowledge, who look to us for guidance and understanding, and you're going to hate that? Worse, take advantage of it? Despicable. I'm glad I managed to be a bright spot in your otherwise miserable adolescence. That makes it all worthwhile."

Liam was wrong. Finding the people who meant a lot to you was worth it.

Or, at least, she thought so in this moment.

                                                                                                       ***

Lexi's father, David, was more than thrilled to see his daughter. In fact, when asked by his lawyers why he'd chosen to go the route he had recently, it was because he simply wanted to go back home to his family, specifically Lexi. Lexi and her father had always been close, even if his work kept him busy and away, and to now have the chance to make up for that? Perhaps that, more than anything else, was the silver lining to come out of this whole mess. Sitting across from Lexi and her friend, Michelle, he couldn't stop smiling.

"You didn't wanna come to a prison alone?" David asked, and the girls laughed.

"Partially that, yeah," Lexi said, "but Michelle is also a good friend and support system. Besides, my girlfriend couldn't drive me today, she was too busy doing filming and having meetings."

David had always had a sneaking suspicion that his daughter was gay, not that he cared at all, but it was nice to have it confirmed finally. It felt like she was finally really opening up to him about who she was, and he loved that. This was a foundation they could truly build on.

"I felt so guilty," David said, looking down at his cuffed hands on the table, "I just...not for what I did, or allegedly did, and not even for what that did to your mother or sister, but...but because of how it affected you. We were always so close when you were growing up, and when I started working more, I felt bad about it, but I wanted to provide the best life that I could for you, specifically."

"Why me?" Lexi asked, an eyebrow raised, "why not the whole family?"

"Because you're..." David started, then sighed and stopped. No. He wouldn't implode her world, not today, not right now, not like this. He looked back up at his daughter and smiled weakly. Michelle shifted in her seat, tossing her hair from her eyes.

"You know," she said, "my father went away when I was very young. I think the fact that you didn't turn tail and run and instead have done everything for Lexi is admirable. Neither of my parents cared about me, so at least she has you. And you put yourself in harms way by taking the deal, but you still did it for her. It's nice to see a parent that cares for their kid."

David smiled more, nodding. He did care. He cared so deeply for her. But not for the reasons she might think.

                                                                                                             ***

"It's all so fleeting," Liam said, "...it all seems so important while you're here, and then you reach the end and you look back and you cringe at the things you fought for, fought over, valued and considered necessary. Far be it from me to think I'm the first to ever have this kind of realization, honestly. I'm not. I'm not saying anything new, but...but still, it rings true. All the clichés are spot on."

The front door to the house opened, and Casey and Micah could hear a man enter with two small children, and Casey smiled even more. A warm family home. This is the kind of environment one must cultivate for healthy growth into adulthood.

"You should leave," Micah said, catching her attention, "I've never really talked to my husband about you, or really anyone that I babysat, and so he's going to think the whole thing is weird. But it was really nice seeing you again."

"Oh, I guess I understand that," Casey replied, "can we maybe meet up again? Have lunch?"

"Don't take this the wrong way...I am proud of what I did, and I am so happy to see you here now as the adult you've become, cause it shows you made it, and it shows I impacted you. But I don't think that's a good idea. That was a different me, a different life. Sure, I still help children, but I also have my own children now. And yes, you're an adult, it isn't like you're some kid coming to look for me, but...I just don't think it would be healthy or beneficial for either one of us."

"You think things will go one way, they go another, life is never what you expect and rarely what you want, and for some of us, we don't catch a break. We, instead, end up broken. I'm one of the lucky ones. I met a woman with a very specific vision, who was willing to let me tag along. God knows where I'd be if she hadn't. I owe everything to Beatrice. And sure, I screwed things up more than once, but I was more than willing to pay for my mistakes, make up for them. That's more than a lot of people can say. Most don't like taking responsibility, instead opting to chock things up to 'fate' or some other pseudo spiritual bullshit. A lot of it is, admittedly, luck. But a lot of the time you have to take responsibility as well, because luck can only get you so far," Liam continued.

Casey stood up and backed away from the table as Micah ushered her towards the sidedoor attached to the kitchen.

"I don't...I don't understand, we can't even just...stay friends? We're adults. I'm an adult now," Casey said, "I went through all this trouble to find you, and you're not even going to grant me the possibility?"

"Casey, I appreciate what you think and feel, but it isn't healthy to look people up like this," Micah said, "frankly, you should speak to a therapist, not a former babysitter. Again, I'm so happy to see who you've grown up to be, and you do seem relatively well adjusted, all things considered, but I know how this is going to go. You're going to want more than just a familiar attachment. You latched onto me because I was an older woman who cared. But I'm not your mom. I'm someone else's mom."

"You don't know what I-"

"I do, and I don't wanna let you down in that regard, you deserve better than that," Micah said, opening the door and helping Casey outside it, "again, thank you for finding me, telling me that what I did made a difference, but maybe you should do the same now, go make a difference in someone else's life. Go forward, not backward."

And with that, the door shut. Casey stood there, somewhat shocked.

"I don't want to be a downer, because there is so many positive things to experience, but so much of life IS disappointment. Rarely do things go the way we want, the way we hope, and instead of reaching the end, naturally, so many people can't take the constant frustration and failure and opt out willingly instead. I know because I tried it myself. I mean, I guess in the moment I figured...it has to happen eventually. That being said, I'm glad I didn't succeed. I'm not saying others who do are wrong, everyone does for themselves what they feel is best, most appropriate, but for me, I would've missed out on this time with Bea, with the girls, with everything. That was more than worth sticking around for. In the end, you die. It's a disappointment, but so is much of life, even when you factor in the good things. That's just how it goes. Some people can take it. Others cannot. I'm lucky to be one of the ones who can."

Casey ran across the street, crying, and climbed back into the car. She sat there and she started to hyperventilate, then she started the car and pulled away violently from the curb, driving anywhere else but here.

                                                                                                           ***

Michelle glanced over at Lexi as she drove, while Lexi sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window, sipping on her iced coffee. Michelle cleared her throat, brushed her bangs from her face and spoke.

"Are you okay? I think that went really well," she said, "sorry Keagan couldn't come."

"Actually...I think I'm glad it was you," Lexi said, "you really understand what it's like to lose your safety net. I'm sorry your father is gone, but I'm sure he'd be proud of you if he were here. Look at where you started, where you are now, it's pretty damn impressive, and all of that achievement was made before you were healthy."

"Please don't call me inspiring," Michaelle laughed, making Lexi laugh.

"I wasn't going to, but okay," Lexi said, "no, I know how frustrating it can be to be disabled and be called inspiring, as if the mere act of your existence is some kind of radical thing, when in actuality you're just like everyone else. I wouldn't do that to you, Michelle. But thank you for coming with me. I'm really glad my father is getting out soon, cause I'd really like to rebuild our relationship."

Michelle smiled, nodding, as she pulled up to a red light and tapped her nails on the steering wheel.

"You're lucky," Michelle said, biting her lip as Lexi finished sipping from her cup.

"I am?" she asked.

"Yeah. My mother will never accept me, and who knows how my father would feel," Michelle said, "sometimes I wonder if the reason he left was because he knew I was gay just by looking at me, and was so ashamed of that that he ran away. I know that's stupid, but the shame, the internal shame, that comes with being queer...it's so strong. You see the world for what it is, a place not designed for you, and you can't help but feel like the odd one out."

"I get that," Lexi said, "yeah."

Michelle hated herself for it, but she couldn't help it. She did know how Lexi felt in regards to dads at least. After she dropped Lexi off at home, she headed home herself and found Eliza laying on the couch asleep. She must've had a hard day, but lately she seemed particularly troubled by something and she wouldn't tell Michelle what. Michelle didn't pry though, she knew Eliza trusted her, and would tell her in due time. Michelle tugged her jacket off, hung it  up and curled up on the couch behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her in close. Eliza smiled, her eyes still shut.

"You're back," Eliza whispered.

"If I said I was jealous of you and your dad, would that be weird?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shook her head.

"No, I think that makes sense," she said, yawning, "I'm lucky to have him."

Eliza rolled around to face Michelle and pushed her face under Michelle's chin, one of Michelle's hands making its way up into her hair and running her fingers through it.

"I guess I just am sad I don't have any parents, which feels pathetic, given the age I am now," Michelle said.

"Not pathetic to mourn what you can't have," Eliza said, kissing her neck, "and you don't need parents. You got me."

Michelle blushed and kissed the top of Eliza's head, and they lay like that well into the night. Eliza was right. Family didn't have to be parents. Family was whoever you decided it was, who loved you no matter what. And goddamn if Michelle didn't have that in spades.

"You know," Michelle said as she pulled her jacket on outside the car, Beatrice standing on the opposite side waiting, "if you'd told me as a child that one day I'd get to see the place giant parade balloons are made, I would've absolutely lost my shit."

"And now?" Bea asked.

"I'm kinda absolutely losing my shit," Michelle replied, making Bea laugh as Michelle pulled her hair out from under the coat, adding, "guess I really am still just a kid at heart."

"That's important though. To keep that magic alive," Bea said, "once you lose it, once you become an 'adult', that's when you start dying."

Bea and Michelle walked around the car and headed towards the office building in front of them, the enormous warehouse looming behind it. Michelle never in her wildest dreams could've imagined where this job would've taken her, and was thrilled for every opportunity that it opened her up to. Beatrice, however...she'd been down this path before. She knew that commercialization was unavoidable, hell, even a necessity at some times, especially in this day and age...but this level of commodification...it was starting to feel like the pizza parlor all over again. Liam was signing deals she wasn't particularly enthused about and she was confused as to why when he'd been such a proponent of doing things her way this time up til now. As the women entered the office and approached the main desk, a man in a button down shirt and a tie looked up to greet them.

"Hello," he said, "do you have an appointment?"

"We're here to see the progress on the Beatrice Beagle parade balloon," Bea said.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"I'm Beatrice Beagle," Bea remarked, making the man laugh and nod as he stood up and told them to follow him. Heading down the halls, towards the back so they could exit to the warehouse where production was underway, Bea couldn't help but notice all the people in their tiny little offices in here, and how, in a way, she kind of longed for that simplicity. Maybe she'd quit the show, get a nine to five job, leave everything creative behind.

"Sorry," the man said as they walked, "I have to ask everybody, and I'm new here so."

"You're fine," Michelle said, hands in her coat pockets, smiling back at him, "you wouldn't want some random nobodies to come in and get unguided access to things, I get it."

The three of them continued further down the hall and out through the back doors, leading to a large, open area that led directly to the enormous warehouse they'd seen from out front. The man opened the door for them, allowed them to enter, and then excused himself back to the front office. As Bea and Michelle walked in - Bea looking around at everything skeptically, Michelle with her hands in her coat pockets smiling as she took it all in with childlike wonder - a crane started moving above them and a box attached to it dropped down slowly, with a woman inside it.

"Hey there!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the spacious area, "you here to see something?"

"How'd you know?" Michelle asked.

"We often get people dropping by the check on stuff," the woman said; she was in a jumper, with her hair pulled up, presumably to make it easier for her to work, she continued, "so who are you two here to see?"

"We're here to see a woman about a dog," Michelle said, making Bea chuckle. The way Bea saw it, if she had Michelle around, maybe these sorts of things wouldn't be so bad after all.

                                                                                                         ***

Casey was seated at the table in the break room when Liam sat down across from her. Casey put her book down, but continued shoveling chips from the bag in front of her into her mouth. Liam reached inside his coat and pulled something out, his voice low and calm.

"I have someone else to go see, but before I do that, I'm gonna slide you a piece of paper," he said, "and it's going to have all the information you need for your contact on it."

"Are you a spy?" Casey asked, "cause this is some secret agent kinda behavior right here."

"I just don't wanna be the guy who gets known for being able to find others for people," Liam remarked, smirking at her comment; he slid the paper across to her and she took it as he added, "just...please don't expect an amazing outcome, that's all I ask. More often than not these kinds of interactions wind up backfiring. If you haven't seen a person in twenty years, and you were rather ancillary to their life, chances are they've moved on, forgotten you and have settled into a comfortable routine now. So don't go looking for miracles."

Casey scoffed as she grabbed the paper with her free hand, wiping her chip greased hand on her shirt.

"As if miracles happen," she said, "I learned a long time ago that stuff like that was bullshit. You can pray to God every night, 'please make daddy stop hitting mommy', but it never comes true because there's nobody listening."

"You are way too young to be this bitter," Liam said.

"All I'm saying is people who believe in miracles are the same people who believe in fate," Casey said, stuffing the paper in her shirt pocket, "people who don't understand that sometimes cool things just happen or people who don't wanna take direct responsibility for their actions. Everything has to be offloaded to some magical guide in the sky. Who else you need to see, by the way?"

Liam didn't answer. He didn't need to explain his activities to her, but moreso he didn't want someone else going to get information on him. But he had to talk to someone. Liam stood up, straightened his tie and nodded at her.

"...I hope one day, maybe, you're able to view things in a less cynical light," Liam said, "sure, there's no proof of anything, nothing definitive anyway, and sure sometimes people go through a lot that justify their views on stuff like God, but at the end of the day, despite being proofless...is that a word? Well, either way, despite it, there's also no harm in simply believing in something good can happen too, or believing there's something watching over us that only wants the best."

"Funny," Casey said, putting her boots up on the table, "you never struck me as the religious type."

"I didn't say I am," Liam replied, shrugging as he grabbed his cane, "but at some point in life, I suppose, you get exhausted being dour all the time, and instead look for something good to throw the weight of your belief behind. I used to be like you, Casey, always certain the worst was all there was, and only bad things would keep coming. But look around at where you are now...you still believe that? Cause from where I'm standing, you've got things pretty good at the moment."

Casey chewed her lip and thought as Liam said his goodbye and exited the room, heading to another section of production. He had a point, and yet...

...and yet all she could do was feel anxious, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.

                                                                                                       ***

"This place is enormous," Michelle said with some awe as she looked around while they walked through the warehouse. Bea could hear the two women talking ahead of her, but she didn't really pay much mind to what was being said. Instead, all her focus, her attention, was turned towards the fact that there were dozens of balloons in here, all based on famous pre-existing fictional characters, beloved then and now, and all she could wonder is if this kind of treatment lessened their intrinsic artistic value. Eventually she saw Michelle had stopped near a door and so she stopped as well as Michelle said, "she needed to pee."

"You don't think I'm...uncompromisable do you?" Bea asked, "Liam said I constantly flip flop on wanting success and being scared of it, of wanting to share Bea with the world and wanting to keep her to myself, and that, eventually, I'd have to choose a side."

"I don't think uncompromisable is the right word," Michelle said, "I think you're steadfast. You hold true to what you believe in, even if it wavers from time to time, and that level of dedication to your beliefs is extremely admirable, believe me. But it has to get old, right? Constantly going back and forth like that?"

Bea sighed and leaned against the wall beside her, crossing her arms.

"It does," she said, "I can't deny that. I guess I just wish I had some level of proof that the people who love Bea, as a character, love her in the same way that I do. That she genuinely means something to their lives. That she isn't just another thing they can slap into their interests next to more famous characters as a part of their interests. I want her to be acknowledged as something greatly important, emotionally, not just..."

Bea sighed and rubbed her face.

"...not just a balloon."

"You should see their faces then," the woman said, coming out from the bathroom, taking them both by surprise; she continued, "the faces of the kids who come to see the parade. To a child, a fictional character IS real. They see them on the TV, they plaster stickers on their school binders, they get shirts with them on it, and then they come to see the balloon and their faces light up in the way that only a childs face can. This is something they identify with, not because it's 'part of their interest' or whatever but because, to them, it's something they see every day and that level of certainty, closeness, it means a lot. To some kids, ya know, it's a small bit of comfort having that routine while to others it's knowing they aren't the only ones out there who are like this character, and if people love this character, people might love them too if they're that similar."

Bea looked at the woman and nodded slowly, taking it all in.

"I know it's hard," the woman said, "cause, ya know, we are just making balloons, but...it does mean something. I assure you of that. They come here, maybe after a bad day at school or a bad week at home, and they see the balloon in the parade, and for one brief fucking moment in their tiny closed off lives...they don't feel so bad. So sure, to us, they're balloons.  But to kids, maybe they represent hope."

With that, she turned and continued leading to them towards the space the Beatrice balloon was being made. The whole time, Bea thought over her words. She was right. Why had she spent so much time worrying about this when, in reality, she'd always known that, to a child, a character is life saving? Hell, that was what got her and Michelle in touch in the first place, was because Michelle had Beatrice when she'd been a sick little girl in the hospital, and it had truly saved her. Maybe it was time to let these doubts go.

Maybe it was time to give Beatrice to the world.

                                                                                                   ***

"This place is so empty," Liam said as he approached Eliza's workshop desk, causing her to spin in her chair and look at him, her jewelers loupe still on her face. She smiled as he dragged a nearby folding chair over and seated himself in it beside her, asking, "you really need all this space?"

"I atually do," Eliza replied, "yes. When production really gets going, I have to hang hundreds of puppets and props and stuff from the rafters, so the space is necessary. Why did you come here? Did you need something?"

"I needed to talk to someone," Liam said, "um...someone who isn't Bea. Someone else I've known a long time."

Eliza put her tools down, pulled the loupe off her face and turned fully to face him now, a somber look coming over her.

"...what's going on?" she asked.

"Eliza, I need to tell you something, and I need you to not tell anyone," Liam said, "but I gotta talk to someone because if I don't, I might go nuts, and I can't afford to be going nuts right now. So can you keep a secret for me?"

Eliza nodded, anxiety rising up within her.

"Okay," Liam said, exhaling and continuing, "...a while back I started going to the doctor. I was feeling...off. Like every other day something was wrong. I figured, you know, I'm older now, I should get these things looked at, lord knows I've got the insurance for it thanks to the show. So I started going. They do some tests. They find some things. They do more tests. Eventually I'm left with the truth that...that I don't have much longer to live. At this point, I've got a few months maybe, if that. I'm doing my best to hide it from everyone, but it's getting very hard. I'm having trouble being mobile, I'm having trouble focusing, and when I'm done with stuff for the day and I go home, I just pass out immediately. I'm telling you this cause, well, I...I'm scared, Eliza. I didn't want to admit it, and I wanna put up a brave face when the time comes to tell everyone, but I'm scared."

Eliza felt her eyes water. No. Not Liam. Not Liam please.

"I don't know," Liam added, sniffling, wiping his eyes on her sweater sleeve, "...I don't think I'm scared of dying. Obviously I'm not, I tried to kill myself after all, but I'm more scared of what me dying will do to others. To Beatrice. I need you to watch out for her for me, please. I've been by her side from almost the start, we built this thing up together, we are creative partners through and through. But at this point, she's gonna be without me, and she can't be alone. She has Michelle, and they are close, but you've known her longer. It has to be you, Eliza."

Eliza finally cracked and started crying. Liam knew this would happen, he knew she didn't handle loss well. He leaned forward and put a hand on her knee, patting it gently for reassurance. She wept soundly for a few minutes, then tried to catch her breath. After a bit, she looked back up at him and adjusted her glasses.

"Eliza," Liam said, smiling softly, "...it has to be you, you understand why right?"

"I do," she whimpered, "I do, yes."

"Okay then. I'm sorry, I know this is a lot to put on you, but-"

"I wanna help, cause I kinda caused my moms death, and I wanna make up for that," Eliza said quietly, making Liam's heart ache as she added, wiping her eyes on the balls of her palms, "I just wish I didn't have to keep losing everyone who meant anything to me."

"I know, kiddo," Liam said, "me too."

                                                                                                       ***

Casey was sitting in the car with Justine, parked across the road from a house as they watched intently. They had been doing work on another book, but during their lunch break Casey asked if they could go for a little drive. Didn't say why, and Justine didn't press her, but she was certainly curious. Sitting here now, eating her thai takeout as Casey sat behind the steering wheel, Justine couldn't help but feel as though they were cops on a stakeout. She stabbed some baby corn with her fork and ate it, speaking as she chewed.

"Are you following an ex around, is that what this is?" Justine asked, and Casey shook her head; Justine nodded and said, "okay, so long as you're not stalking someone. Well, you mind telling me what's going on then?"

"When I was a kid," Casey said, "I had his babysitter. She used to protect me from my mother, when she could anyway. Once she found out what my mother was doing, selling me to men to be used, she tried as hard as she could to get me out of there. Sometimes she'd snatch me away for a few days, just to make sure I was safe even for a little bit. I've been thinking about her a lot lately."

"And that's who we're watching now?" Justine asked, and Casey nodded; Justine unscrewed the lid to her water bottle, took a long swig and then said, "well, trauma does funny things to our brains. Like, after my plane went down, for instance, I found myself obsessed with plane crash movies. I would watch them on a loop. It was almost as though I were trying to recreate the moment, hope it came out differently. It never does, of course, but...but the hope was enough to carry me through."

Casey looked towards Justine who ate some beef strips and continued talking.

"It's weird, I know, but-"

"No...it isn't," Casey said, "cause I do the same thing with movies about babysitters. Or, really, any kind of movie where an adult cares for a child. It...it's comforting."

Justine smiled. She knew she had liked Casey for a reason, she knew they could relate to one another, connect on a level she wouldn't be able to otherwise with someone else. They'd both experienced such trauma, and yet they both came away relatively okay in spite of it. Sure they were a little dinged up emotionally, or in Justine's case physically even, but they had one another and they had a support system around them. That was more than most people in their situations got. Justine constantly counted her blessings in that regard.

"So you intend to speak with her?" Justine asked.

"I'd like to," Casey said, her eyes widening as the front door opened and a woman walking two young children to the car exited; she added, "...but what has conversing with adults ever gotten me?"

                                                                                                             ***

"It's gargantuan," Michelle said.

She, Bea and the woman were standing there looking up at the enormous Beatrice balloon. The woman smiled, patted Bea on the back and walked away, leaving them to have their privacy for a bit. Michelle shook her head, hands still stuffed in her coat pockets. She couldn't believe the size of this thing, she was in awe. She glanced over at Bea, who was standing there slightly slackjawed herself, and she smiled.

"What do you think?" Michelle asked.

"...I think...I think I'm okay with this," Bea said, "I took a dog who gave me her love and I turned around and gave that love to the world. If this is how the world wants to treasure her, then who am I to stop them, to tell them that the way they love is wrong? It's...it's so beautiful, so large. And what that woman said was true, honestly. Kids look up to characters as a source of safety, inspiration, they're as real to children as sports stars and celebrities are to adults. Bea deserved that. Liam was right. It's time for me to let go."

Michelle walked over to Bea and put an arm around her shoulders, Bea laying her head against Michelle's, and the two of them stood there like that for what felt like an eternity. Bea had no idea that Liam was on his way out...but if she had...

...she'd probably try to get him a balloon too.

Casey Kochawski was hiding in her bedroom closet.

She could hear the yelling, as always, but this time it wasn't her father and her mother...it was her mother and her babysitter. She couldn't make out the words, everything was muffled through the closet doors, her bedroom doors and all the wall space between them, but she could feel the intensity. Casey hugged her stuffed dog closer to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to escape from this place, even if just for a little bit. Her babysitter, Micah, had been reading her a bedtime story, as was the usual routine, when her mother had burst into the house shouting. Micah, quick as lightning, dragged Casey into the closet and hid her there before going out to confront Casey's mother in the hall, and it'd felt like an eternity since that moment.

After a bit longer, the shouting subsided, and Casey heard a door slam shut. Then she heard her bedroom door open and then the closet doors were yanked open as well, as Micah reached inside and scooped Casey up, carrying her quickly out of the room, down the hall and out of the house. Micah put Casey in the backseat of her car, told her to lay down and be quiet, and then got into the drivers seat. She started the car up and pulled out of the driveway, then sped off down the street. Neither one knew where exactly they were going, but Casey had to admit, it felt kind of nice to have a real life knight in shining armor. After a bit, watching the streetlights pass over the backseat windows, Casey felt the car come to a stop, but she still stayed laying down in the backseat. The door opened and Micah climbed in beside her, breathing hard, before opening her arms. Casey climbed up into her lap and Micah held her tightly, crying against her.

Casey didn't know what had caused this sudden leave from the house, or the argument that had preceded it, but she was grateful to have at least one adult in her life hold her, especially in a non sexual way.

                                                                                                         ***

"Look at these sales figures," Liam said, his voice hoarse, leaning on his cane with one hand, holding a paper with his other; he continued, "after that live show, jeez...our merchandise is flying off the shelves, viewership numbers are blasting through the roof on the service, and we keep getting asked when we might do another live show."

"Mmm," Bea said, chewing on her lip, sinking further into her seat. She didn't want to think about the commodification of her best friend.

"They're even going to build a balloon for the Thanksgiving Day Parade this year," Liam said, "just nuts. Alright, well, Bea, you and Michelle should go down to the balloonist shop tomorrow or sometime this week and check it out. Everyone else just keep working on the show. Eliza, I need those new puppets sometime this week. Casey, just, keeping helping anyone who might need it."

"Can do chief," Casey said, saluting.

"Most of the new puppets are already done," Eliza said, pushing her glasses up her face, "in fact, a few already are, but I'd rather hand them over in bulk."

"That's fair, do it however you feel most comfortable," Liam said, smiling at her, making her feel comforted as he added, "Now, I have to go to an appointment, but when I get back, I expect to see everyone working hard, you got me?"

Everyone nodded, and the meeting broke. Casey, Michelle and Eliza headed their own way, leaving Liam and Bea in the room alone together. As her shifted his papers into a briefcase and adjusted his tie, Bea, legs now up on the table, just shook her head as she watched him until he finally noticed her.

"What?" he asked.

"What's with the sudden charge of leadership?" Bea asked, "not that you weren't always bossy, but this feels different."

"I'm just trying to make sure everything runs smooth," Liam said, "but, uh...are you okay? Cause you don't seem very okay."

"How okay can I be? They're financially prostituting my best friend," Bea said, and Liam nodded, scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, yeah I...I figured you might feel this way about the success," he said, "but you gotta pick a side at some point, Bea. You flip flop, go back and forth between these two, ya know, these two mindsets of wanting to share her with the world so everyone can see her as you did and then wanting her all to yourself, and believe me, I understand the struggle, but...if you don't decide what you're truly okay with, you're never going to find inner peace."

"You're one to talk about inner peace," Bea scoffed.

"I'm not saying I have it either," Liam said, "this dog is just as important to me as she is to you. You know that. You and me, Bea, we've been through a lot together. Don't paint me in the light of someone who doesn't care, because I do, but this needs to be a well oiled, easily manageable machine, because, like it or not, it's going to keep you afloat financially for the rest of your life, and you're gonna need that, and know how to do it yourself. I can't always do it for you."

Bea screwed up her face, grimacing.

"The fuck does that mean?" she asked, and Liam shook his head.

"Just a generalized statement. I have an appointment to get to," Liam said, "I'll see you later."

As Liam exited the room, Bea thought about his words. When would he ever be going somewhere? He was always going to be here, he was number two in charge, essentially. This thing they'd created...sure she'd crafted the character and setting and concept herself, but together they'd fine tuned it, and so it was just as much his as it was hers. Bea eventually shook her head, gathered her things and headed into the hall as well. As she walked, she suddenly felt Casey walking alongside her.

"Hi," Bea said, smiling weakly at her.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked, sipping from a can of root beer.

"Honestly, I don't know," Bea said, "you're an artist, how would you feel if a character that meant the world to you, was integral to your personhood, was co-opted by the world as a financial cash cow? Sure, she's bringing happiness to so many children, even adults, but...at what expense?"

"I mostly draw monsters, creatures," Casey said, "but I do have one human character I've drawn for a long time. I'd eventually like to finish my graphic novel about them interacting with the monsters that surround her. It's mostly done, it just...it needs some cleanup and stuff. But she means so much to me, I don't think I could ever give her to anyone else. Giving her to the publisher alone would be hard enough."

"I admire your willingness to put integrity before commodity," Bea said, "that's so nice to see. I wish I could've been that way."

The thing is...this 'character' Casey had 'created' wasn't much of a character at all, but moreso an amalgamation of herself and another person. In a way, it was her small way to thank them for being in her life when they had been, and showing her that maybe, just maybe, if you found the right people, your life could be worth living after all. A sentiment Casey really appreciated.

Even if she still had trouble believing in it.

                                                                                                     ***

Michelle was chewing on her lip as she drove, Bea in the passenger seat eating yogurt from a little cup with a tiny spoon they provided along with it. They came to a red light and stopped, Michelle half shutting her eyes in concentration as Bea watched her, curious about where her mind was at. Bea sucked on the spoon for a minute, then dropped it into the yogurt cup and exhaled.

"Everything okay in there?" she asked, tapping the side of her own head, making Michelle smirk.

"Yeah, everything is fine," Michelle replied, "I'm just thinking about something."

"And what might that be? Feel like sharing with the class?" Bea asked.

"Well," Michelle said, gripping the wheel with both hands, "I don't know. I feel...I feel like something is wrong but I just can't put my finger on it. Something just feels so off. Liam is being very driven, not that he hasn't always been but something about it is different, and then..."

Michelle glanced over at Bea and sighed, shaking her head, running one hand up into her messy curly hair.

"...and then Eliza and I are happy, but I keep feeling like it can't last. The dread from a lifetime of illness, uncertainty from continued existence, has really made me nervous. Not about commitment, that I have no problem with, but moreso what could happen out of the blue. Even now, with as well as I'm doing health wise, I can't help but be scared."

Bea reached over and patted Michelle on the knee, smiling at her.

"When Liam and I originally did the stage show," she said, "or rather, I did the stage show and brought him on as a consultant of sorts, before we sold the thing to the pizzeria, we had this mother come speak to us one night before a show. She was bringing her child, they had something or other, I don't remember at this point, but she told us how terrified they were - the mother, not the child - of not being around anymore. Child apparently handled their mortality just fine, but the mother was the scared one, which makes sense. Children are often stronger than the adults around them, which is something I've always tried to perpetuate as a truth to the public. Either way, she asked that, after the show, we stop and speak with them, in costume of course."

Michelle smiled as she listened to this, the light turning green and she pressed her foot on the gas, continuing to drive towards their destination. Bea cleared her throat and continued, pulling a bag of peanuts out of her pocket and opening them.

"The thing is...the kid got better. They didn't have that fear to begin with, but their mom never recovered from the possibility that they could die at any given moment. She became overbearing, overprotective, moreso than mothers already are, and she simply wouldn't let up. Kid stayed in contact with us for years, eventually telling us they opted to simply move out of state just to escape her hounding them. Mother followed them to their new place and, in a fit of mania, I suppose, ended both their lives. It became a self fulfilling prophecy."

"Gotta admit, wasn't where I saw that going," Michelle said, surprised, causing Bea to chuckle.

"Not to laugh at the murder of a family, of course, but yeah," Bea remarked, "and that's the thing, Michelle. You survived death. You survived a lifetime of possible death. You said it yourself, you don't know how to keep going from that. But you're doing great. We all are. With the exception of those two, of course. Eventually, we all die. There's no escaping it. You can dwell on it, and that leads to some rather fascinating revelations about the sense of ones self worth, but overall, it's just another thing that happens to us. We all die, and some of us lose children."

Bea glanced out the window as they came to a stop sign and Michelle slowed, preparing to turn, looking over at her, confused. She kept waiting for the stinger to the conversation...

...but it never came.

                                                                                                      ***

"I need help," Casey said, standing in Liam's doorway to his office. Liam lowered his glasses and smiled at her.

"Glad to hear you finally admit it," he said.

"Shut up," Casey replied, the both of them laughing as she came further in, shutting the office door behind her; as she seated herself in the chair opposite him at the desk, she sighed, then said, "you found Justine, for Michelle, remember? I need you to do the same for me. Course, mine isn't anywhere near as noble a quest."

"I'm not the goddamn bureau of missing persons," Liam said.

"No, but you're good at it," Casey said, "I can pay you."

"I don't want your money, I have my own," Liam said, "what do you want to find this person for?"

Casey didn't want to say. She didn't want to divulge that she was searching for her old babysitter, a woman who may not even be alive anymore for all she knew, let alone in the state for that matter. She swallowed and shut her eyes, then opened her backpack between her legs and pulled out a sketchbook, plopping it down onto the desk. Liam put his glasses back on, leaned forward and started leafing through it.

"The hell is this?" he asked.

"This is something I've been working on for years," Casey said, "I don't...I want to put it out, but I'm scared and I don't know the proper channels and, like Bea, I'm scared of having it taken away from me. I was hoping, maybe, if you helped me find this person...you'd be willing to take half the percentage of this if we can get it into the hands of publishers."

Liam raised an eyebrow, certainly intrigued by her offer. He continued to flip through the pages, admittedly impressed by what he was seeing. After a little bit longer, he stopped and looked back up at Casey, who appeared to be extremely anxious, tugging on the tassels of her sweatshirts neckline.

"...if I can ask just one question," Liam said, "you think you want this, but do you really? Because, trust me, finding someone is different than the yearning you're currently feeling right now."

Casey squinted at him, confused, as Liam sighed, shut the book and leaned back in his chair.

"Years ago," Liam said, "I looked up this little girl I used to know. Someone Bea and I were only tangibly involved with, but still, I had my curiosities. Her name was Claire. Bea and I knew her back when we were in the city, when we were in our twenties."

"Was she a part of the team or?"

"Casey, you listening to me? She was a child," Liam said, waving his hand at her, "point is, she was there. And Bea and I cared for her deeply, but we also knew it wasn't a good evironment for her. After a lot of difficult deliberation, we came to the conclusion that we needed to cut ties, and we let her go, and it hurt like hell. Bea never really got over it, always feeling so guilty about dropping someone like that, as did I, but a few years ago, right before we started the show again, I decided, on a whim, to look her up."

Casey crossed her legs and listened as Liam exhaled and ran his hand through his thinning hair.

"...I found her, it wasn't hard," he continued, "but once I did, I wished I hadn't. Not because she was doing bad or anything, in fact if anything she was flourishing, but because it just hurt to see her again. To know we all could've stayed in one anothers lives if things had just been different. Her folks, they did a great job raising her, that much was clear, and for that I'm grateful, but...you think you want these things because you create this fantasy in your head about how the reunion will be, but Casey, it isn't always the case. It doesn't always go the way you expect or even hope. So that's why I'm asking...do you really want this?"

Casey chewed on her lip and thought for a moment. Did she? Yes, she did. She nodded and Liam smiled, nodding back.

"Alright," he said, "I'll look into it once you give me some info on who it is you're stalking."

Casey laughed and agreed. She had to do this, for the sake of her own mind. What could possibly go wrong?

                                                                                                       ***

Keagen, Lexi, Michelle and Eliza were at a restaurant that evening. It had been something they'd been trying to do more and more lately, spending time together outside of work, their little core group, as it were. Especially Michelle and Keagan, as they felt they hadn't been seeing one another often enough, which, considering the roles they each played in getting the show back on the air to begin with, felt ridiculous. Sitting there eating their respective meals, Eliza just listened to the conversation, often feeling as though she had nothing to really add.

"So what do you plan to do when you graduate?" Michelle asked, looking at Lexi as she stabbed some of the tiny potatoes on her plate with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

"Well," Lexi said, "likely look for a job in the field, honestly. Dad will be out of prison in time for my graduation, so that makes me happy. He'll get to see how well I did even in spite of his absence. How hard I worked to keep the family afloat, keep myself going. But yeah, I'll look for a job in the physics or engineering field. One thing's for sure, I'll never have to worry about money."

"Yeah that's nice," Michelle said, laughing.

"You're not mad at your dad?" Eliza asked, biting into her grilled cheese she'd ordered from the kids menu, catching her glasses as they started to slide off her face.

"I mean, I harbor some resentment, sure. The guy ruined our lives with his decisions," Lexi said, "but honestly, I'm just happy he'll be out and that he's regretful. He isn't a bad man, and he certainly wasn't a bad father, not intentionally anyway. Negligence is negligence I suppose, I just know I'm luckier than others thanks to the fact that mine wasn't on purpose. Doesn't forgive it, but softens the blow at least."

"You're right," Michelle said, "negligence is negligence. As someone who's on the opposite end of that spectrum, kind of like Casey, I can speak to that truth. But I'm happy you're at least getting the chance to have a better relationship with your father. I wish mine were still around so I could do the same."

"Well, I'm going to start going to the prison to see him, so," Lexi said, "hopefully we can manage to build something out of this whole mess, and that way when he comes to my graduation, we'll already have some footing to start out on."

Eliza continued listening as she ate, all the while thinking about how lucky Lexi was. She didn't lose her father, but the chance to start again with a parent? That struck a chord with her. She wanted that so badly. Eliza didn't talk the whole drive home, and when she and Michelle finally made it into the apartment, greeted by their Dalmation, Roscoe, she finally let it out. She laid on the couch and she sobbed. She sobbed for what felt like hours. Lately she'd been having a lot of thoughts about her mom, and Michelle knew this. Michelle laid on the couch with her, wrapping herself around Eliza as best she could, and simply told her it was okay to not be okay. Eliza felt so lucky to have Michelle, but she still so badly wanted her mom.

"Grief never goes away," Bea had once told her when they were hanging out in The Hole one day during production; Bea took a drag off her cigarette and added, watching the tip burn and ash away to the floor with a look of wistfulness that only the most successful Frenchmen often managed to convey, "and it never becomes acceptable. Everyone feels bad for you at the start, and then annoyed when you don't move past it."

And Michelle hadn't gotten annoyed yet, but who knew when she would? Eliza had already lost her mom. Could she survive losing the woman she loved too? Introverted as she was, there was only so many years she could spend alone with puppets.

                                                                                                         ***

"Is there anything you want to discuss?" Doctor Franks asked, sitting on the little stool in his examination room he was currently sharing with Liam. Liam was looking at his cane and thinking about Marvin. Liam smirked and rubbed the head of his cane.

"When my longtime Marvin died...I was the one who got to decide what to do with his remains," Liam said, "eventually I settled on having him cremated. Then, after I tried to off myself and was given the chance to have a custom cane designed, I figured I'd put Marvin in the top of it, in here, and that way we'd always be together."

"That's very sweet," Doctor Franks said, smiling.

"I don't want to force that same decision on someone else," Liam said, "especially not her."

"Do you have any children, Liam?" Doctor Franks asked, crossing his legs. Liam thought about this question, then bit his lip and decided against it, shaking his head; Doctor Franks sighed and nodded, "okay then, well, you're gonna need someone, Liam. You need to assign this responsibility to someone. I know Beatrice is currently your emergency contact, but-"

"I don't want her dealing with this," Liam said, "I don't. I can't do that to her. I know how hard it was for me with Marvin, and I'd never do that to her."

"Then Liam," Doctor Franks said, standing up, "I highly suggest you start looking for that person. Because it's going to happen, soon, and...and I just don't want things anymore difficult for your friends than they already will be."

With that, Doctor Franks exited the room, leaving Liam with his thoughts...and his cane. How was he going to manage all this? The show, as well as his plans for his death? It was all going to take so much time.

Time he no longer had.

Casey was at the pizzeria.

The live show had concluded, the series was on its seasonal hiatus, and as such, Casey needed regular income again, which meant going back to work at the pizzeria, something she didn't exactly mind, at least. Sitting in the back room, half in costume - the dog head on the couch beside her - and smoking a joint, she couldn't believe the experience she'd been allowed to have this year. She also couldn't wait to go back to work, which was a very new feeling for her. Since working for Bea, her drug usage had decreased, though not stopped entirely, and she felt more like a person than she had in years prior. A knock came to the back room door, and she shouted it was unlocked. The door opened and, of all people, Justine entered. Casey furrowed her brow in confusion and sat a bit more upright, coughing as she put out the joint.

"Hello," Justine said, smiling, as she entered.

"What...what are you doing here?" Casey asked, waving at the smoke with her hand.

"...I came to give you something," Justine said, grinning.

                                                                                                           ***

"I can't even begin to overstate how exhausted I am," Bea said, yawning.

Bea, Eliza and Michelle were sitting at a small cafe downtown; Eliza and Michelle were sharing some pastries, while Bea simply sipped from her coffee. They were awaiting Liam, but so far he hadn't shown up. Seemed he'd been particularly busy lately.

"It's like, every year of this wipes me out a little bit more than the previous," Bea continued, "not that I'm complaining, please don't think I'm complaining, because I'm not. I recognize I'm extremely lucky to get to do what we do, but it's exhausting nonetheless. Especially being in that goddamned costume so much. Thing is heavy."

"You could get a stand in," Michelle said, popping another donut hole into her mouth, "ya know, someone to do the physical labor and then you go in and just ADR all the lines."

"Not a bad idea, but I hate giving up any kind of control over Beatrice to anyone else," Bea said, and Michelle nodded. She knew Bea would never go for it, but she figured the suggestion couldn't hurt. Michelle checked her watch on her right wrist and shook her head. Bea, setting her mug back down, looked at them and asked, "are you expecting something?"

"We're going to finally adopt a dog today," Michelle said, "we just have to wait until a specified time to go to the shelter."

"How are you guys gonna adopt a dog if you don't live together? You gonna pass him back and forth like a child in shared custody?" Beatrice asked, smirking, making the girls laugh.

"That's...that's a question we've discussed a lot," Michelle said. Eliza got up and excused herself, heading for the bathroom in the back of the cafe. Michelle leaned in over the table and lowered her voice a bit, Beatrice leaning in as well. Michelle said, "I wanna get a place with her, our own place, because frankly I feel like I'm taking advantage of Delores's hospitality and also I think it's the next step in being in a relationship, but...I don't know how she'd feel about leaving her father."

"Why are we whispering if she isn't here?" Bea asked, making them both laugh. Michelle leaned back and shrugged, chuckling.

"Well," Michelle continued, "that's my predicament anyway. I wanna ask her, I just...getting a pet together is already a big step, but sharing a living space? It might just be too much change all at once for her."

"Let me tell you something," Bea said, leaning back in her chair, lifting her mug to her lips and taking a long sip before adding, "In the blink of an eye Eliza lost her mother. In the blink of an eye, I returned and gave her a new job. In the blink of an eye, it seemed you two got together. I know that all of these have a bit of time to them, but I don't think Eliza's the one you're worrying about. She does just fine with change when it isn't negative."

Michelle sighed and nodded, chewing on her nails nervously.

"I know, you're right, it's me," Michelle said, "I'm scared. I've never...I've never had this before. I've never dated. I've never lived with anyone but my parents and, well, Delores. I guess I just...I don't want to run her off or something."

"If you haven't yet, I doubt you will," Bea remarked.

Eliza rejoined them and continued eating donuts, while Bea just gave Michelle the most heartwarming smile she'd ever received. Michelle knew Bea was right. She had to do something. Lately all the change had been for the positive, and that was a trend she was deadset on continuing.

                                                                                                         ***

"Your story about your family, your mother in particular, it just...it got me thinking about my own mom," Justine said, "about how unlucky some people are in life to not have any family, or, even worse, to have family who utilize them for their own nefarious purposes."

"And you came all the way to this pizzeria to tell me that?" Casey asked.

"No, I could've called to do that," Justine said, reaching for her small pleather backpack and opening it, reaching inside, "no, this is more important. After meeting with you and Michelle and your friend, whatsername, Eliza? Whatever. After meeting with you all, I started to think about the various things you all, and myself, have lived through. Nobody in that room was untouched by trauma. I survived a small plane crash, you were sold to older men, Michelle's mother gaslit her for her illness and Eliza lost her mom in a car accident. All of us have momma trauma."

"Cute," Casey said, smirking.

"So then, I started researching what y'all do," Justine continued, "about the show, about what you guys do and what it is you help make, and I started to watch it. I even went to the live show one night, unbeknownst to any of you. Felt a little weird, admittedly, being a grown woman and sitting in a theater full of children, but when I do my research I am thorough, dammit."

"Are you sure you're okay mentally from that plane crash?" Casey asked, making Justine laugh loudly as she pulled out a wrapped package from the backpack and set it in her lap.

"More than okay! And more than more than okay after what you girls did for me," Justine said, "why is why I did something for you. Not the rest of them, just you."

That got Casey's attention. She pulled her legs up on the couch and, best she could in the costume, sat cross legged.

"What...what did you do?" Casey asked.

"I made you a book," Justine replied.

                                                                                                            ***

Michelle and Eliza had left for the shelter, leaving Beatrice alone with her thoughts.

It had been a weird season. She'd lost her mother, put on a live show, and watched her two closest female friends forge together on a path to a relationship she never would've expected. All in all, for the first time in a while, it felt like she wasn't the lead character in the story of her own life, and that was nice. Bea finished off the last of the pastries the girls left behind and then finished her coffee, exhaling, resting her chin on her fist as she glanced out the window at the overcast sky. Maybe next season she'd let Michelle do more than just set design. Maybe...maybe it was time to bring her into the writers room for good. She could use fresh perspective, and she was slowly getting a little more comfortable giving up control to those she deemed worthy enough of it. Bea heard a chair scoot out from across from her and glanced up, spotting Liam seating himself, resting his cane on the edge of the table. Bea checked her watch.

"God, you're so late," she said, "you missed the girls."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Liam said, "uh...I had an appointment that I couldn't reschedule."

"Everything okay?" Bea asked, and Liam didn't know how to answer that. Beatrice had already experienced so much loss this year, with her mother, how could he dump his problems onto her as well? Still, they were eachothers oldest friends. That was part of the deal, sharing in the pain. But instead, Liam simply smiled and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "nothing I can't handle."

                                                                                                          ***

The car was parked, and Eliza was ready to climb out and head into the shelter, but Michelle grabbed her wrist and pulled her gently back into the car. Eliza shut the door once back inside and looked at Michelle, confused but curious. Michelle exhaled and ran her hands through her hair.

"Okay," she said, "um...Bea brought up a good point, about, ya know, having a dog when we live separately. And, uh...and I think I wanna talk about that."

"Well, what's to talk about? Aren't we gonna get a place?" Eliza asked, taking Michelle completely by surprise; Eliza smiled at Michelle's widened eyes and added, "obviously we can't share a pet if we don't share a home. That just isn't right. I might be kind of slow, but I'm not stupid."

"And you're...you're okay with that? You're comfortable with that?" Michelle asked, "cause...cause I know leaving your dad might be a big deal and...and being in a new situation could be stressful and I just...the last thing I ever wanna do is put stress of any kind on you, or us as a couple, and-"

"Michelle," Eliza said, turning to face her now, "neither of us have ever been with someone else before eachother. But...I can't see myself ever beeing with someone other than you, now. I think I could handle living together. It's not like we'd move out of the city. We have jobs here, and I don't wanna leave my dad completely behnd. Except for, you know...intimate stuff...I'm very happy and comfortable with you and I'd be even happier and more comfortable knowing that at the end of each day, we would still be together in person."

Michelle wanted to cry. She'd expected this to be so much more difficult. Things throughout her life had been so difficult that difficult had become the norm for her expectations wise. Eliza held Michelle's hand, and Michelle leaned across the seats, kissing Eliza on the lips, the both of them laughing nervously afterwards. Foreheads against one another, Michelle's hand on Eliza's cheek, she smiled.

"Let's go get a dog," she said.

                                                                                                           ***

Justine handed the wrapped package across to Casey, who took it, her hands shaking from anxiety. Justine had made her a book? They'd only met once, and she'd made her an entire book? It felt slim. Small. Casey looked from the gift up to Justine, who was brimming with anticipation at the response, and nodding, indicating Casey should open it. Casey exhaled, pulled the giftwrap open, and let the book drop in her lap, her hands over her mouth in shock. It was a childrens book, just like what Justine normally made, but this one...

...this one featured a little girl who looked a lot like Casey as a child. It also featured a dog, as the two sat in a beautiful watercolor painting of meadow flowers. The title simply read "Beatrice & Casey". Casey couldn't contain herself, and she started to cry. Justine got up and came across the room, seating herself on the couch beside Casey and hugging her from the side, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," Justine said, "we live through terrible things that make us stronger people. What you endured is something no little girl should ever endure, and when you told me how Beatrice helped you feel safe in that time of your life, during the most vile acts a person can commit on a child...I just knew you deserved to have a childhood worth remembering, even if its fictional."

"This is...the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Casey said through her tears, trying not to sob uncontrollably, "this is...like...this is amazing. Thank you so much."

Casey turned and hugged Justine back, the two girls just laughing and crying together. Even without knowing it, Beatrice was bringing people together.

"Listen," Justine said, "I know you're an artist. You shouldn't have to work here. I know it probably feels familiar and safe, but...come work with me. Not FOR me, WITH me. While the show is off the air, we can make books together, we can help other little girls feel safe too. What do you say?"

How could Casey turn down an offer like that? She gladly accepted, and turned in her costume scant minutes later. While Casey and Justine headed out to an early dinner to celebrate their newfound business partnership, Eliza and Michelle took their new Dalmation back to Eliza's dads house, where the three of them played with him all afternoon. Beatrice herself, after spending a little time with Liam, went home and found Leslie cleaning, but as soon as she entered the apartment, she told Leslie to pack her bags because they were going on vacation. The last few years had been weird and hard on everyone, and it was time for a break. Liam, however, stayed behind at the cafe, nursing his coffee, just thinking. Thinking about his appointment that day. Hell, about all the appointments he'd had those last few months. He'd been into the doctors office so many times lately, it seemed like.

"Even if we'd caught it sooner, it's so aggressive I don't think any kind of therapy would do much of anything," his doctor told him that afternoon, "...are you going to be okay? We have many grief counselors who do wonderful work in helping patients come to terms with these sorts of things."

"No, no, I'll be fine," Liam said, waving the doctor away, "I'll be fine, but thank you. I just need a moment to process."

"Of course," his doctor replied, before exiting the room, leaving Liam alone in the office. Liam exhaled and thought about his options. He had so much to prepare for. He had to get Beatrice on track with merchandising in a way that would ensure financial longevity, he had to make sure Stephanie would never ever take advantage of Beatrice no matter what, and he had to make sure that Michelle would always be there to keep her grounded. He had a lot of work to do, and only a little under a year to do it. Liam picked up his cane and thought about Marvin, and smiled weakly. At least there was an upside to it, he thought, we'll be together again soon. His thoughts turned back to Bea, to the show, and he chuckled. That's the thing about art, he thought...art made you immortal. Your involvement would ensure you last forever.

Even if you only had a handful of months to live.

It had taken a few weeks to get the live show set up. Promotion, stage rental, hiring one time performers, etc. As for staging and props, they simply utilized the stuff from the show proper, so that saved a bit of time. In between preparation for all this, the shows current season wrapped up with introducing Keagan's puppet, Serena, and the reaction was overwhelmingly positive, which only lifted Keagan's spirits more and more. Soon she was inundated with fanmail for her performance as Serena, from young black girls who couldn't believe they saw themselves on their favorite show. Everything seemed to be going just great, all except for Beatrice.

The signs of her cracking first began to show at her mothers funeral. She invited Liam, Michelle, Eliza and Leslie, if only because she needed that support. But even then, each of them could see she wasn't handling the loss well at all. Hell, the drive for the live show was a direct result of her not handling it well, so it wasn't like it wasn't obvious. But they retained hope that she would come back, stronger than ever, just in time for the show. Unfortunately, as the premiere date drew ever closer, Beatrice seemed to become more and more reserved and unhinged. She would lock herself in her office at work, even away from Liam, and she would spend a good majority of her time at home sobbing in the bedroom. Leslie did her best to comfort her, but it only went so far.

Now, with opening night only 24 hours away, nobody knew how she would be when the time to perform came, and quite frankly, it scared them all deeply. Finally, that night before the premiere as they all ate dinner at the pizzeria, Bea and Leslie not attending, Liam asked the hard question.

"What do we do if she can't get her shit together?"

And nobody seemed to have an answer.

                                                                                                     ***

"She's always been a rock," Michelle said, sitting on Eliza's bed, reading a magazine while Eliza fiddled with one of her trains; Michelle continued, "like, for any one of us, she's always been there to pick us up, so how come none of us know how to do the same for her?"

"She's an enigma," Eliza said, adjusting her jewlers loupe over one eye as she carefully adjusted a small piece on the trains wheel, "I never tried to make sense of her because there's no sense to be made, frankly. To be fair, none of us make any sense, but she especially doesn't."

"I take offense to that, I like to think I make plenty of sense!" Michelle said, chuckling.

"Believe whatever you want, doesn't make it the truth," Eliza replied, both of them laughing.

"Well, subjectivity aside," Michelle continued, "I want to do something to help her, but I just don't know what I can do."

"Speaking as someone who lost their mom suddenly," Eliza replied, turning around on her stool and pulling the loupe up from her eye, "she needs to process it, even if that's in ways we don't fully understand or agree with. Everyone deals with grief differently. I know when my mom died, I did the opposite of Bea. She throws herself into her work, I pulled away from mine. None of us reacts the way others do and often do we react the way others expect us to."

Michelle was impressed with Eliza's statement, the depth of its analysis, realizing she was completely right. Michelle sighed and stood up, plopping the magazine face down onto the bed and walking over to Eliza's stool, where she knelt down and, taking her face between her hands, kissed her.

"I need to move props," Michelle said, "We're all meeting at the pizzeria tonight, whether Bea's there or not, so I'll come by and pick you up once I've shifted everything to the stage."

"Do you want help?" Eliza asked.

"Casey's helping me," Michelle said, "You take some time off, work on your trains, just relax. You deserve it, especially after all the work you put in on Keagan's puppet."

Eliza blushed and nodded as Michelle kissed her on the forehead.

"Love you, I'll see you later tonight," Michelle said as she headed for the door.

"I love you too"! Eliza called out after her, giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a first crush as Michelle exited. Eliza then pulled her loupe back down and, as Michelle suggested, went back to her trains. She did, in fact, deserve a break. She'd worked harder than most this year it seemed. She'd given so much of her time this year to other peoples interests, it wouldn't kill her to dedicate a day to her own for a change.

                                                                                                         ***

"You ever huff glue?" Casey asked, as she helped Michelle pull Bea's doghouse set onto the dolly and strap it in.

"What?" Michelle asked, laughing in response.

"When you're alone, doing set building, you ever huff glue?" Casey asked.

"No, never," Michelle said, "first of all, before this year I never would've been able to. I've always had bad lungs. But even now, I would't put my new good lungs in direct danger. I waited so long to breath properly, the last thing I wanna do is do potential damage to them."

"...we come from very different worlds, you and I," Casey said, shaking her head as they both laughed and wheeled the dolly down the truck ramp and into the parking lot of the performance building. Once it was stopped, Casey lit up a cigarette and took a long puff, before wiping the smoke away with her hand and adding, "sorry, hope it's fine to smoke around you at least."

"Oh, I don't care," Michelle said, shrugging, "do you do that regularly, huff glue, I mean?"

"Eh, not so much anymore, but as a teenager definitely," Casey replied, "when you grow up with parents like mine you look for any kind of out that'll result in dissociation of one kind or another."

Michelle wanted to say something supportive, something to show Casey that, even though their differences were so vast, she could relate to her issues in regards to her mother. But she just couldn't come up with the right words for the statement, so instead she just nodded in solemn understanding. They pulled out a few more set pieces and large props, and by the time they got to having most of the truck emptied, a car pulled into the lot and parked. Liam climbed out, looking somewhat haggard.

"You doing okay, buddy?" Michelle asked.

"I've done better," Liam said, groaning as he supported himself on his cane and hobbled towards them, "is this everything?"

"Yep," Michelle said, as Casey loaded the dolly back onto the truck; Michelle ran her hands through her hair and asked, "hey, uh...have you spoken to or seen Beatrice today?"

"Can't say that I have," Liam replied, holding his hand out to take Casey's cigarette as she returned, which she graciously handed him; he took a long drag, then exhaled and handed it back before adding, "but if I do, you'll be the first to know, outside of me, of course. Why? Are you worried about something?"

"I'm worried about her," Michelle said, "ever since her mom died, she hasn't seemed entirely...stable."

"Well, her mother did die, that changes a person," Liam said.

"I know that, I'm just concerned because she's supposed to perform in a live show and interact with children and she can barely manage interacting with her own friends at the moment," Michelle said. She looked between Liam and Casey, then added, "am I the only one worried about her?"

"Not at all," Liam said, "but...she's gotta do what she's gotta do. We just need to let her."

With that, Liam and Casey started moving the props and sets into the building, while Michelle stood there, shaking her head. She couldn't believe that Liam, of all people, would be so non chalant about Beatrice's rapidly desolving mental health when he'd long since been her biggest supporter. Then again, he did know her the best. He was her oldest friend. Maybe he knew what he was talking about. After driving the truck back to the networks studio lot, Michelle decided she'd grab Eliza and head to the pizzeria earlier than expected, if only because she could use something to eat and normal socialization that didn't revolve around Beatrice, even if only momentarily.

As Michelle and Eliza entered the pizzeria, Eliza quickly abandoned Michelle and headed for the little prize shop. Michelle, hands in her coat pockets, headed through the bright, flashing, loud games and came upon, of all people, Lex, at the skeeball. Michelle stopped and watched as Lex nailed each and every single ball. Once she was done, she pulled her tickets from the machine and winked at Michelle.

"I have to admit," Michelle said, "I'm impressed."

"Well, when I was little, before my dad went to prison, we used to go to this little carnival every weekend that was just outside of town and we'd always have skeeball tournaments. Guess you could say I got pretty good at it," Lex said, counting up her tickets.

"Is Keagan here?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah, she's over at the light gun area," Lex said, nodding in that direction, as she headed to the prize shop to join Eliza. Michelle nodded, then headed in the direction of Keagan. She found her, holding two lightguns, one in each hand, and playing some kind of alien shooter. As Michelle approached, Keagan smiled, put in more quarters for both players and handed Michelle one of the guns, which she gladly took.

"You better be careful, holding a light gun while black," Michelle said.

"God, I know right?" Keagan replied, "you get everything moved?"

"Yep. How's answering all that fan mail going?"

"Exhausting, my hand's cramping like a bitch," Keagan said, "but it's nice to get so many kind replies."

"Are you seriously answering each and every one?"

"Yep."

"Damn, that's dedication," Michelle said. As they lost the game, they set the lightguns back in their plastic holsters and turned away from the machine. Keagan pulled her hair back into a ponytail and sighed, hands on her hips as she and Michelle looked around the pizzeria. Each wanted to ask the question, but neither seemed to want to be the one to broach the topic. Finally Keagan bit her lip, and the bullet.

"Where is she?" she asked.

"Beats me," Michelle said, "Even Liam said he hadn't seen her, which is...worriesome."

Truth was, Beatrice had no interest in attending the gathering at the pizzeria. She was too busy hyperventilating at home, while Leslie yet again unsuccessfully attempted to bring her down. It wasn't so much the show that made her nervous, she was nothing if not a season performer at this point. It was more that she was upset that this was the first thing she was really doing without her mother being in the world. Something new, and something different, and even if her mother wasn't there to see it, she should've been around, existing at the same time as the production. After Beatrice finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Leslie sat in the living room, trying to get her wits about her. Tomorrow was going to be rough.

She looked over at the Beatrice costume sitting neatly assembled in a chair, the head atop the rest of the costume, and she shook her head. She was starting to see Beatrice as anything other than a way to avoid her issues, and was starting to wonder if even Bea herself could discern the difference between the character and herself. Was it even worth it too? Was it even worth it to be Amelia Burden? Leslie leaned back agains the couch and covered her face with her hands. She thought maybe this live show would just meld the two together even further, and if Beatrice continued to use Bea as an escape, as a means to avoid her problems with the world, what would she be then? Where did Beatrice Beagle end and Beatrice the person begin?

This live show worried her, but not for the reasons it worried the others.

                                                                                                      ***

The place was absolutely packed to the gills. The show had sold out, and the stage was set, prepared for the show. The only thing missing was Beatrice, who was hiding out in the trailer in the parking lot, refusing the come out. Liam and Michelle were pacing back and forth backstage, while Eliza sat on a stool and made a lanyard, something she did to ease her anxiety at times such as these. They could hear the murmurings of the kids and their parents in the audience, and Liam knew people would start getting restless soon. Casey joined them, an open beer in her hand, as Liam stopped and looked at her.

"You can't have an open container of alcohol in here, there's children," he said.

"What, and being in the proximity of it will make them alcoholics? Get real," Casey said, taking a long sip before looking around and asking, "Wait, where's Bea?"

"She won't come out of the trailer," Michelle said, shaking her head, unsure of how to approach the situation further, "...maybe we just cancel, refund, offer a public apology?"

"We've put too much time and effort into putting this goddamn thing together for her to just decide she doesn't want to do her one part of the job," Liam said.

"Her one part IS the job, dude," Casey said, "where's her trailer?"

Michelle told her, and Casey turned and headed out of the building. As she hit the parking lot, she spotted it. Turned out she didn't even need directions, as the damn thing was impossible to miss. Casey walked up to the trailer and knocked on the door, but to no avail. Casey then reached into her hair, pulled out a hairpin and unfurled it, picking the lock and letting herself in. Inside, she found Beatrice sitting on the couch, in costume, the dog head in her lap. Casey stopped in her tracks and stared at the sight.

"Not gonna lie, that's kind of a disconcerting sight," she said, "are you okay?"

"Why would I be?" Bea asked, and Casey approached the couch, dropping to her knees and looking up at Bea.

"...look, I probably am the last person to offer advice, especially on missing a parent who actually loved you," Casey said, "but...but you're a parent to most of those kids in there, whether you know it or not. You have a responsibility, not even to the studio but to those kids, to give them what they came here for. YOU. They came here for YOU. There are kids in there who only have one parent, or maybe they have no parents and they live with grandparents or aunts or uncles or whatever, and you're the only guiding light they have in their life. Do you wanna let them down the way all the other adults in their lives have?"

Beatrice looked at Casey, then down at the head in her lap and sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"Then get that fuckin head on and get in there and put on that show," Casey said, "You gave me a chance, you gave Michelle a chance, you gave everyone here a chance. We've all been through the shit, so it's time for you to get through the shit too. You think your mom would want you to sit in here and cry? Fuck no, dude. She'd want you to go in there and put on the show she knows you're capable of putting on. Do it for your mom, if you can't do it for the children."

Beatrice looked at Casey again, sighing more.

"It's more that..." Bea started, "doing this marks an era of my life without her."

"Dude, she's dead regardless of what you do," Casey said, "If you do the show or not, your mom is still dead. This doesn't change that. You might as well keep doing what keeps yourself, and others, happy, right?"

Beatrice hadn't thought it like that, she had to admit. No matter what she did, mope or perform, her mother was dead, and nothing was going to change that. Beatrice picked the head up from her lap and put it on, completing the costume. She stood up, as did Casey, and then hug her tightly, thanking her. Casey just hugged her back, best she could in that bulky costume, and told her it wasn't a problem at all.

"Everyone was worried and wanted to help," Casey said, "just...nobody knew how."

"How did you?" Bea asked.

"Guess being so disconnected from the world helps you see it clearer," Casey said, shrugging, "I'm not gonna feed you some sugar coated bullshit about how your mom is in some great place now, because really, that's insulting. Oh, the place she went to after death is better? How? Her child isn't in it. Her husband isn't it it. Doesn't sound too great to me, frankly. Now, be a good dog, and go do your tricks."

Beatrice laughed, nodded, and headed out of the trailer. Casey stood there in the doorway, finishing her beer, and smirked to herself. Of all the people to come to the rescue, they all had to admit, Casey was last on their list. Turns out everyone is good at something.

                                                                                                            ***

                                                                                                 3 WEEKS LATER

"I'm going," Michelle said, knocking on Bea's office door. Beatrice looked up from her desk and smiled, gesturing for her to come inside, which she did. As Michelle took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, she asked, "everything okay?"

"More than okay," Bea said, "I mean, I'm still very sad, but I'm dealing with it. Anyway, that isn't why I wanted you to come in. I just wanted you to know that next season, production is gonna be a bit different. We're gonna hire more people, so we don't have to solely rely on you, Eliza and Casey for almost everything. You all deserve a bit of a break."

"I'm fine with that," Michelle said, "anything else?"

"You doing anything tonight?" Bea asked.

"Eliza and I are going to dinner," Michelle said, "then we'll probably go to her dads and build some trains together. Nothing too exciting, but it's good, cause we don't really need excitement. I'll see you when I see you, Bea. Have a good weekend."

With that, Michelle stood up and exited, leaving Michelle there alone. Liam was the last one to leave, and soon enough it was just Beatrice alone at the studio. She told Leslie she'd be home before 9pm, and here it was, almost 9. She figured she should call and let her know she'd be a tiny bit late. Beatrice picked up her cell phone, but it was dead. She sighed. Beatrice picked up her landline and dialed, getting the machine, so she left a message. She had told Stephanie that she'd help get these budgetary balances figured out before the weekend, and she was almost done, but her stomach was hurting. She could use a snack. Beatrice stood up, pulled her jacket on and headed out of the studio. Just outside was a small cart that was open late, so she ordered some nachos and a drink, then sat down at one of the tables on the patio where employees usually had lunch and munched on her treats. After a minute she heard the sound of a bike approaching the table, and turned to see a young girl, probably about 11, pulling her helmet off.

"Hello," Bea said, "can I help you?"

"H...hi," the girl said, "can I sit down?"

"Of course," Bea said, patting the seat beside her. The girl set her bike against the table, placed her helmet on it and sat down. Bea pushed her thing of nachos towards her, but the girl declined. Bea shrugged and asked, "are you lost? Do you need help?"

"I wanted to go to your show, but we couldn't afford it," the girl said, "so I...I looked up where you worked and thought I'd ride over here. I didn't actually think I'd find you."

"Well, you did," Bea said, smiling warmly, "do you want anything? An autograph, a selfie?"

The girl looked embarrassed, and glanced away. After a moment, she spoke again.

"I don't wanna grow up, can you make that happen?" she asked, taking Bea by surprise; she elaborated, "I'm gonna be in all honors classes next year, I'm one of the top students at my school, and so I'll be around all these other smart kids. But they...they all dress like tiny grown ups. They read big books. I can do the same, I just don't want to. I like being a kid. You make me feel like it's okay to continue being a kid, cause you're an adult and look at what you do for a living."

"It's absolutely okay to be a kid," Beatrice said, "don't ever let someone convince you otherwise. I was like you, when I was little. I was a very smart girl, and I read a lot and I spent almost all my free time with my parents cause they didn't expect me to behave the way my peers would've. You're not alone in how you feel, I promise. Are you sure you don't want a snack or a...a piece of merch or anything? An autograph?"

The girl shook her head.

"I already got what I wanted," she said, smiling, making Bea smile too.

So Bea and the girl sat there, and they talked about her schooling and other interests and hobbies. Bea told her how she came to be the dog she knew on TV, and the girl shared with Bea her hopeful eventual career plans. In a way, Casey was right. Beatrice was a parent, whether she meant to be or not, to all those kids who needed someone but didn't either have someone or want to approach their own parents for whatever reason. And that was all Beatrice wanted, really, was for no child to feel alone. She'd never really felt alone, and she wanted every child to have that level of dedication in their adolescence from the adults around them. They deserved that much, and so much more. Every person she'd hired had, in some way, helped her learn how to be an even better person, it seemed. Michelle's illness taught her how to approach life with gusto again. Eliza's loss taught her how to cope with her own, and process it even if in albeit somewhat unhealthy ways. And Casey's outright refusal to bend to the worldviews of others taught her that sometimes you just need to do what you have to, whether you want to or not. And now this little girl, this girls disinterest in growing up taught her that it was okay to always be a child on the inside. She really knew how to pick 'em.

It was funny, Bea thought, for being the one who was meant to be the teacher, she was the one being taught.

"Imagine children getting to meet their idol," Beatrice said, "they get to talk to Bea, ask her questions, get their photo taken. That's all the after event. First we put on a show, and then we have the meet and greet. That's what I want to do. So many children never get to meet their heroes, those who push them to strive for greatness, and I think that's unfair. I don't wanna be distant. I wanna be in their lives. A force of good."

Liam, Steph, Michelle, Casey and Eliza were seated in the meeting room as Beatrice explained her plan, but none of them, truth be told, were sold on it at all. Course, nobody wanted to be the one who said that.

"I realize that we're already a force of good, just by being on the air for them, but we can do more. I wanna do more," Bea continued, "because...because some children don't have parents. Some children had bad parents. Some childrens parents die. I want to create an open line of communication, and this is the first step in that direction, I think. No child should feel alone and scared and confused."

"I don't disagree," Steph said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, "but I don't necessarily agree that this is the best way of going about it."

"A live show is a lot of work, Bea," Liam said, "are you sure you're up for that sort of engagement? Dedication?"

"When aren't I?" Bea asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. She had a point, she was always up for whatever  it took, and nobody could argue that claim no matter what they had to say in response. Bea sighed and shook her head slightly, tossing her bangs from her face, adding, "look, I know it's a lot of work, but it's...it's important to me and these sorts of things are good for what we do. Almost every popular childrens brand has, at one time or another, done a live show of some kind. I hate to use marketing terms, but it 'grows the brand', and so from your perspective, Steph, that's a good thing."

"I'm not all about money, you know," Steph replied, sounding hurt, "I appreciate the artistry that goes into what you and everyone else on the network does. I don't have a money boner."

"Money Boner is my favorite punk rock song," Casey interjected, making Michelle laugh, which in turn made Casey blush.

"I just think there's others factors to consider here. We'd have to put the show on hold while we do this," Steph said, "unless you have that many shows in the hopper."

"Our finale is coming up in a few weeks, we start preparations now, then we announce it once the finale is out, then that gives children something to look forward to in the interim while they wait for new episodes," Bea said, "it isn't rocket science, you guys, it's simple economics. We give kids what they deserve, and we continue to make money even while not producing actual content. Not that live shows aren't actual content, but you know what I mean."

Once again, nobody could argue with this. Beatrice had clearly done her homework.

"I'll run it up the ladder," Steph said half heartedly.

"Aren't you top rung?" Casey asked, sipping on her soda.

"...yes," Steph replied, before briskly gathering her things and leaving the room.

"Weird lady," Casey said upon Steph's exit, shaking her head.

                                                                                                       ***

Keagan was walking through the hall with Serena under her arm, heading for the set department, hoping to run into Michelle, unaware that she was in a meeting. She had already checked The Hole and, upon realizing Eliza wasn't there, figured they must be in the set department, which was why she was headed there now. As she passed by a small group of well dressed white women, she heard them lower their voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. She figured it was best to ignore it.

Keagan pushed open the doors to the set department and looked around, then sighed when it slowly dawned on her that neither Michelle nor Eliza were here. Thankfully, however, her gaze caught sight of Liam, of all people. Liam had left the meeting shortly after Steph, and decided to hang out in the set department doing behind the scenes design management. Keagan approached him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to turn to face her and jolt back a little upon seeing Serena.

"Wow," he said, "that's uncanny."

"What, do all puppets look the same to you?" Keagan asked, making him chuckle; she then asked, "where's Michelle? Where's Eliza? Where is everyone?"

"We had an impromptu meeting," Liam said, sipping his coffee and adjusting his glasses, "Michelle and Eliza probably went to lunch afterwards. Why?"

"I just wanted Michelle to actually see the puppet Eliza and I came up with," Keagan said, sighing, leaning against the stage and looking at Serena's face, adding, "...sometimes it feels like I don't even matter. Like everyone else is so much more important to the production than I am, like I'm just here cause I helped Michelle track you guys down."

"Hey," Liam said, leaning beside her and touching her shoulder, "you're important, Keagan. Don't think like that. Everyone who works here works here because Beatrice saw their importance, and you're certainly on the ground floor of that. Keep in mind we wouldn't even be here without you and Michelle. You guys are a team, even if she has Eliza these days."

"I guess," Keagan said, "it's just hard to feel that way when I'm not even invited to meetings and stuff. I feel so...ancillary."

"Yeah, well, that's what a lifetime with Bea is like," Liam said, which cause Keagan to raise an eyebrow. She'd rarely heard Liam speak ill of Bea, and even then, when he did, she could still feel the love behind his statement. Whatever it was he was suggesting, he didn't mean anything mean with it, she knew that much. Liam added, "listen, if I see either of them before you do, I'll let them know you're looking for them. Until then, you wanna stick around here and help me figure out some set work?"

"Sure, that sounds fun," Keagan said, grinning.

At least, if nothing else, Liam always had her back.

                                                                                                         ***

"You don't really think it's a good idea, do you?" Michelle asked, sipping her soup across from Eliza at their usual luncheon spot.

"I don't, but not for the reasons you might think," Eliza said, "cause, uh, one might assume that I'm against it because of the strenous aspects putting on such a live show would be, but that isn't the case. I think she's only doing it as a reaction to the grief of losing her mom. I know because when I lost my mom, I did a lot of stupid stuff too cause I thought they were good ideas since I was clouded with loss, blinded by grief."

"Like what?" Michelle asked, wiping her mouth with her napkin and setting her spoon down in her bowl.

"Well," Eliza said, clearing her throat, "for a while, and this is so dumb I know but...I used to go to loss groups, for parents who, like, had lost children, and I would pretend that each of the women speaking there were my mom, and were talking about me. I needed to put it into perspective from her side, like, what if she had survived and I hadn't. I know it's really sick, but..."

"It's not sick," Michelle said, shaking her head, "you're not sick, sweetie, that's...you said it yourself, you do things that don't really make sense in hindsight after such a great loss. Bea was close with her parents, she's just going through the shit, you know? Same as you were. The difference is, you know how to better channel your emotions into your work, while Bea tries but just lets her emotions take over her work. That's the innate difference between you two."

Eliza smiled, looking down at her hands.

"I think," she said, "you're the first person to ever told me I'm not sick, other than Beatrice, and my dad, and my dad only said it after the accident because he didn't want me blaming myself. I don't know that I really believes he believes that. Beatrice I believe. You I really believe. Thank you."

Michelle smiled back. It was weird, she thought, being in a relationship since she'd never planned on being in one. Actually taking the time to know someone, comfort them when they needed it, boost their self esteem back up. And it wasn't one sided. Anytime Michelle felt distraught and turned to Eliza for help, Eliza returned it threefold. It was a fully functioning, well oiled machine they had built, and she wouldn't give it up for anything else in the world. But it was still strange. Michelle hadn't seen her parents interact much before her father left, so she simply never had any real idea of what a healthy relationship looked like. And yet...and yet she knew she was better at it, far better at it at that, than her mother ever could be, and that was consolation enough.

Michelle got out from her side of the booth and slid in beside Eliza, who looked surprised but bit her lip happily. Michelle put her hands on Eliza's face and leaned in, pressing her lips to hers and kissing her, Eliza happily kissing her back. Public displays of affection be damned, they were both just so happy to have one another after a lifetime of having virtually nobody, and they didn't care who knew it.

                                                                                                          ***

Beatrice was sitting at her desk, her feet up on the desk as she tapped her pen against her leg. Her office door opened and Casey slinked inside, shutting the door behind her as she did. Bea looked up at her and smiled weakly, acknowledging her presence as Casey pulled a chair around to the front of the desk and sat down on it the opposite direction.

"What are you, a hip pastoral youth counselor?" Bea asked, making Casey chuckle.

"Kids, lemme tell you about my boy, JC," she replied, making Bea laugh loudly before she continued with, "actually I just wanted to talk to you about, you know, the live show and all that stuff and...and just see how you were doing. Cause, like, it seems like a lot of work, but, ya know, it's probably worth it. I'm definitely on your side. I don't know why Steph is being such a stick in the mud."

"She has a budget to think about. I can't really dismiss her concerns," Beatrice said, "she has an entire streaming network at her disposal to watch over, we aren't the primary thing they produce. We're just one of the more popular ones."

"And shouldn't that popularity alone warrant getting what you want? Otherwise what's the point of fame if it can't get you something?" Casey asked. Bea smirked and sat upright in her chair, tossing her pen on the desk.

"I like the way you think," Bea said.

"Well," Casey said, "I just...I don't see the purpose of driving up subscriber numbers for someone elses service if they won't give you what you want in return. It has to be a mutually beneficial relationship. This feels parasocial, ya know? That shit isn't right."

Beatrice nodded, taking in what Casey was saying, knowing full well she was right. She was one of the leading programs on the network, she had every right to demand something now and then.

"You can't...you can't bring in millions of dollars and not be compensated," Casey said, "and...and having the ability to continue to make your work isn't the compensation. It's just one part of it. They have to give you more. They have to. You're worth that. This whole fucking thing is worth that. So, if you wanna put on a live show...I wanna help. When I was in high school I roadied for my friends band, and I know a lot about that kind of stuff and I know it isn't the same but...but I wanna help."

"...thank you, Casey," Beatrice said, "you're right. And I'd be so glad to have you on the team. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go have some words with Stephanie."

                                                                                                       ***

Liam had left for the day, citing a doctors appointment, which meant Keagan now had no companionship in the set  department if only because she didn't know anybody else on a personal level. But she simply continued doing the things that he had left her in charge to do, Serena laying on the stage beside her as she sculpted and painted and did whatever it was she could. While she was cutting something, she heard a woman approach the stage and look at Serena. Keagan's eyes turned towards her, instantly recognizing her as one of the women from the hall before.

"Is this your puppet?" she asked.

"Well, they asked me to help design a puppet to represent the African American community, ya know for any black kids who might be watching, so kind of?" Keagan replied, laughing weakly.

"You don't think it's...too black?" the woman asked, and this caught Keagan off guard. She set down her tools.

"Too black?" she asked.

"You know what I mean, like, it looks like it came from the inner city," the woman replied, "I'm just, I work for the marketing department and I can tell you right now that trying to sell this character isn't going to be easy. White audiences, and let's be honest our audience is predominantly white, don't mind black characters on the condition that they seem white. That they come from well to do families. This is why shows with well off, good natured black families do so much better than ones that feature the opposite."

Keagan couldn't believe what she was hearing. She turned her attention fully, now, to the woman.

"Let me ask you something," Keagan said, "do you also believe one can be too white? You know, wearing polo shirts and eating at kitschy chain restaurants where they hang ridiculous bullshit on the wall, and only listening to the most musically disinteresting band one can find? Because, surely, if that exists for one group it exists for every group."

"Well of course, no one's gonna argue that," the woman said, "but that doesn't matter, because white audiences don't mind that. They revel in that type of second hand self degrading caricature."

"The fuck they do," Keagan replied, "they can't handle being portrayed as anything other than perfection. We don't get that option. If we're not white enough, we're too black. There's no fuckin' middle of the road for us, because almost all of our characters are created and written by white folk. You don't see the level of unfairness between those two things?"

"I'm not here to argue race relations," the woman said sternly, "I'm simply telling you, from a marketing perspective, that trying to sell this puppet as a character, and any potential merchandise attached to it, will be very very difficult."

"I don't exist to make the market easier for you," Keagan said, finally sliding off the stage and standing firmly before the marketing executive, adding, "and neither does this fuckin' puppet, alright? We're people, not merchandise, and that can be said for any character of any race, but especially for those who are often deemed a potential threat to your investor more than others."

That's when Keagan glanced around, her eyes darting across the room, realizing everyone was watching them, almost as if they were expecting her to attack this woman like the stereotype would be expected of her. She unclenched her hands, trying to let the anger leave her, refusing to fall into their perspective trap of her people. The woman just smiled smugly, then turned to leave when suddenly she felt a fist connect with her jaw and she stumbled back against the stage, clenching her face. Standing behind her was Casey, of all people, nursing her hand, leaving Keagan in shock. The woman was helped up by a few people and left the area, leaving Keagan and Casey alone together, amidst the remaining crew.

"Wow," Keagan said.

"Sorry, that was real white saviory of me," Casey said.

"No, no, I prefer you did it," Keagan said, "if I did that I'd be sued and fired. All you're gonna get is a mild talk from HR."

Casey laughed, and Keagan laughed in response. Neither one felt like the fit in, but perhaps that's where the best friendships blossom. Keagan climbed back on stage to continue her work, and Casey offered to help. Maybe the outcasts could benefit from one anothers company. Besides, whether they were African American or a drug addict, they were each a looked down upon minority, and they weren't about to turn away potential defenders.

                                                                                                            ***

Beatrice found Stephanie in her office, unsurprisingly, doing, also unsurprisingly, paperwork. As she entered, she shut the door behind her, the sound of which caused Steph to look up from her desk and sigh. She shook her head as Bea sat down on the desk and watched her work.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"Every day is a rough day," Steph said, "what do you want now? I have to have all this budgeting done by this weekend and I-"

"I want you to acknowledge what I've given you," Bea said coldly, catching Steph off guard; she continued, "I want you to recognize the success what I created has brought to your network, and give me something in return. Let me put on this live show. It'll be good for the downtime in production, bring in so much extra money, good PR, all that crap you executives love."

Steph set her pen down and folded her arms on the desk.

"And if I say no?" she asked, "provided the answer is even up to me?"

"If you say no then I suppose I will just have to live with that decision, but I'll also be aware of how little I'm valued, and that might change how much effort I put into what I do from hereon out," Beatrice said, making Steph smile wide.

"You know what I like about you, Bea," Steph said, "you refuse to be beaten. Anytime something comes up, you rail against it until you win. Your show gets taken from you? You bring it back. You get publicly outed? You embrace it. Your friend almost dies from a medical condition? You donate an organ. That's...that's a level of commitment one has to admire. It also shows how absolutely deranged you are, but it's admirable nonetheless."

Beatrice laughed at this half insult, knowing Stephanie didn't fully well mean it to be cruel.

"...I have to talk to the budgeting team, the marketing team, all that stuff, but it should be manageable," Steph said, "you're right, you've given us alot and all you're doing is trying to give us, and the kids, more. That's, again, admirable. I don't wanna tell you what you can and cannot do, I don't wanna be what Liam used to be to you. My entire intention, from the very beginning, has been to help you, okay? We just...sometimes we need to find a middle ground. Compromise isn't giving up something you want, it's accepting that you can get part of what you want by not getting all of it. I'm just asking you to compromise with me, Bea."

Beatrice and Steph locked eyes momentarily, and Bea nodded.

"Fine," she said, "but you know what they say, a good compromise always leaves both parties mad."

"Wouldn't be showbusiness if we weren't both wildly disappointed," Steph replied, shaking Bea's hand, both women chuckling.

                                                                                                         ***

Delores was seeing Justine that night, so when Michelle and Eliza arrived back at the house, they knew they had the place to themselves, even if only for a bit. Both were extremely tired and so they opted, instead of doing anything else, to lay upstairs in Michelle's makeshift bedroom. Michelle was laying beside Eliza, spooning her, breathing in the scent of her hair, and thinking about the meeting. After a few minutes, she spoke softly.

"I feel jealous when Beatrice gives things to others," Michelle said.

"I know what you mean, our attachment feels so personal that it's hard not to," Eliza responded, not opening her eyes, "but she isn't just ours. She's everyones."

"I know, that's the thing I have to remind myself of," Michelle said, "Besides, what she's already given us is so much more than whatever she could ever give to someone else."

"It's true," Michelle said, as Eliza rolled over to face her; Michelle smiled and pushed Eliza's hair from her face, "she gave me you, after all."

Eliza blushed as Michelle kissed her, and together they lay there, in the dark and the quiet. It was something they all, even Beatrice, eventually had to acknowledge, which was that Bea and the character of Beatrice Beagle, were not the same. And while the world got the character, they got the woman who played her, and that was worth so much more.

Michelle wasn't a writer, nor was Eliza. In fact, the only person in this room who was a writer, in all technicality, was Beatrice. Yet, she'd pulled Michelle and Eliza into the writers room with her, then locked the door. She'd ordered pizza, gotten drinks, and told them they wouldn't be leaving until they helped her write this episode. Sitting at the large table while Beatrice paced, eating a slice of pizza, Michelle couldn't help but glance over at Eliza, who looked as uncomfortable as she ever had seen her look.

"I wanna present this in as straight forward a manner as possible," Bea finally said, finishing her slice, crust and all, and wiping her hands on a napkin sitting on the table; she continued, "That's the whole idea of childrens entertainment, simplistic but not insulting. Talking to them at their level, not under their level, insinuating they can't understand complex concepts simply because they're younger. Children are far more intuitive than we give them credit for being."

"That's all very true," Michelle said, "but I don't...I don't know what to really say that hasn't already been said by a million other childrens shows."

"That's the challenge, though," Bea said, "is to come up with saying something that's been said but in a new way. A way that hasn't been approached yet. Because, let's face it, everyone has told kids that their loved ones are somewhere in the sky, watching over them. That they still exist in some way or another. But you don't wanna be the show that outright tells them that's bullshit. You don't want to diminish a childs hope. But to sugarcoat it with such fairytale bullshit...that's almost as bad."

Eliza groaned, chewing on her nails. This was something she did when she was particularly anxious, a habit Michelle had become all but far too familiar with.

"To be perfectly honest," Michelle said, "I don't know what it is I'm doing in here other than providing emotional support. I just hate my mom, she's not dead. Dead to me, maybe, but not actually dead."

"That's what gives us perspective," Bea said, pacing around the table, "we can't just be coming from the place of having dead mothers. We need variation."

"Oh, well, let me just go call her and ask when she plans on dropping dead," Michelle said, rather angrily. Bea stopped walking and looked at Michelle, but not angrily, more like with sorrow on her face. Michelle felt bad. She whispered 'sorry' before looking down at her feet. Beatrice just exhaled and shook her head before looking at Eliza.

"What did you think, when your mom died?" Bea asked.

"That it was my fault," Eliza said, "but that guilt isn't really something that I, ya know, wanna pass onto others. That's not healthy."

"I meant more like...do you believe in Heaven or anything?" Bea asked, picking up another slice.

"I guess I..." Eliza started, trailing off, thinking, before continuing, "I guess I don't really believe in Heaven, exactly, but...like...energy. You know how even after someone leaves a room, goes back home or whatever, you can still kinda sense them? Their presence was so strong that it left a mark? That's kinda what I believe in. The energy of the person is still here."

"That's really beautiful," Bea said, "but I'm not sure it's comforting, exactly. Also kids don't really get metaphysical stuff like that."

"You just said not to talk down to them," Michelle interrupted.

"I know, I know, but I do have to be aware of their level of perception," Bea remarked, "Something like what Eliza said is beautiful, don't get me wrong - and let's face it, likely the most scientifically accurate as well - but it's just not something that children the age of our viewership would really be able to grasp. We need something a bit easier for them to understand."

Michelle groaned, threw her head back and stood up. She excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom, when in reality, as soon as she got outside the room, she headed straight for the smoking porch out back. Not because she smoked, she didn't, but because she knew it was the last place anyone would think to look for her. Once outside, she sighed and shut her eyes, leaning against the wall.

"Rough day?" Casey asked, surprising her.

"God, don't do that," Michelle replied, hand to her chest, catching her breath. Casey laughed and stubbed out the end of her cigarette.

"You alright?" Casey asked, sitting down on a table nearby.

"I...don't know," Michelle said, "...you hate your mom, right?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Do you wish she were dead?"

"....yeah, I do," Casey said, "I know that's harsh, but when someone who's supposed to love and protect you does the exact opposite - puts you in harms way, especially for monetary gain - then they're no longer viable for remorse. So yeah I wish she were dead. It would make my life, and possible recovery, all the easier. Why?"

Michelle walked to the table and seated herself as well, looking at her nails.

"Let's pretend we both had good relationships with our moms," Michelle said, "what would feel if she died? What do you believe in? What happens, where she goes, whatever. All that nonsense."

Casey had never really considered a situation wherein she and her mother liked one another, nor had she really considered her personal religious beliefs, particularly because she didn't really have any. Her family had never gone to church, and she'd never felt one ounce of pull towards a religion of any kind. In all honesty, she'd just kinda ignored the concept altogether. But now, being asked to confront both, in one theoretical happening, it made her wonder what she would feel or think.

"I guess," Casey said, "if my mom and I had a good relationship, and she died, I would probably just...accept the fact that she loved me while she was here, and the fact that she isn't here now can never take that away. Love is an idea, right? It's a concept. A person might go away, but their ideas never do. They're spread to others. Things like racism and homophobia are taught. Things like love are taught. If she loved me while she was here, that's what I would focus on. She would, in essence, become that love, whether she was here physically or not anymore."

Michelle nodded slowly, feeling her eyes tear up. That was...surprisingly beautiful, and certainly not the kind of thing she'd expected from someone like Casey, who didn't exactly strike her as the deep, emotional kind.

"I like that," Michelle said, nodding slowly, "I do. That's...very simple, very easy to understand, very pretty. I like that a lot."

Michelle stood up and began to head back inside, before turning and looking back at Casey. She wanted to invite her in, get her input heard, but she knew that wasn't really her decision. This was Beatrice's moment. Working through her grief, her loss, and she wanted only Michelle and Eliza there with her. She sighed, continued back inside and headed back to the office. When she re-entered the room, she found Beatrice laying on her back on the table by the pizza box, with Eliza sitting in her chair, her knees pulled to her chest.

"Did I miss something?" Michelle asked.

"What's the point," Bea said, "why even try to make sense of it, when it doesn't make sense to begin with. The big questions about things like death...eventually you run out of answers. A child keeps asking 'why' and you stop having things to respond with, because we don't know why. We don't know anything or everything. So why even bother trying to make sense of it, explain it, when it's so clearly unexplainable?"

"The pain isn't though, and that's what should be focused on," Michelle said, standing behind Eliza, massaging her shoulders, relaxing her, feeling her anxiety melt away with each touch, "that's what children need help with. They understand loss. That makes sense. What was here isn't here now. Very simple. What isn't simple is trying to figure out how to feel about it. Some kids might feel too much and be punished for it, others might not feel a thing and be punished for it. But there's no wrong way to grieve, and no right way either. They need to be told that however they feel is normal, because it's what they're feeling."

Beatrice sat up and looked at Michelle, furrowing her brow.

"...holy shit you're right," Bea said, "...you're absolutely right. The concept of loss isn't new to them. That's inherent. That's what object permanance is all about. It's something they learn from the moment they're born. They act badly and a favorite toy gets taken away. They understand loss. They don't understand that there are multiple appropriate ways to respond to it."

Bea climbed down from the table and let her hair down, looking at Eliza.

"You felt guilty, right? Even though you knew it wasn't your fault," Bea said, "and even if it isn't your fault, you have every right to feel guilty because it's how you felt. You can't change the things you feel. The ways you react to things. How do you feel now, though, Eliza? With a little bit of time and distance between the incident and this moment?"

Eliza looked away from Bea and up at Michelle, who just smiled and patted her on the head.

"I...I guess," Eliza said, "I guess now I just feel glad she was my mom to begin with. Even if we were different, even if we had arguments and disagreements and...and even if we didn't get along all the time, I know she wanted me to be my best, and to be okay, and to be happy. I'm glad she was here, and that she was mine."

Beatrice grinned and looked at Michelle.

"Love," Michelle said, echoing Casey's sentiment, "is the one thing loss can't take away from us. The person might be gone, but the way they felt about us never is, and that's what we can hold fast to in the toughest moments. That's the lesson to be taught here. That's the sentiment you need to push."

Beatrice nodded, then hugged Eliza, and then hugged Michelle. She then exited the room, without saying a word. Michelle sat back down in the chair across from Eliza, and scooted towards her. She reached out, and Eliza gave her her hands. Michelle took them gingerly, and kissed them, making Eliza blush.

"Are you okay?" Michelle asked, "This was...kind of intense, I'm not gonna lie."

"...it's okay to feel nothing?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded.

"Of course it is! Why?"

"Because that's how I feel a lot of the time," Eliza said, "I mean, not just about my mom, but about everything. The only time I ever feel anything else is when I'm with you. You make me feel happy. Or, whatever happiness feels like, I guess. When I was growing up, I had this special teacher who taught me emotions on a chart, like, what peoples faces look like when they feel certain ways. I still look to it from time to time to make sense of the people around me. But with you...I always know how you're feeling, and that makes me feel good. To understand another person enough to not need the chart, makes me feel special."

"You are special, sweetheart," Michelle whispered, kissing Eliza's hands again, making her blush.

"I guess...and I hope you don't take this weird," Eliza said, "in some kind of way, this relationship is almost maternal. Does that make sense? I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"I'm happy to be useful in whatever capacity you need in that moment," Michelle replied, "if that's sometimes romantic and sometimes maternal, that's perfectly fine. I love you. I just wanna keep you happy and comfortable."

Eliza slid off her own chair and climbed into Michelle's, cozying up on her lap best she could given the space provided, making Michelle laugh. Neither one had ever had a relationship before this, and yet they both knew they didn't want a relationship after. All they wanted was each other.

Beatrice would go to her office for the day, and she would write the script. She would take everything that Michelle and Eliza, and unknowingly Casey, had offered and she would turn it into a heartfelt confession about emotions and love that any child could easily comprehend and learn from. And when she was done with it, she would drop it off with Liam for him to check over, and then she would go home. When she arrived, she would find Leslie already making dinner. Beatrice would say hello to her, give her a hug and then adjourn to her home office. Once inside, she would lock the door, and she would sit in the center of the room on the floor.

The entire day, ever since her mother had passed only 48 hours prior actually, all she'd managed to think about was how to present this through her work. That was how she processed things. She did it through the puppetry that was Beatrice Beagle. But now...now she was home again. Now she didn't have to work. Now Beatrice, the facade, could melt away and she could be Amelia once more. And it was in that moment that she finally let herself fall apart. She fell onto her side on the floor, hugged herself and sobbed. Even though she wrote this script, she didn't believe any of it. How could she? She'd never been one to cope with loss well. First her dog, then Claire, then her mother. She didn't know how to manage. The fact that she somehow hadn't lost Michelle during her recent health scare was a shocker, and she wa grateful for not having to work through that as well.

A few hours later, when she would join Leslie in the living room as she watched game shows at half attention, Bea would nuzzle up against her on the couch without saying a word. Leslie would wrap her arms around her and pull her close, stroking her hair.

"How was your day?" Leslie asked as she raised her drink to her lips with her free hand and sipped.

"Fine," Bea would reply, before burying her face against Leslie's sweater and speak, muffled, "my mom is dead."

"I know," Leslie replied quietly, still petting her head, "I know. That's the one bad thing about moms. They die."

Beatrice never allowed herself to grieve her dog. She'd never allowed herself to grieve Claire. Instead she'd always soldiered onwards. But this time, after she'd done her usual coping process of getting her thoughts out via her work, she finally allowed herself to grieve for her mother, because she knew it wasn't healthy to not do so. Seemed like just a week ago she was a little girl, going to the library with her mom, learning and playing and discovering. And now her mom was dead. And no amount of childrens show saccharine could take away the ugliness of the reality of the world. The world didn't care that these people were our mothers. They died anyway. And one day Bea would die too. Perhaps that's what she was really mourning. Her own mortality. With her mother gone, it pushed her closer to the top of the list, and that scared her. She still had so much to do.

But she'd do it tomorrow.

Tonight...

...tonight she grieved her mother.

Beatrice woke up, rolling over to find the other side of the bed empty. This was unusual. Usually she was up before Leslie, unless Leslie had meetings. She stretched, slid to the side of the bed and sat upright, pushing her feet into her slippers on the floor beside the bed. Bea stood up, walked to the dresser and grabbed her robe, pulling it around her before heading out of the bedroom. She headed down the hall, and could smell something coming from the kitchen. Leslie never made breakfast. Sometimes she made coffee (which she could also smell), but breakfast? Unless it was Bea's birthday and she'd somehow forgotten her own birthday. As she entered the living room, she found Leslie sitting on the couch, staring into the mug cupped between her palms. Beatrice stopped and looked at her, and Leslie finally looked up, but didn't say anything.

"...this is uncomfortable," Bea finally said, "this is the sort of tension one only encounters when they're about to be dumped. You're not dumping me are you?"

"No," Leslie said, laughing a little, shaking her head, "no, but I do need to talk to you about something."

Bea walked towards the kitchenette, grabbed her mug and filled it with coffee before looking back at Leslie.

"Um," Leslie said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, as if she'd been crying and trying to hide the evidence, "your father called."

That made Bea's stomach drop.

                                                                                                             ***

Delores opened the front door to find Justine standing there. Neither one spoke, but finally Delores threw her arms around her and invited her inside. Justine stepped inside and shivered. She hadn't been in her mothers house since...well...since before the accident. It felt like walking back into a previous life of sorts. Delores shut the door and turned to watch her daughter stop and look at the photos hung on the wall.

"God," Justine said, "I was such a dweeb."

"You were not!" Delores said, laughing, "you were a normal kid with normal interests!"

"There's nothing normal about being obsessed with art supplies," Justine said, "look at me, having an art themed birthday party. The only reason anyone even showed up was because their parents made them come. Absurd. I should've been cooler."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you were plenty cool," Delores said.

"You have to say that, you're my mom," Justine replied, smiling.

"Believe me, after some of the moms I've met lately, no, being your mom is not simply a prerequisite for appreciating you or being kind," Delores said, the both of them laughing as they entered the kitchen. Michelle was at work, so they had the house to themselves for the majority of the afternoon. Justine sat down at the table while Delores got them some sodas from the fridge, recalling her daughters proclivity for caffeine, and then seated herself as well. Justine's bag was on the table, and Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to it, wondering what could be inside.

"What have you been working on?" Delores asked.

"I've been doing watercolor illustrations for a new kids book that's coming out next fall," Justine said, "and that's been pretty entertaining. They really didn't have a specific set stylization in mind so it's really my own kind of look, and I always like when I get those projects. Other than that, nothing much. How's work?"

"Same old, same old. Case workers only do so much that it doesn't offer much variety," Delores said, "but it's nice to help others find stability or a road they can go down, you know? That gives me a sense of usefulness in the world."

"You have someone living here now? A girl named Michelle?"

"She's living here at the moment yes," Delores said, "comes from a really bad family, works for a film studio making props. I took her in mostly because she had a very scary medical emergency and..."

Delores looked down at the table.

"...she reminded me of you," she whispered, "and I missed having you around, so I guess, in some way, having Michelle around was like having you around again."

She wouldn't admit it, but that broke Justine's heart a little.

                                                                                                          ***

Michelle dropped her pair of pliars and collapsed on her butt on the stage. She wiped her brow with her sleeved arm and exhaled deeply. She heard the door to the studio open and spotted Liam walking in. She smiled as she scooted towards the edge of the stage while he approached, reaching out and handing her coffee and a gas station sandwich. She took both, setting the seran wrapped sandwich in her lap as she lifted the coffee to her lips and took a long sip.

"This is nice," she said, "it's like having my own secretary."

"Alright, well, you sure know how to kill kindness," Liam remarked, making her laugh as he looked around, adjusting his glasses and adding, "Where's Casey? She's not here?"

"She said she was running late, feeling sick," Michelle replied, shrugging, "whatever. I got this stuff done before without her, I can manage."

"Nobody's questioning your abilities. You've more than proven yourself. My concern lies more within the realm of Beatrice giving her a job she isn't even showing up to do," Liam said, leaning against the stage and unwrapping a candy bar.

"She's here on time most of the time, so what if she runs late now and then, not everyone can be perfect," Michelle said, and Liam sighed.

"You're right, not everyone can be like me," he said, the both of them smirking.

The more Beatrice had removed herself from hanging around production, the more Liam had taken her place, and frankly, Michelle liked this. When she was a little girl, her favorite character - aside from Bea, of course - was Liam's, and so to get to hang out with the man behind the cactus...it really brought her a sense of comfort and peace. Now here he was, bringing her coffee and snacks on the regular. This future was certainly something young, sick Michelle never could've foreseen.

"Well," Liam said, finishing his candy bar and wiping his hands on a hankerchief, "if she comes in, maybe have a talk with her about her scheduling."

"You're not a middle school principal," Michelle said.

"Don't crush my dreams," Liam said as he began to exit, making Michelle cackle. Michelle finished her coffee, ate half her sandwich and then went back to sculpting a new prop. After a little bit, the doors to the studio opened and Casey stumbled in, her eyes red and her hair a mess. Michelle didn't judge her by appearance though, lord knows she herself was usually a mess, so. Casey climbed onto the stage and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling.

"Hello," Michelle said, "you feeling okay?"

"...not particularly," Casey said, "...I saw my mom this morning."

"Oof. How was that?" Michelle asked as she set down her knife and picking up her pliars again.

"...I'm a bad person," Casey whispered.

                                                                                                        ***

"For a while it was hard, you know, to accept being so limited," Justine said, "I was always so active, so agile, even if I didn't play sports or whatever. I liked going for runs, I liked exercising, I loved riding my bike. To suddenly be stuck the way I was...it was scary. I guess I just felt...pathetic. To know this Michelle girl had it so much worse makes me feel even dumber about my issues regarding my mild time based disabilities."

"They're not comparative. You were in an accident. She was born with her problems. But you both overcame them, and even if you hadn't, think of all the things you managed to both accomplish while having those issues. You didn't let that stop you. I saw how often you worked. I saw all the books you did artwork for during that time. Michelle built an entire TV set in her rental home basement. Being disabled - whether chronically or for a brief time - doesn't mean you can't do something," Delores said, and Justine nodded.

"No, I...I know that. I get that. I'm not saying it would stop anyone," Justine said, picking out a cookie from the tin on the table, "I just...I don't know. It's hard to explain the terror that courses through you when you think your time has come."

A moment passed as they sat and drank soda and ate cookies. After a few minutes, Justine smiled.

"You always had cookies and sweets around," Justine said, "it's wild how I didn't grow up with more cavities."

"Because I made you brush your teeth," Delores replied, the both of them laughing.

The thing was...before the accident, Delores and Justine had the kind of relationship other mothers would kill to have with their child, regardless of gender, and after the accident, Delores never understood why Justine stopped talking to her, but she was far too scared to ask now. Really, she was just so very happy to have her back in her home right now. And, despite the break in communication, it really felt like nothing had happened between them, and they'd just fallen right back into that very same pattern they'd always had.

"For what it's worth," Justine said, "Michelle is very persuasive."

"What do you mean?" Delores asked, and Justine took a bite into the cookie in her hand.

"She tracked down my address and came to see me with some friends of hers," Justine said, shrugging, "she just said she felt compelled to help you re-establish communication for some reason she wouldn't explain. But whatever her reason was, it was...it was nice. She's a determined, kind person, and frankly...if you had to attach yourself to someone to replace me momentarily...I'm glad you picked someone who cares so much for you, mom."

Delores wanted to cry. She'd have to thank Michelle for her help when she got home that night. Maybe she'd buy a cake. She loved keeping sweets around for the sweet folks in her life, after all.

                                                                                                        ***

"You're not a bad person," Michelle replied, chuckling, "I think we're all in agreement that your mom was the bad person. Just because she makes you feel like shit during your brief and rare interactions doesn't mean she's right. You need to remember that her opinion is just that, her opinion, and not objective fact."

"She is right though," Casey said, still laying on her back, "I'm not defending her in any other instance, like...she's shit, you're not wrong, and you of all people would know what it's like to have a shit mom from what you've told me, but...but that doesn't mean what she thinks doesn't have validity or hold water in some instances. She's right. I'm a disgustingly bad person."

Casey finally rolled over and looked at Michelle, who was now moving onto painting this current prop, a berry bush that was to be planted right beside Bea's doghouse.

"Well," Michelle said, pulling her palette towards her and squeezing some different colors onto it, "for what it's worth, what we do in order to cope might be unhealthy, but it's how we get by and there's no shame in that. I didn't have a good home growing up, so instead I built a whole set in my basement, because the Beatrice Beagle set was the only place that ever felt like home. Is that normal or healthy? Absolutely fucking not."

Casey and Michelle laughed a little, as Michelle cleared her throat, dipped her brush into the water can and then applied some paint.

"But," she continued, "it's what kept me going completely bonkers. Between her and my health, I had to have something, you know?"

"I need help," Casey whispered.

"What kind of help?" Michelle asked, "Cause you've got health insurance now through this job, so you could easily get medication or some form of therapy or-"

"I need help," Casey repeated, and Michelle nodded, setting her brush down and, sitting cross legged, turned to face her.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"....I need to go to rehab," Casey whispered, almost embarrassed.

"Then that's what we'll do," Michelle said, smiling warmly.

Whatever Casey had done to suddenly be immersed in such positive genuine caring, she wasn't sure, but she sure appreciated it. Maybe the universe was finally giving her a chance to turn around. She and Michelle came from sort of the same situation, were sort of alternate ends of the spectrum of eachother, and it was nice to know that she had a friend who understood her without judgement. That was, as she knew all too well, very hard to come by. She was going to take whatever help was offered.

                                                                                                           ***

Justine held her bag in front of her as she stood by the front door, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. When she finally did, she pushed an entire enormous tupperware into her hands filled to the brim with home baked sweets. Justine just laughed as she clutched it, then let Delores hug her.

"This was so nice," Delores said, "please come by again soon."

"I wanna give you something, mom," Justine said, putting the tupperware down and opening her bag, pulling out a rectangularly shaped wrapped gift and handing it to her mother; Justine added, as she zipped her bag back up and picked up the tupperware once more, "...I made this for you. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"

"I get off work at 7," Delores said.

They hugged once more, and then Justine exited the house. Delores stood on the porch, hugging the gift to her chest and waving, and didn't go back inside until Justine's car was fully out of sight. Once she was no longer visible, Delores headed back indoors and seated herself on the couch. She slowly unwrapped the gift, and then stared at the cover; a beautiful hand painted water color and pastel colored image of a woman, who looked suspiciously similar to Delores, and a little girl who looked almost identical to Justine as a child. The title, shimmering in its glittery font, was thusly "Worlds Greatest Mom". Delores wanted to cry. She couldn't stop smiling. She began to slowly open the book, and flip through the pages, reading the story. Justine had written and illustrated and published this book specifically for her mother, and it told the true tale of a wonderful mother, and her devout dedication to her daughter.

Children really were the gift that kept on giving.

                                                                                                            ***

Eliza was sitting at her train set up in her bedroom when someone knocked on her door. She figured it was her father, coming to either ask her what she wanted for dinner, or tell her dinner was ready, so she pulled her noise cancelling headphones off and looked towards the door, saying they could come in. But as the door slowly opened, instead she was surprised to see, of all people, Beatrice standing there. Eliza raised her eyebrows in curiosity, as Bea entered and shut the door behind her.

"Um...is there somewhere I can sit?" Bea asked, her voice sounding hoarse and strained, like she'd been yelling all day.

"There's a stool over there at my desk," Eliza said, pointing across the room. Beatrice walked across the room and pulled the stool towards the tiny town table set up. She sat down on it and watched as the train headed through the town, then up into a small forest and continued round in circles like that for a bit.

"You know," Bea finally said, "when I was a child-"

"You don't have to talk," Eliza said, "you sound like you gargled rocks."

Bea just smirked and continued, "-I used to live out in the country, and for fun, my parents would take us to a nearby train station."

"Us?" Eliza asked.

"My dog and I," Bea said, "I didn't have any friends growing up, just my dog. Anyway, we used to go to this small train station, and watch it come in and leave. Rarely did anybody board, it wasn't very exciting, but there was a small, sort of quiet comfort to seeing something just doing its job. I think that's where I got the notion that just doing your job was enough. That if you dedicated your time and effort to something important enough to you, then your time spent on this world was enough, regardless of what anyone else might think. You have your puppets, Michelle has her props, you all know what I mean."

Eliza nodded as the train came around a small mountain pass. Silence filled the room as Bea sniffled and wiped her eyes on her palm before continuing.

"...but now, I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough. Maybe there's more to it. Sure, having people you love work with you is nice. Having both important things rolled up into one thing, that's a beautiful gift not everyone gets. Most people don't get. Most people don't form close, life long bonds with their coworkers. What we do, Eliza, is very special and beautiful, and I'm so grateful for you and Michelle and Liam and everyone else I get to work with on a day to day basis."

"Well, thank you, we love you too," Eliza said.

More silence. Bea watched the train as it stopped a station and waited there for a bit, smoke coming from its stack.

"My mother died this morning," she finally said, ending the silence, surprising Eliza.

"Did...did you come to me cause my mom is dead too?" Eliza asked, and Beatrice finally broke, starting to cry. Eliza scooted her seat over towards Bea's and put her arms around her, hugging her tightly as Bea sobbed. The train started again and continued along its predetermined path. Eliza watched it move, and then shut her eyes, just listening to the sound of its wheels on the track. Eliza rested her head on top of Bea's and continued to stroke her back.

It was true, though Bea wouldn't openly admit it, that she'd come to Eliza for that exact reason, but also because Eliza was bar none the most comforting person she knew. More than Michelle, more than Leslie, more than anyone else, she knew that Eliza would know, especially in this particular situation, how to help. Eliza felt like she'd inadvertantly killed her own mother, while Beatrice knew her mothers death was sudden and without warning. And yet, that one thing Beatrice couldn't shake was that feeling...the feeling she had when she awoke that morning.

"It's weird," Bea said, wiping her eyes on her arm, "it's so weird, the...the tonal shift in the world around you that you can sense when something has either happened or is about to happen. Maybe it's something only really empathetic people are aware of, but...this morning, before I even knew...I knew. I could tell something was off. The air felt stale, the world was quiet. There was just a sense of...emptiness."

"That's how that day with my mom felt," Eliza said, "something about the whole day felt off, and then after it happened, it sort of made sense why. So yeah, I get that."

"They always say you never expect it, that it...it just happens, these moments of loss, but I disagree," Bea said, "It's like people who say they saw the person they wanted to marry and knew that was who they were meant to be with, you know? Whether you're aware or not of the life changing event, you know it when it happens. You always know it when it happens."

Eliza nodded, and the two sat silently, watching the train make another complete round and coming to another stop.

"My mom's dead," Beatrice whispered.

"Mine too," Eliza replied.

And no more needed to be said. Acknowledgement was hard enough.

Casey didn't know if she belonged here.

She had been assigned as Michelle's assistant, which meant helping Michelle sculpt, paint and create new set pieces for the show, or doing upkeep on the set pieces they already had. But standing here, trying to coat Beatrice's doghouse in a new sheen of red, she had to wonder if this was really what she wanted to be doing. She thought, with her artistic skill, that she would be doing something more worthwhile for her time. The doors to the area where they worked opened and Liam walked inside with Leslie beside him. Leslie was drinking from a styrofoam cup of coffee, while Liam was carrying more coffee towards the stage where Michelle was.

"All I'm saying is that you're spending more money buying coffee than just making your own," Leslie said in between sips.

"That's hypocritical, you can't criticize the very thing you're partaking in," Liam said.

"Oh to the contrary, watch me," Leslie said, "I'm a television executive, I can make all sorts of bad decisions."

Liam laughed as they reached the stage and Michelle scooted herself to the edge, setting her sculpting tools down and reaching out as Liam handed her a cup. He then looked behind her towards Casey, who just hid her face even more from view. Liam shrugged and put the carry container on the stage, pulling his own cup from it.

"Michelle, you don't think I'm just a complainer do you?" Leslie asked.

"What are you bitching about now?" Michelle asked, making Liam laugh again.

"You know, artistic immunity doesn't mean you don't have to respect your superior," Leslie said, smirking.

"And how exactly are you superior to me?" Michelle asked, and Leslie opened her mouth to reply, then shrugged and shut her mouth; Michelle nodded, adding, "Exactly."

"How're things going?" Liam asked, nodding towards Casey. Michelle glanced back over her shoulder and sighed, then looked back at Liam and Leslie.

"It's going," she said, shrugging, "what's with all the coffee lately? You've been on some kind of kick."

"Coffee's good, also it's supposed to help reduce the risk of cancer," Liam said, "what, you don't like coffee?"

"I don't know that I ever really drank it much before I met you guys," Michelle said.

"Look at us," Leslie said, "We're such good influences."

Casey would be lying if she said she didn't want to participate, but truth be told, she'd never learned how to make friends and she sure didn't know where to start now. She knew she wanted to know these people, the people Beatrice was apparently so very close to, but she didn't know how to do that. How does one become friends? Do you just walk up, introduce yourself and invite yourself in? That seemed...rude. So instead, Casey did what she'd been doing ever since she was a little girl. Hiding in the shadows. Pretending she couldn't be seen. Hiding had long since become a defense mechanism for her, and she wasn't about to give that up just yet.

                                                                                                       ***

Eliza pushed her glasses up on her face with the bottom of her palm and then stuck her needle between her lips and pushed the puppet under the sewing machine, starting to stitch it at a faster rate. Keagan was sitting in a chair a bit aways from  the desk, enjoying the sounds of the machine whirring.

"There's something oddly comforting about the noise of a sewing machine," Keagan said, "My grandmother sewed a ton, and I remember her sewing machine was right in the living room, and when I'd sleep over when my mom worked late, I'd fall asleep to the sound of her sewing and humming to herself."

Eliza smiled.

"That's a nice memory," Eliza said, and Keagan sighed.

"Do you ever miss stuff like that? Really little seemingly inconsequential things that you can't get back? I mean, I know you lost your mom, so that's why I figure you of all people would understand what I mean," Keagan said, and Eliza sighed as she stopped sewing and turned to face Keagan in her chair.

"I don't know," Eliza said, "I guess I think of it more like...I never leave those moments. I am always in them. That way I can't miss anything. I know that's probably not considered 'healthy' but what is? I prefer to just stay in those moments because, no matter how good my present or my future might become, they'll never top the awesome power of childhood wonderment."

Keagan smirked, nodding in agreement. Everyone always talked about Eliza being mentally disabled, but the more time Keagan spent with her, the more she didn't see what they meant. Course, she also knew there was a spectrum of disability, and clearly Eliza was capable of speech and thought on an adult manner when she wanted to be. Keagan finally got up from her seat and stretched for a minute, before heading to the table where Eliza was working and looked over her work.

"You think it's about finished?" she asked.

"You tell me, it's your puppet," Eliza said, "if there's anything you want added, just let me know."

Keagan picked up the puppet, and looked it in the face. In a weird way, she felt incredibly attached to this puppet, as if it were truly an extension of herself. She felt a pang of love in her chest, and she hugged the puppet to her chest, almost feeling as if she were going to start crying. Eliza watched, smiling weakly, as Keagan just appreciated the moment.

"You know," Eliza finally said, "people don't respect puppetry anymore. Not in this age of CGI and other visual effects. Practical effects have taken a big hit, but puppetry especially. And it's weird, because as children, we saw puppets as just another living thing. We learned from them. We empathized with them. And then, at some point, we just...lose that ability. We forget the things they thought us as children, and instead become the worst versions of ourselves. Puppets are capable of doing so much for us, but we've turned out back on them. As someone who's had way too many backs turned on her...I guess I refuse to do that to something that's helped me so much."

Keagan looked up from hugging the puppet, Serena, and looked at Eliza who was now looking down at her drafting table again. Eliza sighed and pushed her glasses up again, before adjusting the bow keeping her bushy hair in a bun.

"I think you're the most human person on this show," Keagan said.

"I'd rather be a puppet," Eliza said, smirking a little.

Keagan walked up to Eliza's chair and, reaching out, engulfed her in a hug as well.

"I hope Michelle knows how lucky she is, having you," Keagan said, "and I hope she never takes you for granted."

"She doesn't, and she knows," Eliza said, "...I like hugs."

Keagan laughed a little and hugged a bit tighter. Eliza hadn't had a lot of hugs in the last few years, until she met these people and started working for Beatrice again, and now she was being smothered in affection, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

                                                                                                    ***

Michelle and Casey were sitting on the stage, unpacking their lunches. Or, rather, Michelle was unpacking the lunch Delores always made for her, while Casey was having a lunch provided by the studio because she couldn't afford food on her own. As Casey unfolded the sandwich they'd given her, and untwisted the cap on her glass soda, Michelle wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pulled open a bag of chips, then holding it out towards Casey to share, which made Casey smile weakly as she reached within it and grasped a small handful.

"Thank you," Casey said softly.

"You're pretty handy with these tools, I'm impressed," Michelle said.

"Well," Casey said, "um, I'm good with my hands in general. That's why I draw, do art."

"That's cool," Michelle said, smiling kindly as she picked up the peach Delores had packed and bit into it, speaking as she chewed, "it was nice of Bea to give you a job, especially cause I really needed help around here."

"Maybe she did it more for your sake than mine," Casey said flatly.

"Nah, Bea doesn't just do things for me. She only gives jobs to those she sees purpose in, and I think she saw herself in you," Michelle said, "that's why she hired me. Cause of my resiliance in getting the show back out in public consciousness and stuff. But I'm glad you're here, cause I really did need help, cause I can only do so much sculpting and painting and stuff on my own. Plus you deserve it."

"Nobody's ever been glad I've ever been anywhere, so...thanks, I guess," Casey said, and Michelle looked at her with those wide, comforting eyes; Casey swallowed her sandwich bite, sighed and then said, "I mean, you heard what I told that woman we met with, what was her name? Anyway. My mom was awful. That's why I spent so much of my time watching TV, and Beatrice always felt so...comforting. Like she was a mom from another place."

"She did," Michelle said, nodding in agreement as she took another bite of her peach.

"That's why I started drawing, cause she said art was a way to escape and understand pain," Casey said, "so I did just that. I found ways to escape what she was doing to me, or letting others do to me."

"Everyone needs an outlet," Michelle said.

"I can't help but feel like I don't fit in though, but that's not surprising, I've never felt like I fit in anywhere, so why should it be any different here? Even working for Beatrice, I still feel like an outsider. You all have so much history, chemistry, and I'll never reach that level no matter how long I'm here for," Casey said, "I'll always be the outsider."

Casey lifted her drink to her lips and took a very long drink, as Michelle sighed and pulled her hair back in a bushy ponytail.

"Let me tell you a story," Michelle said, "I never fit in anywhere either. Even coming here, I still felt that way. I was always a weird, introverted person who couldn't do a lot cause of my medical issues. I mean, I did what I could, I didn't let that define me, but...no matter how much you try not to let something define you, it still does. If something restricts you that much, it defines you. But there's no shame in that. So I accepted I was sick, and instead turned my focus on doing my work here until my health concerns became so great they couldn't be ignored. That's what you need to do. Give all that energy, whether positive or negative, to the art. Ignore the rest."

Casey nodded slowly, listening, taking it all in. She looked at her chipped nails in her lap and shut her eyes.

"Do you wanna see my sketches?" Casey asked.

"Absolutely!"

Casey smiled and reached to her backpack, tugging it towards her. It was covered in pins and patches, for alternative bands and various underground horror movies. Casey pulled a large black sketchbook from her bag and handed it to Michelle, who took it and opened it to gruesome drawings of monsters and creatures. She was, disgusted sure, but also impressed. Casey had real talent, especially in terms of design if not handwork. Michelle flipped through it for a bit, and then handed it back to Casey.

"You're exceedingly talented," Michelle said.

"Each monster is designed after a person who hurt me," Casey said as she tried to stuff the book back in her backpack, only for a kids storybook with a golden spine to slide out as well. Michelle reached forward and picked it up, looking at it, before Casey snatched it away. Their eyes locked, as Casey put the book back in her backpack, and Michelle just continued smiling at her.

"I think that's a very therapeutic way to handle it," Michelle said, "What's that book from?"

"...I had a babysitter," Casey said, "she used to read it to me, so now I read it when I get overwhelmed. It helps keep me calm. I have really nasty panic attacks a lot of times, and...and it helps. It helps ground me. I know that's so stupid, so childish, but it works. She was the only good part of my childhood."

"There's nothing stupid about that," Michelle said, "we all cling to what keeps us safe."

Casey nodded, understanding but not agreeing. No matter what nice things Michelle or Bea would ever say to her, she would never believe any of it herself. She knew she was total trash, and would only hurt them somehow. She excused herself, headed to the bathroom in the hall and, after locking herself in a stall, reached into her romper pocket and pulled out a bag of pills. She knelt in front of the toilet, smashed them as best as she could and snorted them, then leaned back on the floor against the stall door and started crying. Beatrice Beagle was a place designed for safety.

And Casey was anything but safe to be around.

                                                                                                        ***

Lexi was standing in the kitchen over the stove, stirring some noodles, reheating Chow Mein they'd ordered in the previous night, when she felt something on her shoulder. She smiled and turned, expecting to see Keagan but instead seeing a puppet face and she screamed, half laughing as she put a hand to her chest while Keagan cracked up and sat down at the kitchen table.

"That was terrifying, my god," Lexi said, "that was the start to about 18 horror movies."

"Isn't Serena great?" Keagan asked, plopping the puppet on her lap as Lexi turned to face her and looked.

"She's beautiful," Lexi said, smiling warmly, "Eliza did a great job. Why the name Serena?"

Keagan sighed and looked at the puppet, stroking its hair as if it were a cat in her lap.

"When I was in middle school," Keagan said, "there was this girl in my math class. She was a math wizard, she always helped me with my homework and stuff, and we weren't really 'friends' but we were friendly to one another. You know, that kind of friendship you can only have while being in school, in its own twisted little ecosystem. Anyway, she was way cool, way smart, real pretty. I kind of had a big crush on her. But then again, I had a crush on a ton of people cause, ya know, hormones. Boys, girls, teachers, didn't matter. Anyway, one day she doesn't come to school, and then for the next few days she doesn't come to school either so I just sorta assume she's sick or something."

"Was she?" Lexi asked, turning back to tend to her noodles in the pan.

"No," Keagan said, "she'd been killed by her dad. He was a nice guy, until he suddenly wasn't. It just came out of nowhere, a complete psychotic snap, and he lost it. From what I heard, when he finally realized what he'd done to her, her sister and her mother, he felt intense remorse, but I guess the weight of life got to him and he cracked. But the damage was done, and they were gone. All except her mom, who had survived and had to learn to live with half a face."

"Jeez," Lexi said, whispering in shock as she turned to look back at Keagan.

"Anyway," Keagan continued, "we used to talk about how there were, like, absolutely no good books or movies for young black girls featuring young black girls. Particularly ones who were smart like us. Sure we always got these ghetto girls, or the ones who were streetsmart, and there's nothing inherently bad about those portrayals exactly, but...but we wanted to see girls who were like us. Good with books. Good with sciences and arts. We never saw those. I figured this would be a nice way to make that happen, while immortalizing her."

Lexi walked up to Keagan as Keagan put Serena down on the table behind her and hugged Lexi around the waist. Lexi gently stroked her hair and held her.

"That's a really beautiful way to ensure horror doesn't define her," Lexi said, and Keagan nodded, crying a little as Lexi added, "and I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Keagan hadn't thought about Serena in forever, but when she was asked to help create a puppet to represent her ethnicity, that was who she immediately thought of. She just hoped that, wherever it was people wound up when they died, Serena could see what Keagan and Eliza had created, and did like it. There was only so much Keagan could realistically do, but damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest to do it.

                                                                                                      ***

There was a little place near Delores's called Chick's, where they sold hot snacks and desserts and drinks. It was an outdoor eating area, and the only people allowed inside were the people working there. Michelle and Eliza had been coming here about twice a week or so, just to get ice cream cones and then sit together outside and eat and talk, almost as if impromptu dates with simplicity. Licking her plain vanilla cone with cookie bits in it, Eliza looked around at all the other people who were here as Michelle stared dead ahead at her own cone and bit into it.

"Today was weird," Michelle said.

"Every day isn't?" Eliza asked.

"I don't know," Michelle said, "that girl, Casey, I wanna help her but I don't know if she can be helped or would even let me."

"Not every person is your responsibility," Eliza said, "sometimes, um, the best thing you can do is simply be there for them when they finally ask for help."

"And what if it's too late by then?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, continuing to lick.

"...you don't like her the way you like me, do you?" Eliza asked, before quickly apologizing, "sorry, sorry, that was, ugh...that was so dumb."

"You never have to worry about that," Michelle said, smiling and reaching across the table, touching her cheek, "nobody is ever gonna take your place. You're the only girl I wanna have ice cream dates with."

Eliza blushed, and they both started laughing.

There was a certain sense of finality between them. That this was how it was going to be for the foreseeable future, and that fact alone gave them both a sense of security and safety. That, no matter what else came along, they would always have this. Always have eachother. And in an industry where you were never sure if your show was going to be cancelled the next week or not, that level of continuity was something they needed.

That...and ice cream. Because ice cream fixes everything.