The sun peaked through the slit blinds of Leslie Swann's bedroom, splashing onto her face, making her skin warm ever so slightly. She rolled over, stretching and yawning, half her face hidden by her long bouncy hair, until she smiled, seeing Beatrice lying in bed beside her. Bea smiled back at her, reaching out and pushing Leslie's hair back behind her ear.

"When my husband and I split, after the miscarriage, I never thought I'd feel this safe in a bedroom again," Leslie said, speaking softly, "...amazing how things can change if you give them the chance."

"I'm not used to being with others," Bea said, "I'm...it makes me almost...scared."

"You don't have to be scared," Leslie said, "I know it's scary, but you never have to be scared with me. I always admired you. I was so touched when you asked if I would come on board, I couldn't believe it. And then that night..."

Bea smiled again as Leslie wiggled closer and kissed her. After it broke, Leslie rolled back over and sighed.

"People were right," Beatrice said, "It IS easy to bed women when you're famous."

Leslie couldn't help it, she broke out in contagious laughter, making Bea laugh too.

It was a good morning.

                                                                                            ***

Eliza spun around in her chair, holding up a small train, making Michelle smile.

"Do you wanna do the honors?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded, getting up from the chair and walking to the table where Eliza attached the train to the rest of the line and then stepped back, pointing at the table, adding, "on the side there, you'll see a switch, just flick it and the whole thing will turn on."

"Okay," Michelle said, fiddling around with her fingers until she finally found the switch and flicked it, the whole table coming to life; the streetlamps flickering on, the train beginning to whistle as it took off around the track that surrounded the cute little town Eliza had built. Michelle stepped back beside Eliza and admired it, hands on her hips.

"This is what God must feel like," Michelle said, making Eliza scoff.

"God doesn't see the beauty in what's made, to him creation is nothing more than an assembly line, churning out things quick and cheaply, hoping nobody will notice the shoddy craftsmanship," Eliza said, "...I'm way more invested than God in what I bring to life."

Michelle laughed, just as Eliza's father opened the bedroom door and looked inside.

"Uh, girls, you have a phone call," he said, "They're asking to talk to either one of you."

Eliza and Michelle glanced at one another, then Eliza shrugged and went back to the table, leaving Michelle to take the cordless phone Don handed her. Michelle graciously took it from him, mouthing 'thank you' as he smiled at her and exited. She lifted the phone to ear.

"Hello?" she asked, "Hi Bea. Yeah, I'm with Eliza right now."

Eliza stopped looking at her train set and looked back at Michelle, one eyebrow raised now.

"Okay, we'll be there shortly," Michelle said, before hanging up and looking at Eliza, adding, "That was Beatrice. She wants us to meet here somewhere."

                                                                                            ***

The show had been airing for a few weeks now, and the reviews were absolutely spectacular. Beatrice herself was called a "savant" by many, and one very kind write up even went so far as to state that she truly understood the child mindset, making her a remarkable asset to their developmental abilities. These reviews certainly made Beatrice feel good, better than she had in months actually, but she still preferred to stay out of the limelight and let Liam deal anything press wise.

Liam, however, also didn't seem to enjoy his newfound responsibility to talk to the press, but he did it out of respect for Bea. Sitting in his office at the network, typing away something on his keyboard, he heard a knock on the door and looked up, only to see Stephanie standing there, grinning at him as he looked up at her and adjusted his oval glasses.

"Hi," she said, "Am I interrupting?"

"I fuckin' wish," Liam said, making her chuckle as she cautiously entered the room, clearly somewhat nervous about something. She folded her arms as she began to pace in his office.

"Um...so," Stephanie said, "The show is a wild success, as we all know now. So we should talk about our next move. Obviously we still have a handful of episodes left to air this season, but we should talk about next season, and even potentially additional seasons beyond that, and also merchandising."

"Bea's not gonna go for merchandising," Liam said.

"I'm aware of that, which is partially why I'm here," Stephanie said, "You're her best friend, her closest creative ally, and I think you-"

"No," Liam said sternly, "I already screwed up my friendship with her once, and nearly lost her for good. I...I was responsible for her losing faith in the creative industry and essentially shuttering herself away from the world for like 20 years. I can't...no, Stephanie, I can't be responsible for that again, I refuse."

"We just need to have the conversation. It doesn't have to go anywhere. The higherups are pushing me to at least talk with her about this," Stephanie said.

"The higherups? You run this place!" Liam said.

"I have bosses, everyone has a boss," Stephanie said, "I just...please, talk to her."

"I...if I do, you have to promise it can't go anywhere," Liam said, "As you said, we'll simply have the conversation, and leave it at a mutual disagreement, unable to meet a ground where everyone is happy. Stephanie, I understand where you're coming from, I do. I handled all the business stuff in the past for her, and she's essentially saddling me with it again this round, but I..."

Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair, sighing deeply.

"...Bea and I go back a long way, and we have a very...complex and strange and often times strained relationship, and I will never do anything to remotely jeopardize that again. We're already getting inundated with offers from toy companies and such that I have to sift through and either outright deny or potentially approve, and only once I run the potential approvals by her. A few weeks ago, she drove me out to her parents house, and after seeing what I saw there, I simply cannot morally allow any further bastardization of something so deeply personal and important to her."

This remark piqued Stephanie's curiosity, as she seated herself on the edge of Liam's desk.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's not really my place to expand upon it, honestly," Liam said, "maybe she'll tell you someday. All I'll say is this...if you try and make something out of Beatrice Beagle beyond her comfort zone, you'll be actively attacking a part of herself. This dog...is not just a character to Bea."

Stephanie left Liam's office shortly after this discussion, all the more curious about Bea's past. She figured she'd approach Bea about it next time she saw her, and until then, well, she'd just let sleeping dogs lay.

                                                                                                  ***

Michelle, driving with Eliza in the passenger seat, was curious why Bea wanted to meet with them. Eliza adjusted the air conditioner to blow directly on her face, and shut her eyes, enjoying it as her hair blew back. Michelle couldn't help but smile at appreciating such simplicity. After a few moments, Eliza looked at Michelle and adjusted her big glasses.

"Um," Eliza said, "...can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Michelle said happily.

"Beatrice is sort of like...a parent to you, in some way, right?" Eliza asked.

"Beatrice isn't like a parent, she's...it's hard to explain. She's kind of like...my conscience, in a way," Michelle said, "Beatrice Beagle, the character, showed me how to like myself and how to be happy when I was a sick little girl. She often felt like the only friend I had. I understand parasocial relationships aren't healthy, but at the same time, what kind of relationship is? I mean they're all variations, right? No relationship is 100% healthy."

"This isn't parasocial," Eliza said, chewing on her necklace, "You actually know Beatrice."

"I do, but...at the same time, it's a very broad generalized knowing, you know what I mean? I do know her, but not in the same way that Liam, or even you, knows her. You know her extremely well," Michelle said, "and over time we will get to know one another better and better, but, right now..."

Eliza nodded, looking at her glittery nails and sighing.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eliza asked.

"Always."

"After my mom died, I used to pretend Bea was my mom. In my head, I mean. I would, uh, go into these maladaptive daydreams and fantasize about what it'd be like if Bea was my mom. Beatrice was always so comforting, and so trusting, and she always believed in me and my skills. My mom loved me, I can't deny that, but she did sometimes make remarks that I could've done more. My mom wanted me to reach for something I couldn't grab, but Bea was just happy with what I was able to hold at all."

Michelle smiled, tears swelling in her eyes.

"I don't know. That level of acceptance is, to me, far better," Eliza said, "No expectations, just joyous respect."

As the car pulled up to a stop at a storage unit, they saw Leslie standing outside, waving at them. They hadn't expected to see her here, but Eliza rolled down her window as they approached so Leslie could bend over and tell them to pull into the lot and then follow her, which they did. After parking and getting out, they followed Leslie into another area of the unit, until they finally saw Beatrice leaning against the wall, spinning a keyring around her index finger.

"They're here," Leslie said.

"Thank you," Bea said politely, "You guys, all of you, need to follow me please."

The three women followed Bea to a staircase, and up it to the second, then the third and finally the fourth floor. By the time they reached the floor, Michelle was leaning against a wall, panting, as she pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took a few puffs. Eliza stopped and walked back to her, kneeling down, touching her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Michelle said, "Just...wish this place had an elevator."

Eliza helped Michelle back up and together they caught back up with Bea and Leslie, who had by this point stopped at a unit near the end of the floor. Bea was pushing a key into the lock attached to the unit and clicking it open, removing the lock. She then turned and looked at the three women, smiling at each of them as their eyes made contact.

"I asked you three to come here because...outside of Liam, you guys are my best friends, and...and you're who I trust to open myself up to the most," Bea said, "that's why I need help cleaning this out."

All Michelle could think about was the unit Liam had taken her to months previously, and now here she was, back at another storage unit. How many buried secrets did this people have? Bea reached to the handle and lifted the door up, then reached inside and pulled the string on the light hanging from the ceiling, blasting the unit with blinding brightness. After the woman were finished shielding their eyes momentarily, they each stared ahead at the interior, each unsure of how to react.

Inside the unit sat a plethora of things, ranging from photo albums of Beatrice and her family to boxes of rejected various merchandise to, of all things, suit prototypes. As they each entered the unit, Bea stepped back, folding her arms and clearing her throat.

"Up until now, even with knowing each of you for various lengths of time, I've remained kind of a mystery, and for this to work, I can't be an island anymore. I want you to look through these things, ask me questions, and then help me move it out of here. It's time to stop living in the past."

Eliza asked Bea about her parents, while Michelle asked Bea about the stuff from the show, while Leslie just sat in silence, smiling, enjoying seeing Bea finally open up to people. She had a feeling this was going to be a wonderful partnership. Lying in bed that morning, Bea had talked about how secrets were the one thing holding her back from those she wanted to connect with most, and how she was finally ready to be free of them. How her parents had never lied to her, how her parents had taught her to be an honest person, and show business was what had driven her to create fabrications, how grief had managed to manifest untruths in order to cope. But she was ready to move past all of that now, and she made a promise to never lie to those she loved.

If only she knew the irony.

                                                                                                 ***

It was dark, and Amelia Burden was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. She was 11 years old, and she was in her pajamas, ready to get into bed. The only issue was that Beatrice wouldn't come inside. It was getting dark, and Bea was outside barking her head off, despite how many times Amelia had called for her to come in. Gordon, standing, watching his daughter brush her teeth, kissed the top of her head as she passed him on the way exiting the bathroom.

"I can't sleep without her," Amelia said.

"I'll get her in, you just get in bed and she'll join you. She's a dog, sweetheart, she needs to bark," Gordon said, smiling as he led his daughter to her bedroom.

Amelia climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. Gordon tucked her in, kissed her nose and knelt by her bedside.

"I love you, and I hope you have sweet dreams," Gordon said, "I'll go get Bea, okay? When you wake up, she'll be right here with you as always, I promise."

Amelia smiled and nodded, yawning. She was sleepy, actually. With that promise, she felt like she could actually go to sleep comfortable with the knowledge that her dog would be with her the following morning. Gordon headed back downstairs, made himself a bowl of ice cream and then sat in his recliner to finish reading the chapter of the book he was currently engrossed in. He'd go get Bea after he finished this. A few minutes later, he heard the backdoor open swiftly and his wives shoes tapping on the floor as she rushed to the living room. Gordon turned to look at her; her hair a mess, her eye makeup running, she was covered in dirt and blood.

"...what the hell?" he muttered.

"gordon," she whispered, "you need to come."

Gordon immediately got up and, after pulling on his jacket and grabbing a flashlight, followed his wife outside, the two speaking in hushed voices as they walked briskly across the field, towards the road.

"Jesus it's cold tonight," Gordon said, "What's happened?"

"it's terrible, and i don't...i don't know what to do, and..." Gloria muttered, "i needed you."

"Well I'm here, I'll fix it, whatever it is."

"no..." Gloria said, stopping and looking at him, "...you can't fix this."

A few moments later they reached the road, and Gordon immediately knew she was right. His stomach dropped, the wind knocked out of him. Lying there, dragged to the side of the road - presumably by Gloria, noting the blood on her clothes now - was Beatrice's body. Gordon approached the dog cautiously, and then knelt down, running his hand over her soft fur. He shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly, tears rolling down his face. It was over. She was already dead. After a few moments, he stood up and approached Gloria, putting the flashlight in her hands and then putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Listen to me, okay?" he asked, seeing her nod as he continued, "you're going to take Bea back to the house, and you're going to bury her. Do it deep. Use the good shovel from the shed, okay? Then wash your clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. Do not let Amelia wake up, okay? I'm going to go into town."

"What are you going to do?" Gloria asked.

"I'm going to find a new dog," Gordon said.

He'd made a promise, and god dammit he was going to keep it.

Gloria did as she was told. She went back, got a wheelbarrow, managed to hoist Beatrice's body into it and then take it back as quietly as she could. Once back at the house, she found the shovel and quickly dug a deep hole. As she looked at Bea's body in the wheelbarrow, she wanted to throw up. She reached down and kissed the dogs soft head, trying not to weep loudly. She told the dog that she was loved, and that she was sorry this had happened. She promised they'd find whoever had hit her. They never would. Then she lifted Bea's body out of the wheelbarrow and plopped it into the grave, quickly burying it and making it look natural. Then she went inside and she took a shower, washed her clothes, and went to bed.

Gordon had read an ad in the paper recently about someone close by who had a dog they were trying to get rid of because it was too much work for them as they got up there in age, and he drove there immediately. He explained the situation, realized the dog looked nearly identical to Beatrice, and he paid cash. Sitting in the truck on the way back to the house, he glanced over occasionally at this imposter Bea and shook his head.

"She can never know," he said, as if the dog would respond somehow, "okay? She can never find out about this."

He was surprised when the dog nuzzled his arm and licked his hand. He took that as an oath of trust. When he got home, he put Bea's collar around the new dogs neck, carried it up the stairs, carefully opened Amelia's bedroom door and put the dog on the bed before retreating. He went back downstairs, took a shower, did his own laundry, and afterwards, in his pajamas, found his bowl of ice cream now melted. He wasn't even mad about the waste. He could let some ice cream go to waste. He couldn't let his daughters faith go to waste. He washed his bowl, and he went to bed.

The following morning, when Amelia awoke, she was none the wiser. She and Beatrice were tight as ever, and she never learned of the extremes her parents had gone to keep this horrible tragedy hidden from her. Years later, when Amelia put Beatrice to sleep after she'd been riddled with cancerous tumors, it was a loss brought on by her own accord, not a loss life handed to her. It was natural, not cruel. After Bea was put down, when Amelia had gone back to college, her parents sat at their dinner table, each sipping a mug of coffee.

"...we did the right thing," Gordon said, "she didn't have to say goodbye twice."

"She didn't, but we did," Gloria said, making Gordon grimace.

"That dog made this family," Gordon said, "I wasn't about to let that dogs absence tear us apart."

"We're good parents, right?" Gloria asked, and Gordon, reaching across the table and holding his wifes hand gently, smiled at her.

"She's never hated us yet," Gordon said, "and that counts for something."

Oh yes, if only she knew the irony.

Eliza Tartt was standing over her mothers headstone, looking down at the name, feeling like she was going to be sick. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she noticed her father shuffling up beside her. Don sighed as he pulled his daughter a little closer and looked at the headstone with her.

"It was a nice service, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You did a good job," Don said quietly, "She'd be proud of you. She always was."

Eliza appreciated the kind words her father was giving her, but she didn't really believe it. She only knew deep down two things for certain. The first was that she was an expert puppet maker, and the second...was that she'd killed her mother. Oh sure, it was an accident, but they'd been involved in it because of her, and that was something nobody could ever convince her otherwise of.

                                                                                             ***

"Well, here's to wrapping everything up," Leslie said, clinking her glass together with Bea, clinking it with Liam as well before taking a swig from it, adding as she licked her lips, "You know guys, I'm really grateful you asked me to come on board."

"I'm glad you agreed to," Bea said.

"I just saw the fire in your eyes, and I could tell you really were dedicated to it again," Leslie said, "So here's to hoping everyone else sees that same dedication when it starts to air. Any plans beyond this celebratory post filming night of debauchery?"

"I'm gonna go to Disneyland," Liam said, making them laugh; he chuckled at his own joke then said, "actually, I think I am gonna go out of town for a while. I haven't had a vacation in years, and I could certainly use one, especially after everything that's happened. Last vacation I took was when Marvin and I..."

He paused and looked at his drink, almost as if he were debating whether or not to say this out loud.

"...was when we went to Canada, and saw Niagra Falls on our way up," he continued, "we went on the Maid of the Mist boat ride, went underneath the falls. That was pretty spectacular, and I always wanted to go back, but...few weeks later he was dead, so."

"You should take that vacation," Bea said, patting his hand and smiling warmly.

"I actually already bought tickets," Liam said, "I should probably get home early tonight so I can finish packing and get some sleep before heading out tomorrow."

"I'll probably just hermit myself for a while," Bea said, "I never get alone time during shooting, so I kind of need it after the shoot's over. Need time to recharge, you know?"

"I understand. As a hermit myself, I completely get why it's necessary," Leslie said.

"Well then, here's to the Beagle, she rides again," Liam said, the three of them clinking their glasses once again before all drinking once more.

                                                                                             ***

Eliza heard the door to The Hole open and turned in her chair to see Michelle coming in.

"Oh," Eliza said, setting her puppet down on the work table, "...hi."

"Bea asked me to come out with her and Liam, but I'm running kind of late. You wanna go? I'm finally leaving now."

"Where's...you know, your friends?" Eliza asked.

"Keagan? She and Lexi had things to do. But I meant to ask you all day and I just kept getting sidetracked," Michelle said, pulling her inhaler from her pocket and huffing on it before stuffing it quickly back in her pocket, "but if you don't wanna go-"

"No, I'll go!" Eliza said, quickly getting up from her chair and grabbing her coat, pulling it on and joining Michelle as they exited The Hole and walked down the hallway towards the parking lot; Eliza continued, "I'm surprised Bea didn't, uh, I guess come say something. She usually tells me."

"She was busy today," Michelle said, "Final editing and everything, so. I only learned about it when Liam mentioned it and then she brought it up to me when she saw me around lunchtime. Usually she tells me that kind of stuff too, but, like I said...busy."

"...thanks for asking," Eliza said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "I don't...I'm not used to people asking me to go with them anywhere."

Michelle smiled and patted her back, "We're friends! That's what friends do!"

Eliza smiled. She liked that. She liked having friends.

                                                                                               ***

Leslie brought the table a few club sodas, taking a break from the champagne, setting the glasses down on the table. Bea quickly pulled hers towards herself and sipped it through the straw. Liam had left a short while before this, so it was just the women now. Bea exhaled deeply as she sat back in her seat and looked across the table at Leslie, who was also sipping her drink.

"It's kind of remarkable when you think about it," Bea said.

"What is?" Leslie asked, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Just...everything that's happened, really. Michelle and Keagan finding me, discovering how much the show actually meant to some people, getting a new deal for a new batch of episodes, just...everything, you know? It feels surreal. Having people be respectful of my work instead of simply using it to shill their product. That one especially surprises me."

"Showbusiness is a fickle bitch and it doesn't care who it hurts," Leslie said, "And people think streaming services are the saviors, and they might be for a short time. Willing to take on the things a normal broadcast network wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole because it doesn't have an automatic built in audience, but...that's changing, and quickly. They're becoming a less restrictive yet more brutal version of cable, honestly. Sure, they'll take your project on, but if it isn't immediately globally successful, then nuts to you."

"You sound bitter," Bea said, smirking, "I like it. It's a good look for you."

Leslie threw her head back, laughing loudly, "God! Thanks! I'm not bitter, I'm just...it hurts. As someone who works in the industry, grew up on the industry, it saddens me to see it become what it is. I was at an industry party once and I was talking to someone whose show had gotten canceled after just one season on a streaming network, and they were saying how much the network promoted it, and how much of a budget they gave them and how little notes they had to deal with, and then a week after it drops they were canned because nobody 'binged' it. Streaming networks don't seem to realize that people have lives, responsibilities, and we can't just sit glued for hours to our couches watching the same thing, besides, it simply isn't enjoyable that way. Everything is so easily digestible and just as easily disposable because of it. Anyway, after she told me that, she said 'nobody makes a show now, they make content', and that always stuck with me."

"She's not wrong," Beatrice said.

"I guess that's why I have remarkable respect for you, because you genuinely appreciate what it is you're doing, and the impact it can really have on others," Leslie said, "and that...there's just something so...refreshing about that, I guess."

"It's getting loud in here, let's go for a walk," Bea said, standing up and pulling her jacket on. Leslie did the same, and the two headed out of the bar and grill, onto the sidewalk outside. Fairly empty, a cool night just before summer, and the streetlamps glowed softly overhead.

"I was scared," Beatrice said, "I really was, to come back. I was afraid that, you know, I'd just get taken advantage of again, and that nobody would respect me or what I was trying to do."

"I think you found a good place to be," Leslie said, "After talking with Steph for a bit, she seems to be more level headed than most streaming network bosses, and bringing me on board definitely helps, since I work with public broadcasting. The two of us can really get into the nitty gritty of it without involving you, which I think is good for your mental health."

"...I came up with Beatrice in college," Bea said softly, "it was just a way for me to cope with things, and eventually I started putting on one man shows downtown, and that's where I met Liam. He believed in what I was doing, but Liam also allowed himself to get starstruck and carried away with the faux glitter that is Hollywood. That's why he sold us out, much as I might've begged him not to. I understand why, and...and I do forgive him now, but for so long it made me so wary of trusting anyone who told me they believed in me or my work."

"Did you not believe Michelle?"

"At first, I think I was...cautious, yeah. I just thought she was another over enthusiastic fan and that...ya know...once she met me perhaps that interest would wane, but when she showed me the set in her basement, that really changed everything. That's when, I think, I really started to understand the profound impact something can have on someone else, even twenty years after the fact."

Leslie chewed on her lip and nodded, thinking. Beatrice reached down and slipped her hand into Leslie's, surprising her. She squeezed gently, but didn't look at her, and didn't say anything. Leslie smiled. Together, the two of them continued down the street, together, yet alone.

                                                                                            ***

"I guess we missed them," Michelle said as she and Eliza took a seat in a booth near the back. They both pulled off their coats, and Michelle started eating from the complimentary bowl of chips on the table as Eliza let her hair down.

"I never go to places like this," Eliza said.

"I usually don't either, and I wouldn't have if I didn't think she was still going to be here," Michelle said, "...so how did you wind up knowing Bea?"

"She hired me for the original show. She had a little get together with college kids who knew how to sew and make puppets, and I was the one she picked. She was always very kind to me. She paid for my medical bills after I was in a car accident and lost my mom."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle said, "I didn't know. Sounds like something Bea would do though. She's rarely interested in her own happiness, and far more invested in making sure others are happy, even if it means making it happen herself."

"You're not wrong, she, uh, she should probably should focus on her own happiness now and then," Eliza said, "I mean, I know that she loves the show, and that that makes her happy, but still, she should have something to focus on when the show isn't in production. It's like me with my puppets. I love them, but at home I work on model trains."

"I don't...I don't think I really have anything outside of the show either," Michelle said, "I should probably get a hobby."

"You could come see my trains!" Eliza said excitedly, immediately feeling weird for being so joyous about it, adding, "I...I mean, you know...if you want to."

"That would be cool, yeah," Michelle said, smiling.

After they spent a little time, having a few appetizers, the two pulled their jackets back on and piled back into Michelle's car, heading to Eliza's. When they arrived, all the lights were off, meaning Don wasn't home, so Eliza didn't feel self conscious about bringing someone home. She shut the door once they had gotten inside, and told Michelle she could hang her jacket on the coat hanger by the door, which she did. Eliza asked if she'd want something to drink, and Michelle said sure, making Eliza rush out to the kitchen. While she waited, Michelle strolled down the hall, looking at the photos of Eliza as a child, and with her parents. She smiled at these when she heard Eliza reenter the room, handing Michelle a juice box, which Michelle gladly took.

"Sorry, it's all I have," Eliza said softly, almost as if she were embarrassed.

"It's perfectly fine," Michelle said, chuckling, "Was this your mom?"

"Yeah..." Eliza said, "...I miss her."

"I have a mom but we don't get along, so a lot of times it feels like I don't," Michelle said.

"I feel like I killed my mom," Eliza said quietly, "I know it isn't actually my fault, I'm not stupid, but...I can't help but feel responsible for it. If she hadn't been driving me, if I'd learned to drive myself...I don't know. Everything just...feels like it was because of me."

"Oh, don't say that," Michelle said, turning to face Eliza, "You couldn't have known, nor would you have meant for it to. Terrible things happen every single day to perfectly decent people. My family is a great example. My mother wanted to live vicariously through me, was mad when she couldn't, then decided to continue being an artist instead of a mother, or both. My father, well, the less said there the better. But I'm not the cause of my familys rifts, and I'm certainly not the cause of my health problems. These things happen."

Eliza nodded and began to head up the stairs, Michelle in tow. As they entered her bedroom, Michelle was awestruck by the amounts of puppets and miniature model towns covered with model trains filling the room. She grinned wide as she could, almost feeling intensely jealous.

"This is so cool," she said quietly.

"This one's my favorite," Eliza said, pointing at a very small table with an entire model town built on it, "because, well, it just is. I like the colors. It looks like a good place to live."

"You know, I built a set in my basement," Michelle said, "and after a while I realized I was living more in a fantasy world than reality, but really, where's the harm in that if it's making me happy and it isn't damaging anyone else? I think that's what Beatrice sees more than anything, is the ability to reconnect with the real through the unreal. Children live in fantasy worlds, and the best adults don't ever fully grow up."

Eliza smiled. She knew she could trust Michelle.

"They call me the Puppet Master," Eliza said, "and I like to think it's, uh, just because I'm, well, ya know, good with puppets. But truth is, I'm also pretty good with people, when I wanna be. I know exactly how to manipulate them to get them to do whatever I want, or get them to do the things they wanna do but are too afraid to."

"...like what?"

"Like be alone with someone they might otherwise not have been alone with," Eliza said, "That's why I told Bea not to wait for us."

"...what?"

"I knew she and Leslie needed some time together," Eliza said, "I hope you're not mad at me. Sorry you got roped into it, I just...I knew they needed time to talk."

"I'm not mad, no, I'm impressed if anything," Michelle said, chuckling, "you really do know how to pull strings."

                                                                                                  ***

Walking up the steps to Leslie's house, Bea pointed at the porch light and Leslie sighed as she dug her keys out of her purse.

"I knooow, it's been doing that for months," she said, "I keep reminding myself to fix it, and I just never do. One of these days, when I'm not swamped in work."

"I could fix it for you," Bea said, "It would take all of 5 minutes."

"That's very appreciative, thank you," Leslie said, "You really are a jack of all trades aren't you?"

Leslie, now holding her keys in her hand, turned back to Bea and looked at her. In this soft glow of this flickering porch lamp, she looked...different. Warmer. Almost comforting. Leslie smiled and jangled her keys as she tossed her hair back a little.

"Thanks for letting me join you tonight, and in general," Leslie said, "It's nice to be a part of something I can feel proud of, not that I'm not proud of my work or whatever, but you know what I mean."

"...can I ask you a question?" Bea asked, and Leslie nodded.

"Sure," she replied.

"...you ever get the feeling that, in some way, you're lost? Like, you have your life, your friends, your job, but something still doesn't feel right? I thought finding people like Michelle would help, and it has, she's my best friend besides Liam, and I thought getting the show back would help, and it has, and I can't wait to see it start airing now that the editing is all done, but...it still feels like there's a hole inside you that you can't fill with anything? It was full, once, when I had a dog. It's never really been full since then though."

"I think I know what you mean," Leslie said, "I...I keep going on dates and it never works, and I keep wanting to push new projects but they don't get funding, and I just feel oddly stagnant despite my life going well. It's like nobody really understands me, even though I'm surrounded by people who theoretically do. And then, at night, I lie in bed and I think about my life and my career and my goals, and I realize that even if I got everything I ever wanted, even if I somehow found a way to achieve everything I sought out to do...I'm still alone, and there's nobody there to tell me victories to. Nobody to hold me when it gets bad."

"Exactly," Bea said, stepping up one stair, getting closer, "and sometimes you're scared, right? You're scared of trying because you think that, no, that can't be who I am, I can't be this way, especially when I work in a public field like entertainment where I'm constantly viewed and recognized and held up as an example. But don't we all deserve that? No matter what career we wind up in, we all deserve to have that person we come to, that we tell our secrets and fears and successes to. That person who just...maybe they don't understand, fully, but they try, and more than that, they're there."

Leslie dropped her keys back into her purse and let her purse slide off her arm and onto the porch.

"I don't know if I can do it," Leslie whispered, almost as if she was going to cry, but Bea gently wiped her tears from her face with her hand and smiled back at her.

"It's okay, nobody knows if they can," Bea said, "but that dog I had, she taught me the one thing that dogs all know, which is to leap brazenly into the unknown. Chase cars that you may never catch, because it's better than being too afraid to try."

Leslie nodded and looked at her shoes, crying.

"...you want to come in?"

"I'd love to come in."

Leslie picked up her purse again, finding her keys and opening the door, letting Bea walk past her. As she shut the door, she thought about what she was doing, and she realized she didn't care suddenly what anyone else might think. Afterwards, when she and Beatrice were lying in bed, Bea spooning her close, her face shoved against her shoulderblade, Leslie realized she was right about what dogs do. They chase the unattainable, they enjoy the simple pleasures, and, above all else, they comfort you when you least expect it. It'd been a while since Leslie had had a dog in her bed.

She'd forgotten just how much she'd missed it.

If there was one thing Keagan Stills had heard time and time again, it was resigned reluctance to allowing her to be involved in something. Sure, she could come to the sleepover. Sure, she could be on our soccer team. Sure, she could get a job with the network too. All her life Keagan had been the odd one out, and now, sitting here and watching Michelle so easily become friends with the makeup girl and the puppet maker on the show, she could feel it happening once again. And she knew why. She knew why even if they didn't know why.

Because she was black.

She was certain this time it wasn't intentional, it was simply innate for white folks to exclude her because society has told them it's okay to do so. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell though. Suddenly she heard someone shuffle up behind her and seat themselves beside her. She stopped eating her yogurt and turned to look at Beatrice, who was sitting next to her now.

"Hey," Keagan said, and Bea smiled warmly.

"Hello Keagan," she said, unfurling her paper bag to gather her lunch from, "how are you today?"

"...you're a human, right?"

"So they tell me."

"Why are interpersonal relationships so much harder to maintain than simple conversations with strangers? Wouldn't it be the opposite way? Shouldn't it be that, over time, as you get closer to someone, you wouldn't have to work that hard for things to be good between you?" Keagan asked as Beatrice opened a small plastic container and started eating apple slices and cheese. Keagan couldn't help but chuckle at her lunch. She even ate like the demographic she made the show for.

"Let me ask you a question," Beatrice said, "let's say you rent an apartment, and you never have to worry about it because you know it's just a temporary domicile, right? Eventually you move into a real home, and that requires constant upkeep, but at least you know it's yours, and something to be proud to have. Which one is more worth the effort?"

"In this economy?" Keagan asked, making Bea laugh as she continued, "The house, I guess."

"Exactly," Beatrice said, "sure it takes more effort, more work, but its something worthwhile. Sure, we'd all love to just have things so good we can take them for granted all the time, but that just isn't how things work, sadly. Some things, most things arguably, take a lot of work, or at the very least, the bare minimum of work."

Keagan looked back at the table where Eliza, Clara and Michelle were eating lunch together and laughing. She sighed and stood up, tossing her empty yogurt container in the trashcan before looking at Bea.

"You might be right, but the effort shouldn't always fall on me," Keagan said before turning and heading back inside to her office. Bea watched her go, then glanced to the table she had been looking at, and she understood.

                                                                                  ***

"My dad said I can't be friends with you anymore," the boy said in the school library, "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."

"Why not?" Keagan asked, standing there somewhat in shock as she asked, "we...we've been friends since 4th grade! Why is it a problem now?!"

The boy sighed, looked around, then leaned in and lowered his voice, saying, "he says it's because you're black."

It had always been because she was black. Her skin color had always been the sole determining factor in either her exclusion or inclusion. She was either the token black child at birthday parties or she wasn't invited because she was black. It never failed. Depending on what district the school she currently attended had been in, she was either held up as an example of excellency, or ignored because they didn't want black students to be equals, even though she'd always been the best student at all her schools.

"They're intimidated," her father had once told her, "they're scared of you because they know you're so capable, and thusly capable of making their own children look as dumb as they actually are."

But Keagan didn't care about the reasoning, she wanted friends, not adversaries, and certainly didn't want the adversaries she had to be the parents of the very kids she wanted to be friends with. It was one thing for a peer not to like her, that she could take, but an adult who'd never met her? To dislike her purely because of the color of her skin? That sickened her. Which is why, when Keagan was finally hired by the fast food place and started working with Lexi, she was surprised at how welcoming Lexi had been, and why, when she and Michelle had finally met, she was surprised at how kind Michelle had actually been, and suddenly it all made sense.

Hatred was taught, not innate. Those kids had been taught to dislike her, and these women were grown ass adults who knew better.

Which is what made her accidental exclusion from the current group hurt even all that much more.

                                                                                      ***

"I'd like to do a show on racism," Keagan said, sitting with Beatrice, Michelle, Eliza, Stephanie and Leslie in Steph's office.

"...well, that's an admirable concept, certainly, and one that's rife for discussion amongst kids," Stephanie said, "but how would that work?"

"I was thinking that Eliza could make a puppet and I could voice it, and we could base the entire episode around a black woman who's moved into the neighborhood because she felt she didn't belong anywhere else, and learns through Beatrice and her friends that she belongs just as much as anyone else," Keagan said.

"I could make you a puppet," Eliza said softly.

"Tackling big subjects like this on childrens shows is often good for notoriety, it could get some pundits discussing us," Stephanie said.

"I don't wanna do it for the acknowledgement, I wanna do it because it's right," Keagan said, and Beatrice smiled. She knew this girl reminded her of herself, and know she knew why. She had the same moral compass that Bea herself had once had in her fiery youth.

"I'm definitely on board," Leslie said, "I think children who learn about things at an early age are far more understanding than if they are taught after prejudices have already begun to form. I think Keagan has the right idea, and I think we should support her on this. After all, isn't the whole idea of having a platform to use it for the betterment on mankind? To push progressiveness forward?"

Keagan couldn't help but smile. Sure a lot of it sounded performative, but she knew Leslie's heart was in the right place. Michelle finally spoke up.

"I think it's a good idea too," she said, "I'm not black, but I experienced a lot of prejudice myself thanks to my health issues. Growing up was hell, with kids making fun of my inability to breath properly. I know it isn't the same, but I feel like it's in the general ballpark at least."

Steph chewed on the cap to her pen, then shrugged.

"Alright, if this is what you wanna do, let's do it," she said.

Out in the hall, as everyone dispersed and Eliza went to go start work on the puppet, Keagan stopped Michelle in front of the snack machine, grabbing her by the shoulder. Michelle continued to push quarters into the machine as she smiled at her friend.

"Thank you," Keagan said.

"Hey," Michelle said, "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you reaching out to me. Honestly, you have just as much control here as anyone."

"Sure doesn't feel like it. Every day you and the other girls all eat lunch together and...I just...I don't feel welcome or comfortable joining you, and it isn't because of you guys, but because I've been conditioned to believe I don't belong in your white circle. That isn't fair, to you or me. I wanna make this episode so that other little black girls don't grow up feeling as left out, ignored or outright hated as I did when I was their age. So they can turn on the TV, see someone who looks like them being accepted, and think 'yeah, I DO deserve that kind of humanity and kindness', not because someone decided they did, but because they actually do, because they're human."

"I understand," Michelle said, grabbing her candy bar from the drop tray and unwrapping it, breaking it in half and sharing it with Keagan as they walked down the hall, each eating their pieces; Michelle pushed her hair from her face, and said, "I'll never know what you went through, my reasons for being hated are far different from yours. Racial hatred and disability hatred are two very different things, even if they are part of the same general sphere, but I want you to know you're not alone, and that I'm your friend."

"I know I'm not alone, and I know you're my friend. It's just that my whole adolescence I had to put up with either being the perfect African American child at my school, or that African American child at my school. Anytime I would go into a new school, it'd start all over again. Am I an example this time, or a target? Same thing with trying to find work. Do they really want me to work with them because they believe in my skillset, or because I make their progressive ideals look realistic? Am I simply a marketing tool used to portray the companies forward thinking diversity? It's so hard to separate all that and come away with an identity that isn't wrapped up in my skin color. And that isn't to say that I'm not proud to be black, because I am, I'm very happy with who I am, but...but I'd be lying if I said the perception others have of me because of my blackness hasn't damaged my self worth a bit."

Michelle stopped and leaned against a wall, finishing her half of the candy bar and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She then exhaled deeply and spoke again.

"When I was 12, I was invited to a birthday party. I was thrilled, because I never got to go to parties. I just didn't have friends, really. But when I got there, I discovered I was early and nobody else had shown up yet. They'd told me to actually come a few hours before the party started, because they wanted to use my oxygen tank to fill up their balloons."

"Jesus," Keagan said, sounding genuinely disgusted.

"After that, I didn't go to any other parties, even on the rare chance I was invited to one. And that one? I didn't stay. I mean, I stayed, but I stayed in the garage where nobody could see me," Michelle said, "Everyone who's labeled different by society has these kinds of stories. Stories where our difference is met with either indifference or outright disdain, and that's why I wanna make your episode, because, yeah, no child should have to feel like they don't belong simply because they're different in some way. Children, more than anyone else, should feel they have the right to exist and be treated as equals. When I was in the hospital, I watched a lot of Beatrice on the hospital TV, and it was what comforted me. I want it to comfort others now too, and that's what Bea wants as well."

Keagan smiled and hugged Michelle, who happily hugged her back.

"Thank you," Keagan whispered.

"You're my best friend, Keagan," Michelle said, "I know we haven't spent much time together lately, but that doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend."

From down the hall, near the water fountains, Bea stood and watched. Suddenly a cactus puppet popped out from around the corner and looked at her, and she looked at it and scoffed joyfully.

"Boy you really are the thing that brings others together, ain'tcha?" Liam asked in his puppet voice, before appearing beside her.

"Sometimes I think about the fact that the show was used to primarily promote a pizzeria, and I get angry," Bea said, "but then I see these girls work together, believe in what they're doing, and I realize there was purpose within that promotion. Maybe what we did wasn't all bad after all."

"That's the spirit," Liam said, patting her on the back before walking off to the set, leaving Beatrice there to think.

                                                                                    ***

"How was work?" Keagan's father, Mitchell, asked as he came into the kitchen.

Keagan had been spending more time at her parents lately, and she'd enjoyed his company. She was waiting for Lexi to get out of class for the evening so they could go to dinner, so she was doing some inventory work in the meantime.

"I got the network to listen to my idea, and agree with me," Keagan said as Mitchell opened up the fridge and too out a can of root beer, then grabbed another for his daughter. He slid it across the table to her before seating himself and popping the top of his can.

"Really? Well good on you, then! I always told you you could make people do whatever you wanted," Mitchell said.

Keagan put her pen down on top of her calculator and grabbed the soda. She popped the top open, took a few sips, then looked at her father as she pulled her bushy hair back into a big ponytail and tied it up. She sighed and smiled.

"Dad, when you were a kid, did you get picked last for stuff, or not invited to things because you were black?" she asked.

"All the damn time," Mitchell said, "but you know, the funny thing about that is how it made me see myself. Sure, I couldn't let it hurt my self worth, slaughter my self esteem, but I just told myself I was too cool for them, and really, they were the ones missing out. I know girls have it harder, so that probably wouldn't have worked for you, but I always thought that about you. Whenever you'd come home crying about not being included in this or that, I just thought to myself "man, what a badass I'm raising" because not only did you let others see how it affected you, being open with your feelings, but you soldiered and and became better than them anyway."

Keagan blushed and took another long sip of her drink before they heard the front door open and her mother, Lauren, come in with Lexi right behind her.

"She was at the front door," Lauren said, "Poor girl couldn't knock cause her hands were so damn full."

"I'm so sorry," Keagan said, standing up and helping Lexi put her things on the kitchen table.

"What are you guys talking about?" Lexi asked, tossing her blonde hair out of her face as she started to sit down and take a few sips from Keagan's can.

"Just how cool it is to raise a kid," Mitchell said, "and what a cool kid we raised."

He then stood up and escorted Lauren out of the room, leaving Keagan and Lexi together. Once they were sure the room was empty, Keagan grabbed Lexi by the shoulders and kissed her deeply, surprising her. Lexi didn't mind though, and happily kissed her back. The girls didn't know it, but Mitchell and Lauren were watching just outside of view, and smiling as they started to head up the stairs to their bedroom.

"She didn't need to be included in anything," Mitchell said, "She gets more tail than all those stupid white boys who made her feel bad ever do."

"You're just jealous," Lauren said.

"I can't be jealous, not being married to you. How could I possibly have gotten anyone better?" Mitchell asked, making Lauren laugh as he kissed her cheek.

That's the thing about being a black sheep, Keagan would think later that night, while watching Lexi sleep, basking in the warm blue glow of the television light...you might not belong to the flock, but there's a lot of other black sheep out there who are more than happy to have you.

You just gotta find 'em.

Delores Stiltskon was sitting at her breakfast table eating her morning oatmeal, drinking coffee, reading a magazine. It was raining outside, like it had been lately, and she didn't have to be into the office today, thank goodness. She hated going anywhere in the rain. Delores had always felt like rainy days should be spent indoors with warm drinks and good reading material. Maybe she'd finally tackle some of those chores she'd been putting off. As she took another bite of oatmeal, she heard a knock on the door, and she looked up, furrowing her brow in confusion...who could be here?

Delores stood up, walked through the foyer to the front door and answered, only to find a soggy and upset Michelle standing on her porch. Delores stepped aside and allowed her entrance.

"You poor thing! Get in here and we'll get you warmed up! I'll turn on my fireplace!" Delores said, rushing to flick on her electric fireplace, before she helped Michelle pull her soaking wet sweatshirt off, before Michelle turned and just hugged Delores tightly, surprising her yet again as she started to cry into Delores's shirt. Delores just patted her on the back and smiled.

"There there," she said warmly, "you're okay now. I'm here."

                                                                                              ***

Beatrice aimed the heater at herself as Liam turned, heading down yet another empty dirt road. He looked over at her as she chewed on her nails nervously. Liam sighed and shifted in his seat, adjusting his seatbelt with his free hand.

"So why'd you ask me to come?" he asked.

"I didn't wanna go alone, and we don't do much together anymore. We should do more together," Beatrice said.

"Well, I welcome the opportunity," Liam said, smiling, "Besides, it'll be neat to see where you came from."

"Take another right up here," Bea said, nodding her head at an upcoming fork in the road, and Liam did as he was told; she sighed and shook her head, "Don't call me Beatrice around my parents, please. My name is Amelia."

"Okay, whatever you need," Liam said, surprised by this admittance.

"God I'm nervous."

"Don't they know you're coming?"

"Yeah but it...it's still nerve wracking. My folks and I haven't spoken much in the last decade since the show went off the air. I kind of recoiled even from my family after everything went to shit. They weren't happy about a lot of my decisions in the first place, but...even then."

"To be fair, I'm the one who made the bad decisions in regards to the shows success and longevity," Liam said, "But sure, a lot of show business people remove themselves from their past. I'm not one to judge you on that front. Lord knows I haven't spoken to my parents anywhere near as often as they'd wish I did. Then again, my folks were never really all that comfortable with me and Marvin, so."

Liam pulled up a long dirt driveway and parked under a large old oak tree in front of a beautiful old fashioned farm house, complete with a white picket fence surrounding it. Liam turned the car off, undid his seatbelt and looked to Bea again, exhaling deeply.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yes. I need to do this," Bea said, undoing her own seatbelt, then pulling herself out of Liam's car. They walked up the flagstone walkway that went from the end of the fence up to the front door, and Bea knocked firmly a few times, waiting for an answer. Finally the door opened and an old man stood there, looking at them. He smiled immediately and pulled Bea in for a hug, stroking her hair.

"My baby," he whispered.

"Hi daddy," Bea said.

Gordon stepped aside, allowing Bea and Liam into the house. Liam was surprised to see the place was well kept, modern inside. Liam pulled his hand out from his rain slicker and stood his arm out towards Gordon.

"Hello, I'm Liam Grearson," Liam said, "I'm Amelia's friend."

"Welcome to our home, Liam," Gordon said, shaking his hand before walking past them and into the living room. As they passed through the small hall leading to the living room, Liam couldn't help but take in the photographs hanging on the wall. Photos of Beatrice as a little girl, doing dance, or reading, or learning how to swim, and a few family photos at various ages, and graduating high school and college. Liam smiled. He'd always knew someone as loving as Bea had to have come from a good home, and he was glad to discover she wasn't actually a tortured artist after all. Not all greatness had to be birthed from pain, he'd once told her.

And then he saw it, the photo that stopped him in his tracks. There she was, sitting just outside, on a bucket under the same oak tree they'd parked under, and with her, partially jumped on her lap making her laugh, was a beagle. It was like the world around him, everything he'd ever known, suddenly clicked together, like a puzzle missing a singular piece that was necessary to complete the picture. He looked towards Bea and her father, talking in the living room, laughing lightly, and Liam couldn't believe how stupid he'd been all these years. Suddenly Liam felt a hand on his shoulder, and he yelped, jumping a little, turning to see an old woman standing behind him. She was chuckling slightly.

"Sorry dear, didn't mean to surprise you," Gloria said, "Would you like some coffee?" she added, holding out a steaming warm mug for him to take, which he graciously did.

"It's okay, uh, hi, I'm Liam Grearson, I'm Amelia's friend," he said, shaking her hand as well before turning his focal point back to the photo, "...was this her dog? She never told me she had a dog."

"Yep," Gloria said, holding her mug with both hands, looking at the photo wistfully, continuing, "that's Amelia outside with Beatrice. She was the best dog, a girls best friend. Losing her absolutely crushed Amelia, she's never been the same since."

Liam wanted to cry. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt like he was going to sob uncontrollably. But he held it together, for Amelia's sake. Gloria then suggested they join the others in the living room and Liam happily agreed. As he plopped himself down on the couch and watched Bea interact with her parents, he couldn't help but smile. This was a side of Bea he'd never seen before, and he was so very thankful to be given the chance to.

He still wanted to sob, though.

                                                                                                  ***

"What are you even doing here?" Delores asked, bringing Michelle some fresh, dry clothes she could change into, which she did. Delores sat in a recliner while Michelle quickly changed behind her, grateful for the dry clothing.

"My mother," Michelle whispered, like she was scared to even say those words together. As she finished, she came around and sat on the couch opposite of the recliner, looking at the floor. Delores sipped her coffee and leaned back in her recliner, nodding.

"I know things aren't great between you two," she said.

"You don't know the half of it," Michelle said, "I would've gone to Bea, but...she's having a hard enough time dealing with what happened on the set recently, and...and besides...she's not..."

"Yes?" Delores asked.

"...motherly, not like you are," Michelle said, "I don't know exactly how to put it, because she's great, but she's more like a cool aunt, and you're more like a mom. I'm sorry. You're just the woman who was helping my find employment, but still, I can't help but feel like-"

"Did I ever tell you about my child?" Delores asked, interrupting Michelle, and surprising her.

"...no?"

"I had a daughter," Delores said, "I had two children, my son and my daughter; classic nuclear family situation. My husband and I bought this house years ago, I got pregnant and that was that. Raised my kids in this house. You may be surprised to learn I'm pushing sixty."

"You don't look it."

"Thank you," Delores said, "But I'm not one of those people ashamed of aging. I'm proud to have grown through so much time. My daughter, Justine, she was a lot like you. Wanted to do creative things. She went to college in Boston, trying to be a childrens book illustrator. Lord knows she had the skill. Anyway, one day she was going to fly back for summer break...she was seeing this lovely guy who had just gotten his pilots license. They weren't here by the time they said they would be, and I, being a mother, started worrying, and later I discovered it was for good reason. He wasn't familiar with this plane he was flying, and the whole thing went down."

"oh my god," Michelle whispered, putting her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

"She survived, but she's never been the same. Her boyfriend wasn't so lucky. Ever since then, she and I don't speak much, and she hasn't been working on her illustrations like she used to. She's essentially been living off the money she got from various lawsuits regarding his family and the airplane manufacturer. You remind me so much of her, and I guess I just felt like..."

"My mom's an artist," Michelle said quietly, "She is such a nasty woman, and she's so mad at me for not following in her footsteps, and for being so sickly. She says I took away her possibility for success because she had to spend so much money keeping me healthy growing up, as if I chose to be this screwed up medically."

"That just isn't okay," Delores said.

"And then, today, she sent me an e-mail of her at her latest gallery opening," Michelle said, "...she looked so happy, standing there next to the poster with her name on it, and pointing at one of the works to be shown in the gallery. She called the show 'Financially Free'."

"...like, because she doesn't have to pay for your medical needs anymore?" Delores asked, sounding simultaneously disgusted and shocked, feelings which aren't mutually exclusive.

"Yes," Michelle said, "and I just lost it. I was going to send this extremely aggressively worded rebuttal, but the more I thought about it, that's what she wants. She feeds off that negativity, and can use it to further her victim complex, especially to those she's trying to get to bankroll her future projects. No communication means no more ammunition. I just needed to see someone who would care about how hurt I was."

"Well, you came to the right place then," Delores said, smiling again, adding, "you can stay here all night if you need to. We'll order in."

And that's exactly what they did. Michelle knew Delores would take her in, and she was happy to know she'd made the right choice in deciding to come here today. As she waited for Delores to order food from the kitchen landline, Michelle sipped her drink and looked out the window at the pouring rain, wondering where in the world Beatrice may have gone off to.

She'd catch up with her at work next week, she figured. Tonight was a night just for her.

                                                                                              ***

"It wasn't your fault, sweetheart," Gloria said, patting Bea on the knee as they sat in the kitchen together, "you didn't mean for that to happen, you certainly didn't cause it either, and nobody could've expected the response to it."

"...I'm starting to wonder if I'm just cursed," Bea said, "ever since Beatrice died, it just feels like nothing has ever been good. Like that was a good as life was ever going to get. I feel stuck, trapped in a memory, and the hopes of getting back to that moment with her."

"Beatrice wouldn't want you to feel that way," Gloria said, "You know that. She'd want you to be happy. She was always happy."

"Yeah, she was," Bea said, smiling a little, "...she was my best friend."

"That man you brought with you said he was your best friend," Gloria said.

"...he did?" Bea asked, looking at her mom, "Really? Liam said that?...I guess he is, he's certainly the one I've known the longest at this point. I'll be back in a minute, mom, I need to see something."

Gloria didn't even respond. She knew what Amelia was doing. Bea stood up and headed outside, in the backyard, pulling her slicker hood over her head and zipping the front up. She could hear the dirt squish underneath her feet, quickly turning to mud in the cold rain. The day garden was still there, lively as ever, just as it had been when she and her father had started it all those years ago. As Bea trudged along, she pushed aside a few bushes and made her way to the back of them, where a small engraved stone sat on the ground. She knelt and put her hand on the dirt, trying not to cry.

"Hi Bea," she said, "I'm home. Not for long, but for today anyway."

The stone had the dogs name on it, along with a little image of a bone Amelia had engraved herself, with her fathers help. Suddenly she heard the bushes part behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Liam standing there.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

"You didn't frighten me," Bea said.

"...I think I finally got it," Liam said, stepping closer, kneeling down beside her, sitting on a somewhat large rock, "I think I finally got the passion, and the love for the character. Your protectiveness. Your name. Soon as I saw that photograph, it all made sense now. I'm so sorry, Bea. I've never had to feel this sort of loss. I mean, Marvin, but...I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that it all makes sense now and I'm sorry for trying to take her away from you, or changing her."

"...you get a dog because you're lonely. Because you're the kind of person who relates to animals better than you do to people. You never think about the fact that their lifespan is a mere quarter of our own, or less in most cases. You just think 'finally, a friend who will love me unconditionally', and that's all that matters. You keep the reality of their mortality pushed down in the back of your head, just like you do to your own, knowing it's inevitable, yet praying it won't come anyway."

Liam put his hand on Bea's back and rubbed the wet slicker, trying to comfort her.

"...I'm not mad that I'm getting older. I'm mad that she's not getting older with me," Bea whispered, "She should still be here, and I figured by creating a character out of her, by sharing her personality with the world, maybe others would come to love her the way I did, but...it isn't the same. No matter what I do, whether I wear the suit or I change my name, I'll never be Beatrice Beagle."

Liam got down on his knees beside her and pulled her to his side, hugging her warmly.

"No, you won't, but that's the thing, she loved you, so maybe you should let others love you as well," Liam whispered.

After a while, they got up and went back inside. After saying goodbye to her parents - her mother giving them a few tupperware full of home baked cookies to take with them - they climbed back into Liam's car and started driving down the dirt roads again, in the rain. Listening to the rain hit the windshield, Bea looked in the rearview mirror, watching the farmhouse, her parents, her past, get smaller and smaller, and she pried open the tupperware lid, handing Liam a cookie before taking one for herself.

They stopped off at a small diner on the way into town and had some early dinner, before Liam dropped Bea off at her apartment, heading to his own place afterwards. Bea climbed the long stairs to her floor, put her key in the door and let herself in. She flicked the light on and saw the note posted to her door. Bea took it off and read it.

                                        "Needed to see you, but you weren't home. Call me. Michelle"

Bea made a mental note to give her a ring tomorrow. Bea got out of her clothes, took a long bath, then made herself some cocoa and turned on her television set. She laid on the couch in her pajamas and watched a few shows about antiques. After a while she got back up, took the tupperware off the counter and brought it back to the couch. She plopped back down and pulled the lid back off, eating some more cookies as she watched TV. After pulling enough cookies from the center of the tupperware, she looked down to get another and stopped.

There, sitting in the middle of all the cookies, was a dog treat, staring right back up at her. The very same ones she used to give Beatrice. Bea tried to hold back her tears, but failed. This time, however, she was happily crying. She would have to thank her mom for the little gift. Even after all these years, and all their differences, her mom still knew what would make her feel better.

There was simply no denying it.

Mothers really did know best.

"What?" Lexi asked, sounding stunned, as she sat across from a man in a nice suit behind a desk. He smiled, leaned back and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "It's true. He sang like a canary, thusly fingering his business partner as the brains behind the operation and including the proof necessary to back it up. Trails of receipts, ledgers, you name it. Handed it all over. Because of this, they're going more lenient on him, unfreezing his funds, while still giving him a sentence, albeit a much shorter one than before."

"...oh my god," Lexi said, "...so...what does this mean for me?"

The lawyer smiled, happy to give her the best news she'd get all day.

                                                                                              ***

Keagan and Michelle were sitting outside the studio, eating lunch at a small picnic table in an area that the network had provided for its employees. They'd both ordered something out of a nearby food truck and were scarfing it down, each hungry as a wolf from working all day. Neither one spoke, as there wasn't a single moment neither one wasn't chewing. Finally after a bit, Keagan put her fork down and exhaled longingly, blinking a few times.

"I need to eat more often than one meal a day," she said, just as Eliza saddled down beside Michelle with her own lunch.

"You're not eating in The Hole today?" Michelle asked as Eliza shook her head, digging into her bag and pulling out small separate containers of food.

"Wow, so organized," Keagan said, playing with her dreads absentmindedly as Eliza smiled and started to eat; Keagan looked back to Michelle and said, "so, how's Bea? I mean, after that incident I wouldn't be surprised if she was having a rather hard time readjusting."

"She's...struggling, yeah, it's kinda messed her up," Michelle said, "But she'll be okay. She and Liam are working hard to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. They're even bringing in a psychologist for anyone on the crew who might wanna get things off their chest."

"That's very new agey of them," Keagan said, just as a car horn honked brightly and the girls all looked to the right at the parking lot to see Lexi pull up in a nice little sports car. She got out, looking as perfect as always, and strolled up to the picnic table, seating herself beside Keagan and kissing her on the cheek.

"Where'd that come from? Did you a rob a dealership?" Michelle asked.

"It's my fathers," Lexi said, "I get everything he had. He turned states evidence on his business partner, and as a result, he'll get a shortened sentence and he transferred ownership of everything to me. All his money, all his stocks, his car, everything. It's all mine now. At least until he gets out of jail, but that's gonna be another year at least."

"Well I ain't driving that thing without you in it," Keagan said, looking over her shoulder back at the car.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm black, Lexi, the cops will think I stole it," Keagan said, making Michelle laugh.

"Sorry," Michelle said, "Sorry, I just...you're right. Screwed up as it is, you're right."

"Well how about, then, I buy new cars for everyone?" Lexi asked, making the table hush up.

"...what?" Keagan asked quietly.

"I couldn't accept that," Michelle said.

"I don't drive," Eliza said softly.

Lexi felt her gut plummet. All she'd wanted to do was share the good news she'd gotten that day with the people she cared about, and it was starting to seem like nobody but her was interested in it. She sighed, then stood up and rummaged through her purse for some change.

"I'm gonna go get a soda from the machine," she said, vanishing inside the building.

Keagan felt bad, but she didn't know what to think. She had known Lexi had come from a lot of money, but she wasn't expecting her to return to that lifestyle so quickly or so eagerly. Now she felt the gap between them widen all the more. Yes, she liked Lexi, perhaps even loved her, but that class difference was really starting to be hammered home. After all, Keagan had once told Michelle that "Lexi could get any job she wants, while I only have the job I have because I know you and Bea", and now with this new car, it was beginning to set in just how different they really were.

Michelle suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see Beatrice standing there. She wasn't even in costume, just an old fashioned dress and a cardigan. Michelle smiled as she looked up at her, and Bea nodded.

"I need to speak with you," she said, and Michelle excused herself.

As the two of them started to walk down the backlot of the studio, Michelle could tell Bea was rattled by something.

"What's going on?" Michelle asked.

"I just haven't been sleeping well these last few weeks," she said, "Liam and I are trying to make this all financially feasible, but we're running out of money, and the network won't give us anymore, and...and then with what happened...I don't know, Michelle, please tell me that what we're doing here isn't a giant legacy tarnishing mistake."

"It isn't, it's gonna be great," Michelle said, coughing a little before adding, "and I'll do anything I can to help, Bea, you know that. If you need to save money on sets, I'll design more myself. You know I can."

Bea smirked. She did know that Michelle could do anything she set her mind to, and she did know that with her by her side, everything would be fine. But the guilt over what had happened to those former crew members was eating away at Beatrice internally, and she was scared to share that with even those closest to her. She sighed and looked out at the studio buildings.

"I used to do plays," Beatrice said, "that's how this all started. Beatrice was nothing but a one woman play. A small stage production. Now look at it. Does something lose its charm when its given more money, more room to explore? Or does the charm grow with the program? I don't know. I just know that the first time Liam and I showed up to the network back in the day, I was so nervous. I didn't come a city, Michelle, I grew up on a small piece of farmland somewhat removed from the city, and I wasn't a very social child."

"Hey, neither was I, being stuck in hospital beds and all," Michelle said, nudging Bea with her elbow, making her chuckle.

"But," Bea continued, "...I just can't help but feel like I'm walking down the same kind of path again. What seems like a great experience starting out will only in the end leave me bitter and hostile...and alone."

"You'll never be alone again, Bea," Michelle said, hugging her, "I'll make sure of that."

"You know, I've been doing a lot of reading online these days, and one of the things people really talk against are parasocial relationships," Beatrice said, "people who think they're friends with famous people or influencers or whomever, but in reality they're not. They misjudge and misevaluate these relationships so gravely that it often leaves them feeling genuinely wounded when something terrible happens, like they've lost a family member. I don't want us to have that kind of relationship."

"I don't think we do," Michelle said, "In the first place, I prefer parasocial relationships. Much less expectation put on me to be the best me I can be. I'm not there to prove anything to anyone. That's how I know what we have isn't one, because I AM trying to prove myself to you all the time."

Beatrice took Michelle's hand and patted it gently.

"You're a good kid," she said, "but if I ever start to take advantage of you, please, stop me."

"Will do," Michelle said.

                                                                                                ***

"It's like...we're just two different people, you know?" Keagan said, "When we both worked fast food, we were of the same stock. We both had come from different places, sure, but now we were more or less equal in societies eyes. Nothing but burger flippers. But now, with her having access to her money again, I don't know...I feel like she's not the same person I knew."

"People shouldn't remain the same," Eliza said as she dipped her brush in some red paint and started applying it to the puppet she was toying with, "people should never be the person you once knew. People should always grow."

"I mean, yeah, and I don't want her to not grow because of me, or whatever, but...I don't know," Keagan said, leaning against a workbench and sighing. Eliza turned in her chair, setting the puppet on the towel in her lap and looked at Keagan.

"I've never dated," Eliza said, "So I don't...like...really understand how relationships work. The only people I've ever really been associated with are Bea and my parents and Liam, but...shouldn't you be happy for her? She's happy, right?"

"Yeah she's happy, and yeah I want her to be happy and yeah I'm happy for her, but it just feels like the difference between is growing ever wider," Keagan said, "You don't get it, you're not black. There's different rules in society for me then there are for pretty privileged rich white women like her."

"But she's gay too, right?" Eliza asked.

"I mean, yeah, we're together."

"So she isn't perfect, at least, uh, not in societies eyes. I mean, that came out wrong, um...oh I'm stupid."

"No, you're not stupid, I know what you mean," Keagan said, smiling, "And I guess you're right, in the sense we're both minorities. But even that's a different kind of minority. The queer community still is eons ahead of the black community, despite us fighting for longer amounts of time for equality. And I know that makes me sound bitter, but I'm not, I'm...I'm happy about that in many regards but...ugh, it's all so complicated."

"It doesn't have to be," Eliza said, "...I like puppets. Puppets are exactly what they're made to be. Nothing is misrepresented. There's no hidden truths. See this Armadillo? He's an Armadillo. He's never going to be anything other than an Armadillo. Even if I give him a tuxedo and a limo, he's still going to an Armadillo. Just...a fancier one. That's how people should be. They're just people, and everything else is just a facet that makes up their whole."

Keagan was surprised. She'd known Eliza was damaged mentally, and yet here she was, proving she was in fact the smartest one of all, even when it came to a topic she herself admittedly had no experience within; relationships.

"...I guess you're right," Keagan said.

"We should all be Armadillos," Eliza said, making Keagan laugh.

"We should," she agreed.

                                                                                                  ***

Lexi was lying on the couch, eating food from a take out box in her pajamas, watching a Hockey game, when the front door opened and Keagan came inside. She tossed her jacket and her purse down on the floor and walked around to the couch, seating herself on it as Lexi sat up and put the food container down on the coffee table in front of them.

"Where's Michelle?"

"She and Bea and Liam and Eliza went out to dinner together. I had to come home and talk to you," Keagan said.

"Okay, what's going on?" Lexi asked, pulling her knees to her chest, feeling nervous.

"...I'm sorry," Keagan said, "I'm sorry that I was kind of...a  bitch earlier, I guess, and I'm sorry that I am letting your parents wealth influence my opinions about us as a couple. I just was...so afraid to...I guess, lose you? I don't know, you're the first girl I've ever really had a relationship with, and this is all kinda new to me, and I just didn't feel like...I felt like before you had the money, we were kinda the same. We were both kinda broke, we both worked at a shitty job, and we liked one another."

Lexi smiled.

"But then," Keagan continued, "you got this money and...suddenly I saw you for who you actually were, before you met me, and it scared me. I think success in general scares me, because my family has always just scraped by, you know? I mean, we weren't poor or anything, but my parents worked multiple jobs to keep us fed and housed and clothed, and we were always treated poorly by rich uppity white people, but having been with you, I know that's not what you are. You're not that kind of person, money or otherwise."

"I'm really not," Lexi said, giggling.

"I'm sorry, Lexi. Lately I've been feeling really apart from us as a whole and it's bummed me out and it wasn't until I talked to Eliza that I realized that the one thing we have in common is what's most important...we love one another, and that's what we should focus on."

Lexi nodded, leaning in and kissing Keagan.

"I have a surprise for you," Lexi whispered, getting up off the couch and running into the other room before coming back, holding a piece of paper as she sat back down.

"You got me paper? Wow, how did you know?" Keagan said, laughing, making Lexi roll her eyes.

"You need to sign this," Lexi said, "...it's a document that cuts what I got in half, and gives half to you."

"...what?" Keagan asked, taking the paper and looking at it, then looking back up at Lexi.

"Yeah," Lexi said, "You wanna be equals? Let's be equals. It's not my fuckin' money anyway, and all it ever brought my father was bad luck, so let's share the wealth, shall we?"

"No, this is, you've gotta be-"

"Sign it," Lexi said, "Sign it and then kiss me again. I liked that."

Keagan blushed, then took the pen from Lexi's hands and signed it. She looked at the paper, then looked back at Lexi.

"Wow, that's a lot of money made in a matter of seconds. Now I feel like I'm in show business," Keagan said, the both of them laughing as they laid together on the couch for the rest of the evening. When Michelle got home, she found them asleep, and instead of waking them, she simply laid a big quilt over the two of them and then went to bed.

                                                                                                ***

Beatrice woke that night in her darkened bedroom, hearing the rain tap at her window.

She struggled to climb out of the bed, put her robe on and head into the living room. She walked to the kitchenette, got herself a glass of water from the sink and drank it in one swift gulp before heading back to the bedroom. As she stepped into the living room again she screamed and dropped the glass on the floor, where it shattered, as she looked at a Beagle sitting on the couch, reading a book.

"...Beatrice?" she asked.

"Amelia," Beatrice said, looking up from the book.

"...what are you doing here?" she asked, approaching the couch cautiously.

"You don't have to be careful, I never bit," Beatrice said, "Sit with me."

Amelia nodded and sat beside Beatrice on the couch. Beatrice licked her cheek and Amelia started to cry as she pushed her face into the beagles furry neck.

"It's okay," Beatrice said, "you cry all you need. I'm here."

And then Beatrice woke up. Still in bed. Sweating profusely. She could've sworn her dog was here. She could've sworn that she was holding her best friend. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw up. Instead she got up from the bed, walked into the living room and picked up the phone, dialing a number before sitting on the couch. It rang a few times before a woman answered.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding half asleep.

"Mom, it's Amelia," Beatrice said, "...I need to come home."

All it took was a split second.

The rehearsal was about to start, the set was more or less set up, and Beatrice was waiting to put the head of her costume on, sitting on the edge of the stage, when Michelle sat beside her. Beatrice looked up from the script in her big costumed paw hands and smiled at Michelle, who smiled back.

"This is exciting," Michelle said, "I'm excited anyway. I've never been a part of anything like this."

"You didn't do theatre in school or anything?" Bea asked.

"No, I always wanted to, but my breathing kind of kept me locked off from a lot of the extracurricular activities I wanted to participate in," Michelle said, glancing over her shoulder at the stage behind them, adding, "that's why this is such a big deal to me."

"Well, I'm glad to be able to give you that experience then," Bea said.

And that was when they heard it. The snap. All it took was a split second. A split second of unawareness. Someone shouted as a young grip leaped out of the way as one of the stage lights overhead came crashing down, just missing hitting her head. As she rolled over onto her back, Beatrice stood up and raced over to her, kneeling down.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and the woman nodded hesitantly, unaware of how she was meant to respond.

"I...I just...I heard something snapping and...and I saw someone waving at me to move and I jumped," she said, pushing some errant strands of black hair out of her eyes and adding as she looked up at Bea, who was cradling her head in her lap, "All I knew was the universal signal for 'move out of the way fast', so that's what I did."

Bea laughed and nodded, "Well, thank goodness you at least managed to dodge it. I'll go have a talk with the stage hands and see why this happened."

Bea looked at Michelle as she approached them and whispered to her as she passed by.

"Take her to the first aid station please, I'm going up to the lighting catwalk," Beatrice said. Michelle did as she was told and helped the young woman up, taking her away into the halls, towards the first aid station as Beatrice strode to the ladder that led up to the catwalk where the lighting was rigged. As she began climbing, she heard footsteps on the ladder behind her, and looked over her shoulder briefly to see Eliza coming up behind her.

"Did you need something sweetheart?" Bea asked.

"No, just following," Eliza said, making Bea smile a little.

As the women reached the catwalk, they spotted a young man with short scruffy brown hair and a dirty beard shadow, wearing a salmon colored button down shirt and light brown pants, approach them, already apologizing profusely with his face alone.

"I am so so sorry," he said, "It was a total accident, it just wasn't attached properly and I realized too late and I-"

"What's your name?" Bea asked.

"His name is Simon," Eliza said, surprising Simon, who looked at her confused.

"How did you-"

"She knows everyones name," Bea answered, "Simon, listen to me, okay? You're right. It was an accident, and accidents happen, and thankfully nobody was hurt. I like to think that's because I've cultivated a crew that looks out for one another. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and come back in tomorrow, okay? We have more than enough people who can set up these lights. Just take it easy, maybe go see the girl you almost squished and tell her how sorry you are."

"Yeah, okay, sure, I'm...okay," Simon said, clearly frazzled as he walked towards the ladder to head back down. As soon as he was out of earshot, Bea looked at Eliza and shook her head.

"I can't fire him," Bea said, "I'm not that kind of person. That'll be up to someone else if they so chose to do that, but it can't be me...can you do me a favor? Can you go with him to see that girl, and if you see Michelle please bring her back to me. She and I need to talk to Stephanie about what's happened."

"Yes, okay, I can do that," Eliza said, hurrying to the ladder and heading down, following Simon quickly.

They reached the first aid station in no time flat, just as Michelle was exiting the room.

"She's in there," Michelle said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the door, "if you wanna-"

"Yeah, thank you," Simon said, hurrying past her, trying not to be rude. Michelle cleared her throat and looked at Eliza, who was chewing on the end of her braid, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Michelle asked, smirking.

"It's like, one of those things, you know, where people meet in a cute way and then they tell their kids the story," Eliza said, giggling.

"Right, 'hey kids, wanna hear about how I almost beaned your mom in the brain with a piece of lighting equipment? it's SUPER romantic'," Michelle said, the both of them breaking out in laughter now; after a moment, Michelle asked, "Since production is probably halted for a bit, do you wanna go get coffee or something?"

"Bea said she needs you, that, uh, you and she need to talk to Stephanie," Eliza said, "but...I guess it could wait a little bit."

                                                                                          ***

"What do you mean someone almost died?" Leslie asked, sitting on her office phone back at the public broadcasting station, "Like, you personally, or you inadvertently? Second hand murder or something?"

"There was an accident on set before rehearsal," Bea said into the phone in her and Michelle's office, still partially in costume, sitting on the desk, "a young woman almost got her head crushed by a light that fell from the ceiling."

"Jesus," Leslie said, "That's terrifying."

"I need to make sure that nobody on this crew ever comes to harm, okay?" Bea asked, "I'm gonna talk to Steph in a bit when Michelle gets back to me, but I think we need to have a safety inspector or something. Far too much bullshit happened on the last set, and I...I refuse to allow anyone to work like that again. I refuse."

"Alright, well, if that's your call then so be it," Leslie said, chewing on the cap of the end of the pen in her hand, "but, uh...well, just don't push it. She's already being lenient enough with you guys as it is, so. If you need me to come in, be the big guns, just lemme know."

Bea smirked at this and said, "Yeah, I'll let you know if you should come and flex your muscles."

"The ladies can be quite persuasive," Leslie said, the both of them laughing now.

                                                                                           ***

"What was it like, you know, working with Bea before?" Michelle asked, her hands cupping her styrofoam coffee cup on the table by the window as Eliza sipped hers cautiously.

"It was...neat," Eliza said, "She gave me my own space, and she...she told me that I could create whatever I wanted to, you know, in the downtime. She gave me a lot of creative freedom. No other job has ever done that, at least not, uh, to the same degree that she has."

"She's pretty supportive, it's true," Michelle said.

"How did you meet her?"

"A friend and I tracked her down after some research and...and once I showed her how I'd rebuilt the set from the show in my basement, she became so much more understanding of just what Beatrice Beagle represented to me. I think she understood that I saw in it the same thing she saw in it. I guess, the same thing a lot of you saw in it. You and Liam and Marvin and everyone."

"I never spent much time with anyone besides Bea. Liam was always nice to me, but I...I've never really had a friend before, so thank you for inviting me out," Eliza said, looking into her cup, almost as if she were outright embarrassed of this admittance, adding, "...are you sick too?"

"Yeah, I have breathing issues," Michelle said, trying not to get too into depth about her illness, "I sometimes have to have oxygen tanks to help me get through the day. Are you sick? You seem perfectly fine to me."

This made Eliza giggle uncontrollably as she looked away. Michelle cocked her head to the side, confused.

"What?" she asked.

"That's just...the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Eliza said, which only made Michelle feel all the worse for her.

                                                                                             ***

It was early when the phone rang.

Michelle rolled over, still half asleep, and clutched at the phone beside her bed, pulling it off the base and pushing it to her face. She half mumbled something relatively intelligible, only for the next thing she heard to wake her up almost completely. She sat up in bed and pushed her hair out of her face, staring dead eyed at the wall.

"Repeat that please," she said sternly, so Bea did, her voice shaky like she'd been crying.

"They're dead," she said, "they're both dead. I need you to come to my apartment now."

Michelle didn't have to be asked twice.

Upon arriving at the door, Beatrice let her in quick as possible. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying for hours, and she had a kettle of tea on the stove, whistling, which Michelle immediately raced to recover. As she lifted it from the stove and onto the counter, she looked back at Bea, who huddled back onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around her.

"Who's dead?" Michelle asked.

"...the girl...the girl from yesterday...and the guy who...the lighting guy," Bea managed to whisper, her voice hoarse, as if she'd been wailing all night, "...they killed themselves."

"What happened?" Michelle asked, walking over to the couch and sitting on it fully, putting a hand on Bea's back, massaging it.

"They...they met in the...in the first aid of the studio, and they talked about the situation, and she was extremely rattled from almost having died, and he was extremely rattled from almost having killed her, and they...they spent the whole night just...crushing up pills and snorting them in her apartment. I feel sick. This is all my fault. I sent him to speak to her. Maybe if I hadn't done that, they...they wouldn't have-"

"No, no Beatrice, this is not your fault, okay? This is just a freak occurrence, alright? Please listen to me," Michelle said, "I...you didn't do this, you didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

"I try and cultivate a workplace where people look out for one another, and have eachothers backs and-"

"And you know what, they did. She might've done that alone, or he might've done it alone, but instead they did it together. I think, if anything, it was inevitable and all you're really responsible for is giving them each someone else to do it with," Michelle said, uncertain of what she said even as she was saying it, "And I realize that's pretty fucking bleak, but...like...that's...I've been there. I've been on the verge of not being here. Being as sick as I was when I was so young...it changes you. I think I understand how she might've felt. She was probably never going to come back from this."

Bea looked at Michelle and bit her lip, trying not to cry anymore.

"...the show's on hold for a week. The funeral's in two days if you want to come," Bea said, "...but if you want to get away from this, away from me, I'd understand and-"

"I never wanna get away from you," Michelle said softly, "You're the best friend I've ever had. I'll be there. We all will."

And then she held her. She held Beatrice for what felt like hours. She got her some tea, and she held her until she fell asleep. Beatrice had always been there for her, and now it was time for Michelle to be there for Beatrice. It only felt fair.

                                                                                                ***

Standing in the cemetery, after the funeral was over and everyone was headed to a nearby restaurant to calm down from it all, Michelle couldn't help but feel glued to the gravesite. Standing there in the sunlight, bright and warm, she felt so confused about everything. How quickly this whole thing had turned on its head had thrown her, and everyone else, for a loop. She heard the sound of grass beneath shoes coming up behind her, and soon saw Eliza standing beside her, dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, clearly the most formal thing she owned for such an occasion.

"...this is fucked up," Michelle said.

"I think the worst part is the sun," Eliza said, looking upwards to the sky.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Michelle asked.

"...like...you know how in movies and stuff, funerals always take place during rainy gloomy days. But that's just atmospheric, ya know? And...and that's not real. Funerals happen on sunny days too. They happen on days when...when kindergarten is in session and people get engaged. But it just seems so kind of sick to see the sun on such a sad day. But the universe doesn't care about us. About our sadness. You know? Like...like, uh...like it only matters to us, you know what I mean? We're the only ones who recognize its self imposed importance."

Michelle was surprised. Eliza was fairly eloquent for someone she had been told was somewhat challenged intellectually.

"...I don't know. Maybe. All I know is that I feel so screwed up now," Michelle said, "and Bea is even worse. She feels responsible, despite how many times I reiterate to her that none of this was her fault at all. I just hope-"

"Let's be friends, okay?" Eliza said bluntly, "I...I don't wanna be alone. She didn't wanna be alone. He didn't wanna be alone. You don't wanna be alone, do you?"

"No, I don't," Michelle said, shaking her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Bea said she cultivates a workplace of togetherness, where people watch out for one another, so let's be friends, and watch out for one another, okay?" Eliza asked, making Michelle nod again, smiling a little now.

"...should we go to the wake?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged.

"I don't usually eat in front of others. I don't like groups. That's why I stood so far away during the procession," Eliza said, "...do you wanna come back to The Hole with me? I could show you puppets."

"That sounds cool, yeah," Michelle said.

Together, the women walked to Michelle's car and got in; Eliza later explained how she'd gotten a ride here since she didn't drive, and Michelle was more than happy to give her a ride home. Michelle was happy to have a new friend, especially one who seemed so insistent to be her friend no matter what. Beatrice could tell herself whatever she wanted, but the two women knew the truth. Beatrice was right. She did in fact cultivate a place that fostered togetherness, and bad things even happened in the brightest of places. Nowhere was safe from the pain, no matter how happy it all seemed.

                                                                                            ***

Liam sat in his armchair of his apartment, looking at the framed photo of himself and Marvin at a restaurant on his birthday. He smiled as he ate a lemon square he'd baked himself that afternoon, instead of going to the funeral. Nobody could blame him, honestly. Liam had had enough death to last him a lifetime.

"So how was your day?" he asked the photo, almost as if he expected an answer; he took a bite of the lemon square and nodded, saying, "Yeah, it was pretty shit, wasn't it?"

Because Liam understood the one fundamental rule behind life...

...the one thing that even Michelle had understood, that had kept Bea alive in her heart lo those many years...

...you're never gone so long as someone remembers you.

Leslie Swann was late for work.

Truth be told, she was late for work most days, but being the network head, she could get away with it. And besides, she often stayed late into the night to make up for it, so she felt nobody had any right to complain about her being late since she wound up making up the hours long after work had ended for everyone else. While they were sitting snugly at home, she was sitting in her office still, trying to find a budget that would work. But today was raining, and Leslie Swann hated rain, and it hadn't started raining until after she'd left the house, meaning she was unprepared for this type of weather because it wasn't just rain, no, it was a goddamned downpour. After spilling her coffee on her shirt, getting honked at by a dictator mom in a minivan with a cheap 4 dollar haircut and the 6 kids she was stuck with because she believed a wife couldn't say no to her husband, Leslie finally pulled up to the building, only to find someone had parked in her spot, despite there being a sign designating it hers. She wanted to scream, but she had more important things to do, and she couldn't waste the energy on that right now. So instead Leslie parked somewhere else, stepped out of the car, and - in her brand new pumps - right into an enormous puddle that went halfway up her leg.

Now she screamed.

In fact, she did more than scream. She threw a whole ass temper tantrum in the parking lot, and didn't care who saw. Her makeup was running, her hair was a mess from the rain, her coffee was staining into her nicest dress shirt and now she was soggy from a puddle. As she collapsed against the back of her car, she heard shoes approaching her, and looked up to see a woman standing in a dog covered rain slicker, holding an umbrella and smiling at her.

"Let me buy you breakfast, screw going in today," Beatrice said, and Leslie, without waiting, flung herself around her old friend and cried.

                                                                                              ***

"This is very nice of you," Leslie said, sitting at a table in a diner across from Bea as she dabbed at her work shirt to no avail. She pulled her wet hair back and sighed, adding, "I've had a bad week, Bea."

"So it isn't just today?"

"No, god...it's been an awful week all around. I was thinking today would be maybe alright, and since it's Friday I could go home and then relax and enjoy myself for a few days and then..."

"Isn't Friday casual clothes day?" Bea asked, sipping her cocoa, and Leslie sighed, leaning back into the vinyl diner booth.

"Yes, but I don't like wearing my civilian clothes to the office," she said, making Beatrice laugh.

"Your civilian clothes? Leslie, you work in public broadcasting, not the federal bureau of investigation," she said, trying not to laugh, which only made Leslie start to chuckle herself.

"I wanna set a good example, you know? I mean, I don't care if other people wear theirs on casual day, but...I feel like a leader should be well dressed, maintain order, without being a dictator, you know what I mean? How're these people gonna respect me if they see me in my Snoopy pajamas and horse slippers?"

"You have horse slippers?" Bea asked, "God, I came just at the right time."

"...why were you waiting for me?" Leslie asked, now raising an eyebrow as their waitress set down stacks of pancakes for them.

"I need your help, Leslie," Bea said, "The show's coming back, we're already well into pre-production, but...this network head, she and I don't see exactly eye to eye, and I need you to come in and back me up on some things. I wanna hire you."

"What kind of credit would it be?" Leslie asked, slicing off a hunk of pancake and dabbing it in syrup before eating it.

"Executive Producer," Bea said, "plus, the public broadcasting station will get first airing rights on the new episodes after they've been on the streaming service for a year. Not only will it boost your network, but it puts more eyes on the product."

"You sound like you've been sitting in with tech heads," Leslie said, "It's not a good sound."

"Believe me, I don't like it either," Bea said, making Leslie smile again.

                                                                                            ***

Michelle had been having that dream again.

The one where she was still 7 years old, and her mother had put her into an art class during the summer because she so badly wanted her daughter to be like her. Michelle had stayed inside during break one afternoon, to finish a drawing, and she'd started having trouble breathing. It became so bad that she started stumbling around the room, looking for the front door, and instead bumping into everything in sight. Paint cans spilled, everyones hard work ruined, and herself covered in colors. When she finally made it out, her teacher immediately called an ambulance. Her peers were even more worried about her than about their now ruined work (they were only children, after all), but her mother...

"It's okay," she'd said on the way to the hospital, "Every artist has setbacks."

Michelle woke that morning with a terrible headache. As she walked to the kitchen, she found Keagan sitting by herself at the table, reading a book and eating toast. Michelle seated herself across from her after finding some painkillers and popping them. Keagan looked up at her and smiled.

"Where's Lexi?" Michelle asked.

"At her parents," Keagan said.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, she just went to help her mom do some things," Keagan said, "...can I ask you a question, Shell?"

"Yeah, of course," Michelle said.

"...do you think Lexi and I make sense?" Keagan asked.

"I don't have a whole lot of relationship experience, so maybe I'm not exactly the best person to give advice on this sort of thing, but...she seems to really like you, and I think that's pretty important in a relationship. I don't mean just, like, enjoy being in a relationship, either. I mean she genuinely likes just being around you, and I think if you can find one person in the world who you can genuinely like being around, then...you know...yeah, I think that's good."

"She's just so prim and proper, she's from such an upper class family, she's so..."

"White?"

"Okay, sure, yeah. I didn't wanna say it."

"So what? You're not from 'the hood' or something, Keagan. And even if you were, who cares? Isn't the whole appeal of Romeo and Juliet the fact that they come from different classes of society and yet they manage to find undying love for one another?"

"Not sure 'undying' is the right word to use in this context in regards to that story, but okay," Keagan said, making Michelle snicker, "...no, you're right, and I know you're right. I guess I just let other peoples judgements make me judge us. You sound pretty knowledgeable about this sort of stuff, why haven't you been in many relationships?"

"Uh, I don't...know."

"Are you gay too?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I've found girls pretty, but I also like guys, probably moreso honestly, but...it's all aesthetics for me, you know what I mean? Like...it's all visual, and it doesn't elicit any kind of response other than awe or...or admiration. There's no...uh...I don't know how to put it."

"You don't wanna sleep with anyone?"

"I guess, yeah, I don't really feel sexual attraction," Michelle said, "I guess I've never really openly said that."

Keagan smiled and reached across the table, touching her hand, "I'm glad you did, because I think it helps us understand one another more. You know, at first I was worried living together with people I barely knew would be okay, but...I guess there's a reason we all get along after all, outside of our love for media."

Just then the phone rang, and Keagan, sitting beside the landline on the wall, reached up and picked it off the hook, putting the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, before handing the phone to Michelle, whispering, "I think it's Liam."

Michelle furrowed her brow. Why would Liam be calling her? She cautiously took the phone and put it to her ear.

"Liam?" she asked, "...oh, okay, I'll be right there."

"Something going on?" Keagan asked, and Michelle looked at her.

"Can I borrow your truck?" she asked.

                                                                                             ***

Liam had given her the address, but even when Michelle reached it, she was surprised at how out of the way and sort of dingy it was. Sure, it was a storage facility, but even then, she was surprised someone who'd worked in television would put their belongings in someplace like this. She pulled up to see Liam opening the gate from the keypad for her, and then drove through until she parked. She climbed out of the truck and rushed under the awning, Liam approaching her with a duck umbrella.

"I like you umbrella!" she stated happily, making him smile.

"It is cute, isn't it?" he asked, "Sorry to ask you to help me with this, but I couldn't get a hold of Bea. She's busy."

"It's okay, I don't mind. We're coworkers now, right?" she asked, smirking, hitting him playfully in the shoulder. Together the two of them headed inside and to the elevator, where they stepped inside. As the doors shut, Liam punched in the floor he wanted to ascend to, and then looked at his shoes.

"You can't tell Bea I brought you here, okay?"

"But...but you were gonna invite her first, so what's it matter if-"

"Because nobody besides us knows about this place," Liam said, sounding deadly serious.

Michelle kept quiet until the elevator stopped and they both stepped out. The lighting overhead was soft, pleasant, and the sound of their shoes clacking on the hard floor beneath them as they strolled down the empty hall made Michelle feel a bit calmer. After a few minutes, they finally reached a unit and Liam fished a pair of keys out of his pocket, shoving one into the lock, and the second into a second lock. He then pulled the lock off, and started to bend over to pull the door open, but quickly retracted this stance, putting his hand on his back.

"Would you?" he groaned, as Michelle nodded and bent down, pulling the door open.

What was inside was boxes, furniture, and other odds and ends. Michelle was confused. She expected something amazing, something spectacular, not something so...mundane.

"Uh, this is just stuff," Michelle said.

"It's Marvin's stuff," Liam said, entering the unit and running his hand up and down a beautiful rolled up rug, "...or, it was Marvin's stuff. It's mine now. But there's one box in here in particular that I'm looking for. It's big and dark green and plastic, it should be labeled BBC."

"British Broadcasting Corporation?" Michelle asked, making Liam laugh.

"Beatrice Beagle Costumes," he said, "How he wound up with it is beyond me, but he told me one of the last times we spoke that he had it stored in his unit, which he left me directions and the key to after he...well, you know."

"Is that it?" Michelle asked, pointing to a box in the dark corner, underneath a few other boxes. She helped Liam move the other boxes, before she bent down and pulled the other box out and together they knelt to the floor and Liam lifted the lid. Michelle couldn't believe her eyes. Inside was Marvin's costume, and costumes to numerous other human characters who showed up on the series - like Bea's veterinarian Veronica and her dog trainer Theresa - which Michelle immediately wanted to touch.

"This is amazing," Michelle whispered, making Liam smile.

"Indeed," he said, "I figured we needed to pull these out for the show when it starts shooting soon, so I wanted to ask Bea to come, but I figured...well, this wouldn't even be happening without you, so you should know where this stuff is."

"...what was Marvin like? I mean, as a person?" Michelle asked, and Liam sat down in a nearby rocking chair, running his thumb over the wooden head of his duck umbrella, smiling warmly.

"He was such a great guy. So much fun, so smart, so caring. Most of the people Bea recruited were very empathetic folks, hence doing a childrens show, and Marvin and I really understood one another...once the show ended, we were still..."

He paused and bit his lip, either trying not to cry or trying to choose his words carefully.

"...I miss him so much every day and I just wish he'd reached out to me instead of killing himself," he whispered, tears starting to roll down his face, as Michelle crawled over to him and put her arms around him, hugging him tight, and him hugging her back, somewhat surprisingly.

"...this morning, Keagan and I were talking about sexuality, and how, even though I'm not exactly queer, the fact that I differ from 'the norm' makes why we became such good friends make a lot more sense, because she's gay, and you're gay, and...I guess it's nice to find a community, even if it is one often steeped in loss," Michelle said, "...but it doesn't have to be loss, right? Because, look, he isn't gone. He's still here, in a way."

"He always will be, not just in this unit, but in my heart," Liam said, which made Michelle almost weep at how sweet this was. She might not feel sexual attraction, but she certainly understood the concept of undying love.

                                                                                                ***

Eliza was pacing nervously outside Stephanie's office door, chewing at her fingernails, as Bea and Leslie were inside, talking to Steph. Eliza had been told to wait, but she didn't understand why, and the waiting was beginning to drive her nuts.

"You're treating the show as a commodity," Leslie said, sitting across from Steph, "but the thing is, art isn't a commodity. It's a creation. To treat it as anything else is to cheapen it. There's nothing inherently wrong with making money from art, but to see it as nothing other than pure financial net gain...that's where it loses something special, and people notice."

"So you're suggesting we don't push the advertising right off the bat?" Steph asked, and Leslie shook her head.

"No, I'm suggesting you don't advertise it at all. I mean, sure, commercials, print ads, whatever is fine, but the minute you start churning out toys, dolls, etc, that's when people start to see it as not something personal or special but as just another thing to entice children. That's where you lose respect."

Steph sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She should've known Beatrice would find a way to throw a wrench in her longterm advertising plans. Suddenly, Bea stood up and walked to the door, opened it and pulled Eliza in gently by the arm.

"This is my puppet maker, Eliza. She worked with me on the original show," Bea said, "Eliza, please, show Stephanie why making money off something cheapens it."

Eliza nodded, then put a dog hand puppet on her arm before kneeling down in front of the desk, hiding herself. She popped the puppet up in front of Stephanie, and Stephanie smirked, unsure of where exactly this was going, but curious to see certainly.

"My name is Brisket!" Eliza said in a high pitched voice, "Right now I'm your friend, and that makes you feel good doesn't it?"

"I...suppose," Stephanie said, trying not to laugh.

"You need to put yourself in the mind of a child watching the show," Bea said, and Steph nodded, trying to do just that as Bea added, "Go on Brisket."

"Right now you know I'm here for you, to listen and to help, and make you not feel so alone, and that's a good feeling isn't it? Because the world is big and scary and it's easy to feel overwhelmed," Eliza continued as the puppet, "but then you see another kid, maybe even a kid who bullies you every day, with a backpack with me on it, and that makes you sad doesn't it? It makes you not trust me anymore, and then you will have a hard time trusting anyone, all because little ol' me was also friends with your bully. That doesn't feel good, does it?"

Steph's eyes widened, and she looked from the puppet back up at Bea.

"Do you get it now?" Bea asked, and Steph glanced to Leslie, who cleared her throat and patted Eliza's head, telling her she could get off the floor, as she leaned forward and crossed her legs.

"Children aren't stupid. They aren't reliable gullible consumers. They can tell when they're being sold to, likely moreso than any adult can," Leslie said, "You go down that route, you lose that connection, and soon you won't be any different from any other show. Being on a streaming service, along with the addition to be beamed into every home thanks to my public broadcasting network license, means you're gonna have more eyeballs than anyone else right off the bat, and your show will be more accessible than any other kids show. You tell a child they're special, then sell the very thing that makes them feel special to other children, all you're doing is giving them lifelong relationship issues."

Steph nodded as Eliza stood up and pushed her glasses up on her face, hugging Brisket to her chest.

"I think I get it," Steph said softly, actually meaning it.

As Eliza left the room, she bumped into Michelle, who was hauling the green plastic box down towards the costuming room. Both women immediately apologized to one another, and Michelle smiled at the puppet on Eliza's hand.

"That's cute," Michelle said, and Eliza held Brisket back up, putting the voice back on.

"Thanks! I am pretty cute!" she said, making Michelle laugh before she continued on her way.

The door opened, and Bea and Leslie stepped out into the hall. Bea put her hand on Eliza's back and rubbed it gently.

"You did great, kiddo," she said, "Go back to The Hole. I'll have your lunch delivered, okay?"

Eliza nodded and headed along her way, as Bea turned to Leslie.

"Thank you," Bea said, "I knew you could make this work."

"I'd do anything for you Bea," Leslie said, "...thanks for including me. I should probably get to the office now, though," she added, checking her watch.

Leslie and Bea hugged, then Bea stood and watched Leslie Swann walk off towards the parking lot. Bea stood there and smiled to herself, not knowing Leslie was smiling to herself. Leslie had had a bad week, but once again, all it took to make her week better was the dog. All it ever took was the dog. Mans best friend, as they said. Leslie reached her car, let herself in and started it up. Being with Bea again as a team made her feel so good inside, that now she couldn't go to work in a bad mood.

Leslie Swann was still late for work.

But this time it was worth it.

Her name was Eliza Tartt, but the crew just called her The Puppet Master.

She had brown, frizzy hair and large, thick round glasses. She stayed away from most of the cast and crew interaction, except to ask specific questions in regards to what they wanted from their puppets, otherwise she simply stayed in what the others referred to as "The Hole". It was her own private work station, far removed from the rest of the work stations, where she simply created puppets day in, day out, for the show. Once the series ended, except for Liam and Bea, everyone else stayed in contact with one another, except for The Puppet Master. Nobody heard from her again.

Which is why, when Beatrice showed up at her home, she was stunned. Even though it'd been so long, she looked exactly the same, almost as if she were somehow frozen in time. Same buck front teeth, same frizzy hair, just now wearing loose fitting clothes since she wasn't working in a studio. Eliza hadn't answered the door, however, that had been her father.

"Would you like to come inside? She'll be down in a minute," he said, leading Bea inside and towards the kitchen, where he offered her a cup of coffee, which she happily accepted as she seated herself at the kitchen table.

"You have a lovely home," Bea said as he filled up her mug and handed it to her, watching as she sipped it cautiously.

"Thank you! I've always enjoyed decorating," Don said, "My wife was an interior decorate for a long time before she retired, and she often employed my help," he added, chuckling. Just then, Eliza stepped in the doorframe that opened into the kitchen, and that was when Bea was struck by her immortal appearance.

"Hiya," Bea said, waving slowly, as Eliza stood, braiding some of her hair, her eyes looking everywhere else besides at Beatrice.

"I'll leave you ladies to discuss business, and please, have as much coffee as you want," Don said, leaving with his own mug.

"Do you wanna sit down?" Bea asked, "This could take a while."

"Could it?" Eliza asked, her speech fast and shaky, "Okay. I'll sit."

"You look great," Beatrice said.

"Do I? Do people change the way they look? I just always assumed people look the same forever, but then again I can't tell one persons face from another, so. You look the same. Just...older, sorry, that's rude. You should never tell a woman she looks old."

"No," Beatrice laughed, "No, I appreciate it. Wiser is better than naive. How've things been?"

"They've been," Eliza said, still refusing to look at her, "Um...why are you talking to me?"

"I've been given an incredible opportunity," Beatrice said, "and I want you to come with me. We're bringing the show back, and this time it's my creative control. No outside advertising, no blatant pandering. Now is the time for creator owned content to shine. Liam and I got a deal at a streaming network for a new batch of episodes, and I can't imagine doing this without my shining star."

"...you haven't talked to me in forever," Eliza muttered, "did I do something wrong?"

This question punched Beatrice in the gut.

"No, god no, I...Eliza, after what happened I just...vanished. I couldn't deal with anyone. I'm sorry I didn't stay in contact with you, but it wasn't like I forgot about you. Whenever people might find me, and if they were in the market for making their own things, I always directed them to you because I knew your work was so good. I don't know how much work that actually wound up netting you, but-"

"I don't make puppets anymore," Eliza said.

"Eliza-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I need to go," she said, getting up suddenly and running back up the staircase to her bedroom. As Bea sat and watched in stunned silence, Don re-entered the kitchen, sipping from his mug and eating a shortbread cookie, one of which he offered to Bea, and she graciously accepted.

"What the fuck happened to her?" Bea asked softly, "I mean, she was always eccentric, that was why I liked her, but...what happened to her?"

"...I guess things stopped being alright when her mom died," Don said.

"I get that loss has an irreversible effect on people at times, lord knows I myself have experienced that first hand, but...but how could it-"

"Because she thinks she killed her, Bea," Don said, sighing, "She thinks she killed her mother. And no matter what I say to her, she'll never believe otherwise."

Beatrice went from looking at Don to looking back up the staircase, just wishing she could know what had destroyed her star.

                                                                                               ***

"You're playing with fire," Liam said, "You do realize that?"

Stephanie sighed and sat back down at her desk, twisting open the lid on her bottle of water and taking a long sip.

"Yeah, I do, but we have our set contracts, and we can't just back outright of them. We have people we hire to do this sort of work."

"She won't work with anyone she doesn't trust," Liam said, "and frankly, I don't think I would either at this point."

Stephanie, arms folded now, glanced from Liam to Michelle, seated beside him.

"What about you? You know her too, what do you think? Could I sell her on this idea?" Stephanie asked.

"I...I don't think it's a good idea. She already vanished for almost 20 years just thanks to another studio hurting her and trying to make her work into something it wasn't, and here she thinks she's safe, because you've told her as much. I think you need to honor that. She can't be hurt again, she can't..." Michelle said, sighing before saying, "...she can't lose Beatrice again."

"How about this? How about half and half? She gets to hire the most important folks. The costume designer, prop maker, stuff like that. We choose the more film ground crew; editors, sound designers, stuff like that. That sound like a fair mix? This isn't us trying to hurt her, for what it's worth-"

"We understand that," Liam said.

"-it's about us having to honor pre-existing contracts we have with our workers," Stephanie said, "we're already doing a risky thing bringing back a kids show basically nobody ever heard of. In this day and age, when nostalgia sells like nothing else, to back something unheard of instead of a well known IP is kind of a shaky move, but we believe enough in the product and in your guys efforts to warrant the decision. That being said, Bea does not have the same clout as other successful saturday morning kids shows from the 90s."

"Fair, and totally right," Liam said, "Alright, I'll talk to her about it, but she might not be happy."

"We wanna keep her happy," Stephanie said, "But we also are legally obligated to keep everyone we work with happy, so."

After the meeting ended, Liam and Michelle were heading down the hall and towards the parking lot, when Liam stopped and pumped a dollar bill into a vending machine for a snack pack of chips. Michelle took a puff from her inhaler and exhaled deeply.

"This is beginning to feel like a mistake," Michelle said softly.

"I'm annoyed too, but this is business, this is what it is. It isn't all about making dreams come true," Liam said, popping open the bag and eating a few chips as they continued walking, adding as he chewed, "and besides, I think what she offered was a fair enough deal; so long as Bea gets to pick the most crucial people, I think she'll continue to feel safe."

"The thing I've learned in the past year, Liam, is that...the people you think are the most crucial are rarely the ones that actually are," Michelle said.

                                                                                           ***

"Eliza's always had...I don't wanna say 'problems', but, she's always been different," Don said, "When she was a little girl, she fell off a piece of playground equipment and hurt herself on the way down, hitting her head on a big piece of metal. As a result, she's...she's never really been the same. Not that she was exactly 'normal' before that. She was diagnosed with ADHD and a slew of other things but...that fall really did more than anything else did."

"I never knew about this."

"She doesn't talk about it, she's not embarrassed but...she doesn't think others should have to know," Don said, "and for the most part, I think she's right. Her mother took her to weekly therapy sessions for physical and mental therapy, because Eliza never learned to drive. One day they were on their way home after a particularly stressful session, and Eliza was just inconsolable about her lack of progress or what she perceived as lack of progress."

"I don't like where this is going," Bea mumbled.

"We've all heard the same story a million times, because it happens so often. It's a cliche for a reason, because it continues to occur. Rainy roads, loss of control, an accident, and eventually a death. My wife was my best friend, but losing her hurt Eliza more than it hurt me, and even I can openly acknowledge that. After that she stopped working on puppets entirely, and now she doesn't do much except play with her model trains."

"...I just always thought she was weird, in a good way, not...I don't know."

"Damaged?"

"I don't think damaged is the right word, because that insinuates there's something wrong with her, and there's not, she's just different," Beatrice said, making Don smile wide.

"You really are good at boosting a kids self esteem," he said, making Bea chuckle.

"I should get going," Bea said, "If she changes her mind, please let me know."

"Will do."

Bea got up, pulled her coat back on, threw her scarf around her neck and headed out the front door, Don leaning in the doorframe as he watched her descend down his porch. After a moment, she stopped and turned back to face him.

"You know," Bea said, "When we were in studio back in the day, I sectioned off an area specifically for her to work in, called The Hole. Nobody else ever went there, and she had the entire place to herself, far removed from everyone else. I just assumed she was a weird hermit, a sort of creative savant, and I respected her for that. I haven't lost that respect upon learning this, but...it makes a lot of things a lot more clear in regards to her behavior. I guess I felt protective of her, because I felt like I could relate to her. Just two weird girls making weird shit. I hope she comes around. You have my number."

"I do," Don said, smiling, "And thanks for everything you've done."

With that, he shut the door, watching Beatrice get into her car and drive away. After he saw her car turn the corner, he headed up the stairs and opened the door to Eliza's bedroom; it was filled with puppets she'd made over the years, and of course, model train tracks and small towns made of miniatures. She didn't even look up from him as he sat on her bed, and instead she continued to paint a small tree she was planning on inserting on a hillside.

"I know that might have been stressful, and I apologize for that," Don said, "Um...are you okay?"

"Okay," Eliza said flatly.

"There's something I think you should know," Don said, "...Bea paid for everything after the show ended. She continually sent money to help you stay afloat. Most of your therapy was paid for by her, even if she didn't know that was what the money was being spent on. Now I'm not saying this so you'll feel guilty and work for her again, but I want you to know that, yes, the world is cruel a lot of the time, especially to vulnerable people like you...but there's also those elite few who really do care, Eliza. Beatrice loves you. She loves your work. Just like you mom and I do."

Eliza stopped and looked at her dad.

"...I don't know that I know how to make," Eliza said, stuttering, "I...I'm scared I won't be good anymore. What if she isn't happy with me? Most people aren't happy with me."

"She came to get you specifically because she believes in your work," Don said, smiling, adding, "You're just as capable as you ever were. She told me she's best friends with a young woman who has breathing problems and often uses oxygen tanks. She works with people the rest of society considers broken because she sees that just because they have cracks doesn't mean they're broken. It means they're strong. To be that supposedly damaged and still going? That's power to her. Whatever you wanna do is fine by me, but I...I just don't want to see you give up a chance to do something great because you don't believe you're capable of it, when I know fully well you are more than capable of it."

Don stood up, kissed his daughter on the head and left the room. Eliza looked around the room at all the puppets, sighing, still braiding her hair as she usually did when nervous.

What would mom do?

                                                                                                ***

Beatrice was sitting in her apartment that evening, eating a sandwich as she listened to old jazz records and read a big book of paintings and their meanings. She'd always looked art books. She always found things in these deep dives to apply to her own work ethic, and she appreciated that. As she chewed, there was a knock on her door, and she stood up. It was probably Michelle, as she had said she'd stop by to discuss the meeting with Stephanie, but when Bea finally opened the door, she was surprised to find Eliza standing there.

"Oh!" Bea said, taken aback, "...Hi! Do you wanna come in?"

Eliza nodded, and Bea stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

"I'm sorry," Eliza said, "Um, I'm afraid of disappointing you. I don't wanna disappoint you. I always wanted you to be proud of me."

"I was always proud of you. You made me realize how important it was to connect with people the rest of society has thrown away and ignored. The sick, the ill, the damaged. Eliza, I don't wanna pressure you into this job, I just-"

"I wanna do it," Eliza said, "but, I'm not...mmm..."

She paced before sitting on the couch, leaving Bea standing and staring at her.

"Can I tell you a story?" Bea asked, and Eliza nodded as Bea finally sat down beside her; she continued, "a little over a year and a half ago, I met a young woman named Michelle. At first, I considered her to just be another overly enthusiastic fan, but...I quickly saw the value of what she saw value in, and I saw that because I saw that same enthusiasm in you and what you do. Michelle remade the set to the show in her basement. That level of commitment...I'd only ever seen it from one other person, and that person was you, Eliza. You won't be alone. Michelle will really like you, just like I do, and Liam does."

"...dad told me you paid for everything," she said.

"I did. I knew whatever the money from the network would be wouldn't be much, and I...I just felt like you deserved to be more well taken care of. Your passion for what you do reminded me so much of myself, so yeah, I sent monthly checks to your family. I didn't know until today that they were likely paying for medical expenses and whatnot, but..."

She paused and sighed.

"...it doesn't matter what they were used for. The point is the money was for you, and it went to helping you. I would do anything for the people who matter to me. Michelle knows this too. Vulnerable, different women in society are so often taken advantage of, and if all my work in life has been for nothing else than to show that they deserve better, than that's been worth the effort alone. Sure, a dog is mans best friend, but Beatrice Beagle is womens best friend."

Eliza smiled, and threw her arms around Bea, squeezing her tightly.

"I missed you," she whispered, crying against her shoulder. Bea stroked her back and sighed.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Bea said, "I'm sorry I wasn't more involved. I promise, I won't ever leave you again. I'm nothing if not loyal."

                                                                                         ***

Michelle and Liam were standing in the parking lot of the streaming studio, eating breakfast together, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Liam bit into a breakfast biscuit from a nearby fast food place and moaned deeply.

"You don't have to sound like you're having sex with it," Michelle said, making him almost choke from laughing.

"I just really enjoy it! I never eat garbage like this, so it's nice sometimes to remind myself how bad it is for me while enjoying how good it tastes," Liam said.

Suddenly a car pulled up and parked. The door opened and Eliza stepped out, her hair fully done up in braids. She was wearing overalls and big clunky shoes. Beatrice got out of the drivers side and walked around between Eliza and the other two.

"Eliza, this is Michelle, and you remember Liam," she said.

"It's nice to meet you," Eliza said, holding out her hand so Michelle could shake it, which she happily did.

"You too, I like your braids!"

"Beatrice did them this morning," Eliza said, giggling, before glancing at Liam and adding, "It's nice to see you again."

"It's great to see you Eliza."

"So, let's get to work guys, we got a show to write," Bea said, clapping her hands together as she lead the group inside the studio, all cracking jokes together on the way in, knowing this would be a wonderful work environment.

                                                                                              ***

"This is it," Bea said, opening the door to area, "The Hole."

Eliza, young and bright eyed, walked inside, carrying some of her equipment.

"It's big!" she said.

"It is big, yes," Beatrice said, "This is your space, and nobody else's. Feel free to decorate it, and just generally do whatever the hell you want. Passion projects? Go for it. Just be sure to get your work for the show done too."

"Absolutely!" Eliza said, her buck teeth lisping her speech a little, "Thank you Beatrice!"

Bea smiled and left the room, leaving Eliza to make The Hole her own little home, and she did. She made it her own space, and she loved it. Years later, upon tearing it all down, it felt like she was breaking herself down as well, and she never really recovered from that. The last time she saw The Hole was the saddest moment of her life, and she cried for days. She thought nothing would ever top this grief, until her mother died, and she realized the difference between creation and loss.

One you chose, and one you didn't.

And after her discussion with her father and Bea, she knew which was the one she wanted to fight for.

"I have to admit, this is sort of exciting, I've never been in an actual production studio before," Michelle said as she, Keagan and Beatrice walked through the back halls of the lot where the show was to be produced.

"It gets less exciting, trust me," Beatrice said, "Not to sound jaded or anything, but...once you see where the magic comes from, that same magic stops being magic. That's why a magician never reveals his secrets, because he knows the value of a mystery."

"I disagree," Keagan said, "I find the creation aspect fascinating. I mean, here's an entire group of people working together to bring one idea to life. If government worked even half as well as the entertainment industry, the public would be ecstatic."

Beatrice couldn't resist chuckling at this sentiment, as she did have a point. The girls approached a room with an open door and peered inside, only to see a young woman finishing makeup on an older womans face. She looked up as they entered, and she smiled.

"Sorry, didn't know something was going on in here," Keagan said.

"No, it's fine, come on in," the young woman said as she turned away from her client, "We're done anyway."

The older woman stood up, checked herself in the mirror and thanked the younger woman before taking her leave. The three entered the room fully now as she the makeup artist wiped her forehead with a rag and exhaled loudly.

"They workin' you hard?" Keagan asked, arms folded, smirking.

"No," the makeup artist responded, laughing, "no, the air conditioner has been broken in this back area for weeks. You'd think that a streaming service could put up money into this part of their business, but apparently not. It's fine, I have my desk fan. Just can't have it on while doing someones makeup cause it blows everything around."

She clicked the desk fan on, then sat in her makeup chair and looked at the women again.

"Are we going to be working together?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm the only one who's going to be on camera, and even then I'll be wearing a mask, so likely not," Beatrice said, holding her hand out to be shaken, "I'm Beatrice."

"Clara," the makeup artist responded, shaking her hand firmly, "Well, someone in your cast is going to be utilizing me, so just send them my way when you know who."

Just then the little beeper on her hip sounded, and she groaned, excusing herself into a smaller, separate room from them. The women stood there momentarily, until they realized she wouldn't be coming back, and then turned to leave. As they crowded back into the hall, Beatrice shook her head.

"I've been out of the business for so long, and it hasn't changed at all. Sad," she whispered.

                                                                                              ***

Liam was sitting in a booth at a diner near the production studio lot when he heard the bell over the door ring, and quickly found Beatrice sliding in across the table from him. He sighed, put down his fork and looked at her as she skimmed through the menu.

"I take it it didn't go well," he said.

"Actually it went fine. The girls were far more enamored than I was, obviously, but nobody was rude or demanding or anything. We just took in the studio site, all that, and we gave the photos of Michelle's basement to the set designer, considering her mockup was the best photographic evidence we have of the set we used to own."

"They couldn't just use the tapes for that?"

"Please. Don't get me wrong, Keagan did a wonderful job cleaning them up, but the image quality is still so old that it wouldn't work," Beatrice said, "You are reprising your role, right? I wouldn't be doing this without you by my side."

"Yeah," Liam replied, smiling a little at her insistence, "Yeah I'm reprising my role, don't worry."

"Good. They want us to do 20 shows this year, each airing a week apart. Sounds brutal, but really it's the same as the old schedule."

"A week apart? Isn't the whole point of streaming to drop giant batches of content at once?" Liam asked, scratching his head.

"Yes, but that doesn't work with childrens programming. Children have school, homework, social duties. I don't want to overload them with things they won't have the time to watch, and then feel bad if they aren't as up to date as their friends are. That's why I fought for the weekly drop. I want it to be something special, something that feels like it happens only once a week and only for them."

Liam smiled. He'd forgotten just how endearing Beatrice could be. Sure, she'd done nice things like this on the previous show; birthday shoutouts and the like, but she was always genuinely nurturing little children in many ways they couldn't even comprehend, and he found that extremely kind. He was starting to feel grateful to work with her again.

"You have the puppet, right?" she asked.

"Yep," Liam said, "In my apartment, fit as a fiddle."

"Good," Bea said, sighing as she set down her menu and looked around, "...you know, if you'd told me when the original show ended that we'd be doing it all over again, I would've not only laughed at you but I might've beaten you to death too."

"Understandable."

"But the more I think about it, the more I wonder how lucky we really are. I mean, how many people are lucky enough to get to do what they want once, let alone twice? How many people make something that touches that many people that they want it to come back? That's...I don't know. I guess I feel special that Beatrice touched that many lives."

"You should," Liam said, itching his mustache, "I mean, you're going to be the bright light for a whole new generation of kids, and that's....that's simply not a thing everyone gets to do. To help mold a child, even if only through a TV show? That's a unique attribute that only a few people, and dogs, have."

"Though I gotta tell ya, I don't really enjoy the idea of being inside that wretched costume for hours on end again. Don't get me wrong, I love Bea, but that thing is brutal to be inside of."

"Yeah well, we all suffer for our art," Liam said with a chuckle, making her laugh.

                                                                                            ***

"I hate the idea of working with others," Keagan said as she put her laundry away into the closet.

Lexi, pulling her earrings from her ear and setting them on the vanity table before brushing through her long golden hair, simply nodded in response to this. When Keagan went off on something, she knew it was best to just let her blow off the steam as much as she could without interrupting or countering.

"I mean, I don't mind working with Michelle, because that's a real friendship, but...I don't know. These other people, like the makeup artist...it's weird. I guess I always feel like I have to prove myself around white people more than anyone else. Like...like if I don't, then they'll just immediately associate me with all the racial biases they already have or something."

"Well," Lexi said, turning on her stool, setting her hairbrush in her hands, "You didn't have to prove anything to Michelle, and you certainly didn't have to prove anything to me."

Keagan blushed. She knew Lexi was right. Both she and Michelle had liked her right from the offset, but still...she couldn't help but feel nervous going to work in a predominantly white studio. She'd always hated being the 'token black girl' no matter where she was, but especially at work, where she felt she had to show her worth far more than any white folks had to, as if to say she was worthy of being there whether her skin color was different or not.

"I'm just nervous, I guess," Keagan said, sitting on the end of the bed, "...like, all my life I wanted to work in media of some kind, and when I found out about lost media, I got so excited because here was a field that there was a lot of room for success in. I wanna be of help to Bea, and Michelle, but I just don't know that I know enough about actual media to really justify whatever credit it is they decide to stick me with. And with the makeup artist...it feels like I'm always wearing makeup, no matter what I'm doing or where I am. I'm always pretending to be someone else. Someone society will respect. I guess I understand why Bea hid behind a mask, because whether you're black or a woman - or in my case both - society is going to judge you doubly hard. But at least under piles of makeup, or behind a mask, it makes their judgement a bit tougher to make."

Lexi, using her toes, pulled her stool towards the bed and ran her hands into Keagan's bushy hair, smiling as she leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Your skin color is your personhood, not a tool to be used for the debating of your skills," Lexi said, snuggling up to her, making Keagan want to cry. How did she get so lucky to have someone so loving in her life? Sometimes, admittedly, she missed having her solitude just like Michelle did, but a lot of times, also admittedly, she couldn't deny being so thankful to have such caring people around her all the time.

This was one of those times.

                                                                                            ***

Michelle scooted another set of hangers further down the rack, pulled a few back, then sighed and kept looking. Delores stood off to the side, sitting on a small bench, as she watched. After a little bit, Michelle stopped and turned towards her, looking dejected.

"I don't know what looks good on me," she said.

"Well, kiddo, nobody does except models," Delores said, "but if you pick something that isn't perfectly fitted, we can always have it tailored more to your measurements. Unless you feel uncomfortable in form fitting clothing, I don't know."

"Are suits supposed to be form fitting?"

"Everything is supposed to be form fitting on a woman," Delores said, sounding annoyed which made Michelle laugh; Delores chuckled a little and continued, "but yes, they're supposed to, generally, accentuate your best features. Same with dresses. Even for men, suits are meant to make them look good. But are you sure you even really need a suit for a job like this?"

"I wanna be professional," Michelle said, seating herself on the bench beside Delores, tucking some of her hair back behind her ear, "...I've never gotten the chance to be professional, and I want to make Beatrice proud."

"I think you've already done that," Delores said, rubbing her back gently, "after all, you got her show back on the air after how many years?"

"Yeah, but...I want her to see that I'm more than just some media obsessed weirdo," Michelle said.

"Why? That's obviously what she likes about you," Delores said, "Why rock the boat?"

"I...I don't know. I guess cause I could never prove it to my mom," Michelle said quietly and Delores exhaled deeply, straightening up and adjusting her sleeves.

"You know, when I was your age, I wanted to prove to my mother that I was professional too. I so badly wanted to show her that I could handle life in the work force, so I volunteered everywhere I could. I saved up my money, I bought myself some cheap second hand suits from thrift stores, and I volunteered anywhere that would have me. I did gofer jobs mostly, but it didn't really matter what the job was exactly, I was determined to show her that I could handle it because she thought I couldn't."

"Why'd she think you couldn't?" Michelle asked, and Delores sighed, shaking her head, her curly brown hair bobbing as she did so.

"Never really knew why, she'd never tell me and I rarely asked. I guess some parents just don't have very high opinions of their own children," she said, shrugging, "but I soon realized the one I was proving right was myself, not her, and that was far more valuable honestly. I proved that I didn't need her approval, because my approval of a job well done was worth far more."

Michelle smiled at this story as she looked at her shoes.

"I guess my mom thinks because I'm sick that I'm just not capable of doing much," she muttered, "is that what the whole world thinks of sick people? Why do people like myself have to prove our worth to a world that doesn't respect us to begin with?"

"You're a disabled woman," Delores said, "you're still capable of doing anything anyone else is, but so many are going to not see that or agree with it. Trust me though, kiddo, in the end, the only one worth proving anything to is yourself. Do things for you, not for them."

"...I like the color grey, I think I'll get a grey suit," Michelle said, standing back up and heading back to the rack; she glanced over her shoulder and smiled, adding "thanks for coming with me to do this, Delores."

"Anytime," Delores replied.

                                                                                                ***

Women, especially women who don't fit into the general "normative" culture as society sees it, often have to fight harder to be seen, recognized and even respected. Women like Beatrice, who share too much of themselves too easily, or women like Keagan, whose only real difference was something beyond her control, or women like Michelle, who just had trouble breathing a little more than most women do. None of these women had anything wrong with them. They were simply different, and it was those very differences that made them equal, not better.

This was something that Clara, as she was coming into her small apartment late that night, was coming to realize. She'd fought so hard her whole life to not judge, and to not feel superior to others, and the only way she could find herself feeling less superior was to ruin herself so she could have something to point to to say "look, I'm worse than you, see!"

As she unplugged the cork from the bottle of wine and sat on her couch, pulling the little baggie from her coat pocket and putting the coke into lines on the coffee table, she realized how ridiculous it was. Self sabotage only because society hadn't given her something to hate about herself. It saw her as a heteronormative, cisgendered woman - which she was - with no real ailments of any kind, so instead she created some of her own, simply so she could claim she wasn't as "perfect" as society seemed to claim she was.

Lying back into the couch after doing two bumps, she sipped her wine and exhaled.

"We all wear makeup," she'd told a friend in the business one day, "just that some of us wear it all the time."

"You...you're offering me how much?" Beatrice asked, sitting beside Liam and Michelle in Stephanie Mirk's office.

Stephanie smiled sweetly and cupped her hands together on her desk as she leaned forward, her voice buttery yet professional.

"It'd be exclusive only to our service. We pride ourselves on making content specifically for children, and family, and after the viral success your tapes had, we can see there's a market for such a show. We're prepared to offer you a million an episode, and full creative control so long as you don't include any adult material or offensive content."

Bea looked at Liam, who shrugged and smirked. Bea nodded, then looked back at Stephanie as she exhaled.

"We have a deal, but only if you include my friend here," Bea said, putting her hand on Michelle's shoulder, adding, "After all, I wouldn't have viral success without her efforts. If she isn't included, then I walk."

Stephanie chewed her lip for a moment, then reached across the table and held out her hand.

"Deal," she said, as Bea shook it, adding, "And Michelle, welcome to show business."

                                                                                              ***

                                                                                 3 WEEKS EARLIER

"You do know your calendar is out of date, right? It's from 4 years ago," Bea said, knocking on it with her knuckles as she turned to see Michelle adjusting the knob on her oxygen tank before plugging the cannula into her nose. Michelle nodded as she seated herself back on her bed.

"I like the pictures," she said, making Bea smile.

"You're like a child, it's cute," Bea said, taking a seat in Michelle's desk chair across from the bed; she exhaled and looked at her, asking, "You sure you're doing okay? You don't need any help? You know you can ask me for anything."

"I'm okay," Michelle said, "I've had a hard time adjusting to living with people, admittedly, but it's somewhat easier seeing as they're friends of mine and not strangers. Still, I miss my solitude...and my basement."

"I'm sorry," Bea said quietly, "I know how that feels."

Bea had spent so long missing the set, that she knew how deeply it must hurt Michelle to miss the set she'd recreated in her basement. Somehow bother women had fallen in love with the same imaginary place built in two entirely different areas. Bea shook her head, then remembered and clapped her hands together.

"I forgot to tell you, I got a phone call the other day!" she said happily.

"Did you not own a phone before, or?"

"No," Bea said, laughing, "No, I mean someone from a streaming service called me and said that they wanted to meet with Liam and I about the show. They said they'd seen the viral success of the episodes you and Keagan had recut, cleaned up and uploaded to the site and they wanted to talk to us about doing something together."

"That's awesome," Michelle said.

"And I want you to come with me," Bea said, surprising her.

"You want what now?"

                                                                                                ***

Liam couldn't believe his ears. Standing in his apartment as he watered his plants, he mulled over what Beatrice and Michelle had just told him. He finally put his small brown watering can back down on a bookshelf and, using his cane, turned towards the women.

"Are you telling me you're actually considering going back to the business?" Liam asked, "Because I find that hard to believe after what happened. I find it even harder to believe that you want me to be a part of it, considering what happened."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to be a more forgiving person these days," Bea said, shrugging as she leaned against the armchair and watched Liam waddle his way back towards his kitchen to make some more coffee.

"And you want her to come with us?" he asked, pointing at Michelle with his cane as he filled the pot with water from the sink.

"Yes," Bea said, "If it weren't for her and Keagans efforts, I'd still be a hermit and you'd likely be dead, so, I think we owe quite a bit to them. I want Michelle to be considered a co-creator and Keagan a consultant or executive producer."

"But neither one has any experience in the industry."

"Exactly, they aren't tainted by its ills."

Liam smirked. Bea always knew just what to say to counteract his points. He sighed as he waited for his coffee to brew, and looked at the two women in his apartment. He knew he didn't have a choice. Instead he just sighed and nodded.

"Then I guess we're doing this. I'll have to dig out some of my nicer clothes," Liam said.

                                                                                             ***

Keagan was upset, but she didn't want to say it.

As she watched Lexi cut a sandwich into pieces, Keagan wanted so badly to just stand upright from the table she was seated at and shout that she was angry, but her reasoning for being angry was so stupid, she thought, that she couldn't fathom actually doing such a thing. Lexi turned from the counter and brought the finger sandwiches back to the table, setting them down in the middle before bringing them each a glass of carrot juice to go with it.

"I think I eat a lot healthier with you around, that's for sure," Keagan said, "Doesn't help that I'm too broke to pay for fast food though."

"It's good to eat well. Gives you more energy," Lexi said, seating herself and taking a sandwich, "besides," she added, "I like cooking. I always wanted to maybe be a chef of some kind of something. It was a hobby I always really enjoyed, and I especially like it when others appreciate what I've made."

"Well, I certainly appreciate you making food, because I suck at it," Keagan said, "I could burn water."

Lexi laughed loudly as she popped her sandwich into her mouth and chewed. Keagan liked making her laugh, that she couldn't deny. As she watched Lexi lift up the newspaper and read, Keagan started to feel a bit better. She had to admit, domesticity was nice, and certainly far better than the loneliness she had experienced beforehand. Lexi also would agree; no longer living with her mother and sister, she was thrilled to be living with someone she felt truly enjoyed her company.

"I think...I have to say-" Keagan started, but Michelle walked in through the side door of the kitchen, smiling at them.

"I've had an interesting day," she said, putting her canister and cannula in the corner before looking at Keagan and saying with a grin, "How'd you like to work in television?"

                                                                                              ***

Sitting in the pizzeria after the meeting, Bea, Michelle, Liam and Keagan were enjoying a pizza pie and soda. Laughing and eating, it was like having a real family, Michelle thought. Liam sipped his soda and smacked his lips, exhaling.

"God, I'm so glad I stopped drinking," Liam said, "I mean, sure, it makes eating out kind of bland, but I recognize it's better for my health."

"So what is it like, working in show business?" Michelle asked.

"Well, you'll both get regular paychecks, for starters," Bea said, "Much higher than whatever you're making now is, I guarantee that much. Plus, Michelle, health insurance. That alone should cut your living costs drastically, not to mention make you even less reliant on your mother for financial support."

Michelle's lip quivered, she wanted to cry, but she held it back and waited for Bea to finish.

"And Keagan, this will help get your foot in the door to do more work on this type. I know you've always been fascinated by lost media and whatnot, and this could easily get you access to vaults worth of forgotten content to discover."

"That sounds amazing," Keagan said.

"Who knows, if things go well enough, perhaps you'll even be given the chance to do your own show all about lost media," Bea said, "Lord knows upping the intelligence of the public in regards to the arts is certainly a worthy and valiant effort."

"I'm scared I won't know what to do," Michelle said, finishing her slice and wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Just stick with Liam and I and we'll navigate you through all of this, okay?" Bea asked, rubbing her back and smiling, "Don't worry, we won't let you get lost in the shuffle. You're the heart of this thing. If people see you're passionate about something, it gives them the illusion that it matters, and they become passionate too. You're passionate about the show. About the dog. Others have been proven to follow that lead already."

Michelle nodded and smiled. She loved Bea so deeply, but she was also afraid to attach herself to something so iconic, of getting too close and witnessing the evils it could produce. After all, if things had gone wrong once...

...who's to say they couldn't go wrong again?

                                                                                                 ***

Sitting in her hospital bed as a little girl, staring up at the TV screen and watching Bea sing a song, Michelle had forgotten all about the fact that her mother hadn't come to see her in days. Secretly she wished Beatrice Beagle could be her mother, and when she napped, she often had dreams about such a thing. Being with Beatrice, even just on the television, made Michelle feel as though she were cared for after all, and that she should get better because Bea would be proud of her for doing so.

When she came home, she continued to watch the show every day. Sitting on the floor in front of the television in their living room, often while her parents yelled at one another in their bedroom at the back of the house, Michelle was capable of tuning all the negativity out and focusing instead of this dog who told her that she was important, and she did matter. Only when Beatrice went away did Michelle start to have problems believing such things, but only from time to time. Deep down she internalized the things Bea had taught her on the show, and felt she deserved better. Felt she deserved more.

When she finally moved out - albeit into a home rented by her mother - she thought "Wow, if only Beatrice Beagle could see me now!"

Sometimes all we need in life is one person, imaginary or otherwise, to help us help ourselves.

                                                                                                   ***

"I can't believe you're doing this," Lawrence said, sitting in his office chair as Stephanie made herself a drink and then came and sat beside him; he stirred the ice in his cup and shook his head, chuckling, "Like, you realize often internet numbers don't match up with traditional media, right? Sure, people clamor online for something, and sometimes they even get something to come back in a reboot or an uncancellation, but rarely do those very same people follow through on the promise of actually supporting it once it's back on air."

"I know, but I think this is different. This is something children can connect with," Stephanie said, "Children are online more than adults, especially younger children. Parents don't wanna take care of their kids, they use devices to do the babysitting for them, and the tablet is the television. Everyday I see articles about how much screentime kids spend on sites like Youtube, just watching, aimlessly, for hours, in a trance. I think, with a built in recognition factor, we could have that very same audience. Think about it...we craft it as a forgotten icon, someone who was hurt by traditional media, someone who - like most of the young people today - was against capitalism and thus capitalism was used against her. They'll relate to that. They'll find her persistence admirable."

"I think I see where you're going with this."

"Right," Stephanie said, taking a sip, "so we build on that. 'Hey, we're the new way to engage in content, and we won't hurt them this time!' and people will believe it. Streaming services are said to be the new frontier, which we all know is bullshit. I mean, we have no advertisers, and our competitors pale in comparison when faced with our original output. We're the folks who say 'yeah, forget traditional television, come to us! We'll let you do whatever!' but it's a ruse, because we'll only do that for as long as it's profitable to our brand, same as anyone else, but because we can just make something and put it out there with no bullshit behind it, that entices people into thinking we're the good guys."

"You're so negative towards your own work," Lawrence said, laughing as Stephanie pulled a grape off the small silver plate on his desk and ate it. She shrugged.

"Listen," she said, chewing, "I grew up watching traditional television. Weekly appointment water cooler TV, okay? That's why I know streaming is no different. Does it have pros? Certainly, but its cons are just as bad as traditional television and far outweigh the few pros it has over its aged out predecessor. Once it's a success - and it will be because parents follow their childrens interests - then we start producing merchandising and once that takes off, the show is secondary to the brand."

"I see how you got to be where you are today," Lawrence said, "You're smart as hell."

"You don't watch a lot of TV and not come away with something," Stephanie said, the two of them raising their glasses in toast to one another; "To Beatrice Beagle," she said.

"To Beatrice Beagle," Lawrence replied, and they drank.

                                                                                                 ***

When Michelle and Keagan got home that evening, Michelle soon found herself alone, thanks to Lexi's insistence that she and Keagan also go out to celebrate this new job offer. Michelle didn't mind, though, she was more than happy to be home alone. Lying on her bed, looking at the glow in the dark stars she'd stuck to the ceiling, she couldn't believe what had happened. How had she gone from being just a sick child in the hospital looking to a fursuited woman for guidance to now working with that very same woman?

Beatrice Beagle was going to get another chance to shine, another chance to be adored by kids all over, and Michelle was so proud to be able to say she was a big part of that chance. She smiled to herself as she pulled her blankets up to her neck and shut her eyes. Everything Bea had taught her as a kid had in fact paid off. She'd believed in herself and look at where she'd gotten. She was no longer just some poor sick kid, no, she was going to be someone in the entertainment industry, guided by the very woman whom she'd once shared an intimate hospital room with.

And Beatrice, after arriving home that night, immediately pulled out the suit.

She set it on the floor and looked at it. It would need some minor adjustments, a bit of maintenance, but overall it was still in tip top shape, she was proud to say. She took good care of the thing, even if it had been stored in her closet for all these years. Bea ran her hands along the head and felt the fur on the ears. God, she was going to have to spend hours in this stuffy costume yet again, but this time...this time she thought it'd be worth it. Unlike the first outing, this one was paved with good intentions, at least from her and Michelle's point of view, and she wouldn't let the same thing happen this time around that had happened to her and Liam the first time.

But most importantly, she thought about Beatrice, the actual dog, and how much she wanted the world to recognize how special she was.

And now maybe they would.