Michelle was laying in bed, staring at the wall.

She refused to believe it was real. That the words that had been said had been meant. Bea was angry, scared, confused. She just needed some time off, she was simply letting off steam, and Michelle had caught the brunt of it. Surely she could go back tomorrow and everything would be the same as it always was. But her key card didn't work at the gate when she pulled in the following morning. Nor did it work the next day. Or the next. And it very quickly dawned on Michelle that, yes, in fact, she was fired. Bea had meant every word. So now she spent her days in a nearby cafe, sitting in a booth and drinking coffee, something she'd rarely done before, while she typed away on her laptop.

On the ninth day, Michelle was sitting there, still tapping away on her keyboard when she was finally discovered by Keagan. Keagan sat herself down in the booth across from Michelle, with a poppyseed muffin and a tea, but didn't say a word. Michelle didn't even look up or acknowledge her presence at all whatsoever. Instead she just stayed hyperfocused on her work. So Keagan ate her muffin in peace, until Michelle finally finished furiously typing, and relaxed back the vinyl booth seating.

"At least you're keeping busy," Keagan said, and Michelle stared out the window.

"I went to her apartment after Liam died. I found her crumpled on the floor against the wall crying. I picked her back up and got her back to work," Michelle said, "I did so much for her."

"Why did you tell her Michelle," Keagan said, "I know we agreed that it might come better from you, but that was not the opportune time. Why didn't you wait...or...I don't know, let me run the risk of-"

"Couldn't be you. We wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for you," Michelle said, finally looking at Keagan, "all I did was digitize tapes. You're the one who found everyone. You're the one who should have had my job all along. Who should've had the relationship with her that I've had."

"I don't know that I wanted it," Keagan said, "I just liked discovering lost media."

"Well, either way, this whole thing only exists today because of your efforts. You need to be there," Michelle said, "I don't need to be anywhere. My mom made that clear. And now so has she."

And with that she went right back to typing, not saying another word the entire time. Keagan ate and drank in silence, watching Michelle, her heart breaking with every keystroke. Somehow, she knew, she had to fix this.

***

"This cake is really good!" Claire said happily as she took another bite, causing Bea to smile.

"Figured the best I could do is start making up for all the birthdays I missed, wasn't able to bake you a cake," Bea said.

"It's not my birthday though," Claire said, mouth full of cake.

"Doesn't have to be," Bea said, chuckling.

Bea and Claire were sitting in Justine's kitchen. Justine was hiding out in her upstairs bathroom, opting to stay as far away from Beatrice as possible whenever she come over to visit Claire. She'd hoped, that with Claire and Bea getting in touch, that perhaps this meant Claire would simply move in with her mother now, and Justine could have the quiet sanctity of her house back, but this wasn't appearing to be the case just yet. She could hear them very muffled through the floor as she lay on the bathroom tile.

"How did you even find me?" Beatrice asked.

"Well," Claire said, finishing chewing and swallowing her sweet treat before brushing hair from her face, "actually, it was surprisingly easy...my parents didn't really hide it from me, exactly. I just knew they weren't my parents. I kept asking. Pushing. They were always kinda cagey about it, but they did finally give in completely, own up to it all, told me what I wanted to know. But I always knew."

Claire put her fork down, wiped her mouth on a napkin and looked at her hands in her lap.

"...I never forgot you," she said softly, and Bea's heart cracked a little; Claire continued, "you think a child doesn't remember things if they're young enough, but I was old enough to remember. I didn't remember your name. I just knew you were 'mom'. But once I saw your face...saw the new show...it was so obvious."

"I'm so sorry," Bea whispered, reaching across the table and holding Claire's hand carefully, rubbing the back with her thumb; she swallowed, eyes wet, and added, "if it's any consolation, it was the single worst moment of my life. Your father and I, though, we...it was...messy. Creative partners. Business partners. Both a beard for eachother. We reached an impasse when we each realized we couldn't continue to be hidden from the world, and needed to be our authentic selves."

"But you weren't," Claire said, "I mean, I read, in the paper, when they saw you kissing your girlfriend at that event. You obviously weren't yourself. So you left me for no reason?"

"No, I..." Bea said, sighing, "um...your father sold the company out from under me to a pizzeria, and after a while it became too commercial, and lost all meaning. The pizzeria was going under as well, and...and I had to walk away. And after that, I realized I'd lost the three things I'd loved more than anything - the show, my daughter, and my best friend - and in my head I thought, well, this is what happens when you love something. It gets taken away from you. So I didn't love again. Not for a very long time."

"What happened then?" Claire asked, "what changed that?"

Bea didn't want to say it. But she knew it was true. It was Michelle. Michelle and her rebuilt basement set. That had reopened Bea's long since locked away heart and made her realize that loving, even loving something that was no longer there, was worth it if it brought you happiness even in its absence.

"I'm just glad you're home," Bea whispered, pulling Claire's hand towards her and planting a small, soft kiss on it.

"I missed you, mom," Claire said, the both of them crying happilty now.

Justine, however, was cold and emotionless. She could hear the crying, knew it was all good vibes, but she felt nothing. Why would she. Why would she ever feel anything for the woman who had, even unintentionally, driven her own creative partner and best friend to the void. Justine sat upright by the toilet and finished off another drink, then she stood up, grabbed her keys from the bathroom counter, and headed downstairs and out the front door to her car. She needed to see Michelle.

***

Michelle was back home, curled up in the recliner in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. She wasn't doing anything, she was simply sitting there, almost motionless, expressionless, as she chewed absentmindedly on her nails. Eliza was at work, and without her, or without work herself, Michelle didn't have anything to do and nobody to distract her. She wanted to go to the studio so badly herself, to go back to working, but she knew that simply wasn't a reality. She needed something to distract her. Something that would keep her busy. She needed a project, like she used to have.

A knock at the door startled Michelle from her absentmindedness, and stirred her back into reality. She stood up and walked to the door, unlocking and pulling it open, only to find Justine, only mildly more sober than usual, standing on her porch.

"...come on in," Michelle said, not even hesitating as she stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"She's in my kitchen," Justine said, "they're both in my kitchen, and here you are, shackled to your loneliness."

"Wow, you really are a writer," Michelle replied, smirking as she walked past Justine and sat back in her chair. Justine paced in front of her.

"Exiled to the fringes, when none of this would have happened without you in the first place," Justine said, seemingly ignoring Michelle's good natured pithy comment; she continued, running her hands up into her hair anxiously, "she has a public facing persona that has no basis in reality."

"That isn't true, she really is good," Michelle said quietly, now pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and reting her chin on her knees, "she gave me a lung. She saved my life. I would still be living in my mothers rental home with nothing going for me if not for her."

"No, you wouldn't, and you know why I know that? Because you built that set. You did that without ever knowing her, without ever knowing she would see it or what it would lead to, meaning you do it for the love of the artistry, showcasing your skill and talent, proving that, if given the right opportunity, you were capable of more than everyone was telling you you were capable of."

Justine dropped to the floor in front of the chair and grabbed the armrests with her hands, clenching tightly, her nails digging into the soft foam.

"Do not let her discount what you started simply because she co-opted your involvement as a springboard for her own comeback," Justine said sternly, and Michelle nodded slowly, her eyes widening as Justines words hit hard and fast. She was...right. Without both Michelle and Keagan, Beatrice was the one who would still be living in the shadows, living her life in the doldrums of times gone by; she would have none of this success, this money or newfound fame, and she certainly never would have seen her daughter again.

"What do I do?" Michelle asked, sounding on the verge of tears as she wiped her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve.

"...you write me a script," Justine said.

***

"You know, you look just how I pictured you," Bea said, "It's really remarkable. I mean, I guess in a way I had some idea of how you'd turn out, since I did have you for a number of years, but...you look exactly like what I thought you might."

"I wish you'd been there," Claire said, "for all the things I did. All the stuff I experienced."

"Like what, tell me about them, tell me about your accomplishments," Bea said, crossing her arms on the table and smiling, listening.

"Oh, no, there's no accomplishments," Claire said, chuckling, tucking hair behind her ear, "no no, nothing like that. But just, I mean...how I turned out, the stuff I went through, you know, like, growing up. Not that she was a bad mom or anything, she was great, but...it just...she wasn't you."

Beatrice furrowed her brow and cleared her throat.

"...what do you mean there's no accomplishments?" she asked.

"I mean there's nothing to talk about. I haven't done anything of note," Claire said, "I went to school, but I dropped out, I couldn't handle it. I've tried doing lots of different things, but none of them have worked, or I didn't like them enough, or I wasn't good at them. I'm not you, despite being yours."

Beatrice nodded slowly, understanding. Claire hadn't done anything with her life thusfar, except find her. Beatrice was hoping she would have stories, tales to tell, but she had nothing. Bea cleared her throat again and sighed.

"When I was your age," she said, "I moved to the city, I started doing one woman shows, that's where I met your father. But the world is different now, I guess, and I shouldn't have expected you to have done the same things I've done, or even been able to, considering how drastically things have changed. The world isn't the same as it was when I was your age. Sometimes it's hard to remember that."

"You just weren't there, so why try hard," Claire said, and this...this statement above all others hit Bea at her core.

She'd spent a lifetime trying to tell children they were worth something, regardless of the opinions of adults around them. That they could do anything they wanted, be anyone they wanted. And yet the one who needed that most was her own daughter, whom she turned loose. She struggled to not cry, and bit her lip. Claire was starting to seem like a barely developed person. Thusfar, she'd exhibited absolutely no interests, no hobbies, no ambitions whatsoever. Her only goal, really, it seemed, was finding Beatrice. Bea finally exhaled, gathering her nerve back, and smiled sweetly.

"How would you like to help me with what I do?" Beatrice asked.

"Really? What could I do though?" Claire asked.

"I don't know, we'll have to check out your talents, skills, but personally, I've always been of the belief that you can do anything you want, if you just believe you ultimately can. Now, there's the obvious issue with this sentiment, which is that, inherently, some people can't do certain things, but there's no shame in that either, because nobody is good at everything. But everyone is good at something. Even just one thing. Let's find your thing, sweetheart, together."

Claire smiled, trying not to cry now herself. All she'd wanted her whole life was to have her real mother by her side, helping her through the world. And yet, within her, she had this horrible nagging reminder that someone close to Beatrice had taken the fall in order for Claire to get what she wanted, and that didn't seem right. The thing is, Beatrice was right, Claire was, in fact, good at something.

And that something, as it would turn out, was being the version of her mother her mother pretended to be.

***

Michelle was sitting on the bed, staring at her laptop screen, as Justine sat beside her. Michelle was furiously typing away, whiled Justine provided input - specifically in regards to wording, phrasing, tone - and it was the first time in a long while either felt like they truly had a purpose again. Meanwhile, Eliza was still at work, in The Hole, sitting at her workbench, loupe over her eye as she added sequins to a puppet with her hot glue gun. She stopped and glanced over to the Liam puppet sitting at the top of the bench. She put the glue gun down, grabbed the puppet and slid it on her arm.

"This isn't right and you know it," the puppet said.

"But what can I do?" Eliza asked.

"You stand up for the woman you love," the puppet replied, "you do what is necessary. Otherwise you are no more complicit in Beatrice's actions than she herself is."

Eliza nodded, then pulled the puppet back off and set it back down. Sometimes she just needed to hear the truth come out of a mouth that wasn't technically her own, even if the words were from her brain. She sighed and spun around in her chair, looking up at the puppet covered ceiling like some kind of felt sistine chapel, and she shook her head. Beatrice had given her this whole life, this job, believed in her work, tracked her down to bring her back, but Michelle...Michelle had given her the kind of love she never thought she would have. That was more worth protecting than her job.

Keagan and Lexi were at the house, Keagan continually beating herself up over what had happened while Lexi attempted, to the best of her abilities, to help her see that it wasn't her fault. And yet, like Eliza, they knew if they let Michelle continue to be fired, they too would be just as bad as Beatrice. Someone had to do something. The facade was cracking. They were starting to see Beatrice in a new light, as a person capable of making mistakes, being selfish, or perhaps even manipulative, even if she didn't know she was. That's the thing. It wasn't malicious, she was simply acting out of human nature.

She'd built her entire identity around being a dog; mans best friend, loyal and understanding, compassionate and always by your side to support you. But she wasn't a dog. She was a human being, full of flaws and quirks and capable of hurting others and screwing up.

And it was time they reminded her of that.