The storage unit door rattled as it slid upwards, letting light inside. Oliver and the manager of the business walked inside. The manager swung his keys around his finger as Oliver stepped further inside, hands in his pockets and looked around at the space.

"So, it's climate controlled?" Oliver asked, not looking back at the man, "because I plan to store some stuff in here that could be affected by temperature changes. Old home movies and photos and stuff like that."

"Yes sir, the whole place is climate controlled, and we don't have any pests or anything that could harm your belongings," the manager said, scratching the back of his head, "and of course, privacy. Nobody will ever gain access to your unit from within the company. Believe me when I tell you we have absolutely no interest in your crap."

Oliver chuckled, nodding. He sighed and looked back at the manager.

"I get a key?"

"You get a single key, yes," the manager said, "but do not lose it. You'll have to pay to have it replaced. And if someone finds it, you wouldn't want them getting in."

"Trust me," Oliver said, as his eyes scanned over the interior one more time, "...nobody is ever gonna come here but me."

                                                                                                           ***

Rachel was sitting at her coffee table in her living room, sipping coffee from her mug and flipping through muted television channels. She yawned and tossed her long shiny hair, still waking up from sleep, when a knock came at her door. Sun Rai entered the room, clipping earrings onto herself, and headed to answer the door. As she pulled it open, they found Wyatt standing there, who smiled at her.

"Hiya," he said, "Uh, I'm...I'm here to see Rachel, is she home?"

"He can come in," Rachel shouted, and Sun Rai moved aside, heading back to the bathroom to finish getting dressed as Wyatt entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. He walked up to the table and looked around the living room.

"I think this is the first time I've ever actually been inside your place," he said, "it's nice. Cozy."

"What do you want?" Rachel asked, continuing to sip her coffee.

"Where's she going?" Wyatt asked, nodding towards the bathroom.

"She has a medical thing with her folks today," Rachel said.

"So you're free?"

The subtle urgency in Wyatt's voice caught her attention, and she set her coffee mug down and looked at him. She leaned forward a little, raising an eyebrow.

"...what is it you want?" she asked.

"I really need you to come with me somewhere," Wyatt said, "...there's something Calvin wants us to see."

                                                                                                     ***

Calvin was leaning against the door to the unit, waiting for the others to arrive. He was looking at his watch when he heard the click of heels on the floor, and turned to see Celia coming down the hallway. She smiled and politely waved at him upon approach, and Calvin stuffed his hands back in his pockets, smiling back at her. As Celia got closer, she tugged at the strap of her purse, pulling it higher up on her shoulder and came to a stop by the door.

"I guess Wyatt gave you directions," Calvin said.

"Yeah, he said he was picking Rachel up, but that I could just meet you guys here," Celia said, "how long is this going to take? Cause I have to get to work soon, and then I have to take my son to his piano lessons and-"

"It won't take long," Calvin said, clearing his throat, "but, uh...look, you have a child, and I just...I want you to brace yourself for what you're going to see, okay?"

Celia looked at Calvin, her eyes widened. She glanced at the unit door, then back at Calvin.

"What the hell's in here, man?" she asked quietly.

"...terrible, awful things," Calvin said, almost on the verge of tears.

                                                                                                         ***

Wyatt was driving, heading to the storage place while Rachel played with the dials on his car radio.

"You have satellite radio, and I am so jealous," Rachel said, "I still use cassette tapes."

"How is it possible that everytime I learn something new about you it makes me feel even worse?" Wyatt asked, "it's impressive, it really is. Stop turning that, you're gonna damage my knob!" he said as he slapped playfully at her hand.

"Oh, I wouldn't want anything to happen to your knob," Rachel replied, cackling, "so where are we going, anyway?"

"Calvin came by my house last night, gave me a key," Wyatt said as they came to a red light, only a block away from the storage place; Rachel put her window down and hung her arm out as Wyatt continued, "he told me to come to this storage place because he had something to show us. He told me to gather you and Celia, because he needed you guys to see it too."

"What's so important about a storage unit?" Rachel asked.

"...it belonged to Oliver Brighton," Wyatt said quietly, and this got Rachel's attention. Her head snapped to look at him, as he looked at her, almost like he was scared; he nodded, and added, softly "...i know..."

When Wyatt and Rachel arrived, he parked and headed inside. He was holding the key in his hand, simply so he could remember the number of the unit and easily find the floor it was located on. It was cool and empty inside, almost an eerie feeling emanating from the building, as they headed down the long halls and up the stairs to the third floor. After a short bit on the third floor, they finally saw Calvin and Celia standing in front of the unit, chatting casually, quietly, until they saw Calvin point at them and Celia turned to look too.

"We've been spotted, cap'n," Rachel said.

"Set phasers to kill," Wyatt replied, making her laugh.

"Do you have the key?" Calvin asked as they got closer, and Wyatt held it up in his hand, before handing it back to Calvin, who took it and inserted it into the lock on the door. The others stood by as he unlocked the door and then leaned against it and looked at them; he exhaled deeply and said, "...I'm so sorry you guys have to see this."

Everyone exchanged a nervous glance, and Calvin slid the door up.

                                                                                                         ***

"You sure you've got a good place?" Leonard asked on the phone, and Oliver turned around in the unit, looking at the boxes he'd moved in that day.

"It's solid," Oliver replied, "it's roomy, spacious, secure, climate controlled. Nothing is going to happen to the merchandise here. And it doesn't even cost much."

"Don't worry about the cost," Leonard said, "I'll reimburse you from what we make off the material. You did good, Oliver. So now when do we start production again? I have a lot of customers saying they liked what you did last time and are itching for more."

Oliver leaned on a box and sighed, shaking his head.

"I...I don't know," he said meekly, "I have to give them breaks, you know? Can't work 'em to death. It's hard to find a balance that satisfies everyone. Roberta is...unhappy, but it provides and right now that's all that matters. She doesn't know where the money is coming from at the moment, she just assumes it's from what I do at work, but even if she were to learn, she'd already be complicit for spending the money."

"Of all my providers, you're the best," Leonard said, "I just want you to be ready, and feel secure enough to do what needs to be done. You take whatever time you need, just don't drag it out."

"Yes sir."

"I gotta go, I have another call," Leonard said, "Goodbye Oliver."

Oliver looked at the phone after Leonard hung up and he sighed. He slid his flip phone back into his slack pockets and looked around at the boxes. It was only a few right now, but within a few years, it would be so many more, and by the time he killed his family, some stacks would be as high as the ceiling, and by the time the group found it that afternoon...the amount of filth in that unit would be unthinkable. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared them for what they were about to find. The empire Oliver Brighton had helped build, and on the back of his own daughters no less.

                                                                                                      ***

The door slid up, letting the gang get a view of the interior, and at first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Calvin waited at the door as Celia, Wyatt and Rachel stepped inside. He then entered himself, shutting the door behind him and turning the lights on inside. Wyatt looked at the labels on the boxes and shook his head, confused and a little irritated.

"You brought us out here to see Oliver's collection of unwanted crap? Crap so unwanted he couldn't be bothered to keep it in his house? This is baby clothes, this is magazines, this one just says 'old VHS tapes'. What the fuck is this, Calvin?" Wyatt asked.

"...open one," Calvin said softly, so Rachel reached up and pulled the flaps to one box open, reaching inside and gathering a handful of CDs. She furrowed her brow, confused.

"Steffie, Age 5, NCDAD," Rachel read, "what...what the fuck does that mean?"

"Uh," Calvin said, scratching the back of his head, his voice wavery like he was about to cry, "The NC stands for nonconsent, and let's just leave it at that."

Rachel immediately dropped the CD back into the box, disgusted. Wyatt then felt Celia tap his shoulder, as she handed him a small photo album. He took it from her, but then felt Calvin's hand on the cover. His eyes were locked with Wyatt's, and he shook his head, barely able to talk.

"You don't wanna see it," Calvin said.

"...I think I have to, to believe it," Wyatt said, pulling away and walking from the group, opening the book. His eyes, scanning each unthinkable page, began to tear up. These images would be forever seared into his brain, and he wanted to vomit. Calvin leaned against the boxes, trying to catch his breath as Rachel finally spoke again.

"So...so he was..." Rachel said, "Oliver Brighton was making..."

"Yes, with his own daughters," Calvin said, "...we...we killed a monster. Inadvertently, but still. If we hadn't blown up Grudin, if Oliver hadn't been blamed for your actions at the Morgana site, he might've gone on doing this forever. And maybe not just to his own daughters, but to someone elses. We didn't even know, but we helped kill a monster. But I needed you guys to know, so maybe...maybe the guilt isn't as heavy now. We did a good thing. The right thing."

"Oh please," Rachel said, folding her arms, "Oliver was a byproduct, we had no idea he would be blamed, we didn't even know he worked at the site. We did something good, but entirely by accident. Don't act like it was intentional or noble. For it to be noble, we would've had to have set out to hurt him."

"She's right," Celia said, kicking the floor with her heels, "I mean, don't get me wrong, he was disgusting and I'm glad he's dead if this was what he did, but...his involvement in our actions was merely coincidental. He just happened to be connected, remotely, to Morgana, and then be blamed for Grudin's death as well because of us."

"That's what the sickest part, actually," Calvin said, rubbing his eyes, "is that now society sees him as this...this kind of...hero of some sort. Fighting against governmental injustice, all the while being completely blind to the horrors he was producing himself. They don't know what he was like, or what he did."

"Should they?" Rachel asked, "...I mean...what good would it really do? Let's be real, far too many people support this kind of shit, they just do it behind closed doors. Perversions are perversions, regardless of whatever sort of decent actions one might do in their life now and then. I doubt anyone would change their opinion, especially those on the fringes who already support him. In fact, if nothing else, it'd just be considered slander, to ruin his name. He'd be marked an even bigger martyr than he already is."

Wyatt calmly set the photo album down on top of one of the boxes and looked at the boxes surrounding him. These boxes, filled with unimaginable pain. Pain that came from two little girls, killed by their own father, who would never get to grow up and recover from his actions. Wyatt felt his stomach turn, and he quickly pushed past the group and pulled open the door, heading out into the hall, where he threw up on the floor. Celia quickly walked to him, patting his back, as Rachel and Calvin stayed inside the unit.

"...well, what do we do with it?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know. We could each take a bundle and destroy it in some way," Calvin said.

"How'd you even get this key?" Rachel asked.

"...it was on Mr. Wattsons keyring," Calvin said quietly, "which...I don't even wanna think about what that implies. I'm not ready to face that right now."

Rachel looked around at the boxes, nodding.

"I like the idea of disposing of it, little by little," Rachel said, "rid the world of a little bit more filth."

"Are you okay?" Celia asked, kneeling down to Wyatt, who was still bent over, dry heaving; she touched his face and asked again, "hey, are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"I...I can't be here," Wyatt said, "I feel dizzy."

Wyatt stood up and headed down the hall, one hand on the wall to help guide him, Celia watching him go. As he disappeared down the stairs, Celia looked back at the unit, then followed Wyatt down the stairs. When she caught up with him in the second floor hall, he was walking briskly, better, but still looked like hell. Looked like he was sweating to death.

"Wyatt, stop for a second and-" Celia said, grasping for his hand, but he wouldn't stop and instead jerked his hand away from her; she stomped her foot and shouted at him, "you wanted to make the world a better place for your daughter, right?! Well congratulations, you did it! You rid the world of someone wanting to do girls like her harm! Mission fucking accomplished!"

Wyatt stopped in his tracks and thought briefly, before turning and walking back up to her.

"His demise doesn't erase the damage," Wyatt said through his teeth, "he still got away with it! He still did it, for YEARS!"

Celia was, admittedly, somewhat surprised at his tone, as she'd never heard Wyatt truly angry, but she stood her ground and listened to him.

"I...how..." Wyatt stammered, as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at his shoes, "how could someone do that to their own child? To any child?"

"I don't...I don't know," Celia replied, "but he's dead, Wyatt, he's gone. He can't do it anymore."

"...i have to go," Wyatt said, turning on his heel to leave.

"Where are you going?" Celia asked.

"To pick my daughter up from school," Wyatt said.

"But it's only 11 in the afternoon!" Celia shouted after him, but he didn't care, he was gone. Celia sighed and turned, heading back upstairs. She found Calvin locking the unit back up, Rachel leaning against the wall, arms folded. She turned and smiled weakly at Celia as she got closer, and Celia ran her hand through her black poofy hair, unsure of what to say.

"So...if Mr. Wattson is involved..." Rachel said, "...what do we do about that? Like, sure, we can get rid of all this stuff and nobody ever has to know about it, but...what about him?"

Yes, Calvin thought, what about him?

                                                                                                            ***

Mona was sitting in class, chewing on the rubber stim necklace her father had gotten for her to keep her focused when doing schoolwork. Suddenly the door to the classroom opened, and a student came in, handed the teacher a note, then exited. The teacher read the note, then looked up at Mona.

"Mona, sweetheart? Your dad is here to take you to the doctors," she said, "he's waiting in the hallway."

Confused, Mona gathered her things and headed out of the classroom. She found her father sitting on a bench in the hallway, and as soon as he saw her, he got up and dropped to his knees, hugging her tightly, her eyes widening, her voice soft.

"oh my god, I must be dying," Mona said, making Wyatt laugh.

"No, there's...there's no doctors appointment, and you're not sick," Wyatt said, grabbing her things and taking one of her hands in his other hand, "I'm just taking you out of school for the day and we're gonna do whatever it is you wanna do."

"Really?" Mona asked, sounding simultaneously uncertain yet excited.

"Yeah, so what do you wanna do?" Wyatt asked.

"....I wanna eat an ice cream cone in a toy store," Mona said, making Wyatt laugh and squeeze her hand.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he said.

Meanwhile, since Wyatt had left, Calvin gave Rachel a ride home. When she got back, she shut the door behind her and looked around at her empty apartment. Sun Rai wouldn't be back for a good while, so she had the place to herself for a bit. She couldn't stop seeing what she'd seen in the unit, and so she went to the bathroom and started drawing a bath. She put bath beads inside, then bubbles, and then she undressed and climbed into the tub. The imagery in the unit brought back memories of her near assault from her manager in college, and she found her breath clenching in her chest. She couldn't take it, and she started sobbing, wailing, in the bathtub.

Celia, on the other hand, had done the same thing Wyatt had done. She'd called into work, excused herself for the day and gotten her son out of daycare. She then took him to a kids movie and out to lunch. Sitting there, eating lunch in a little restaurant, she couldn't help but feel even more protective of him now than she ever had before. This boy was an innocent, and she was determined to ensure he stayed that way. She couldn't blame Wyatt for feeling the way he did, but she sure wished she could help him see their actions in a different light, if nothing else. One boy at a time, she thought. Help one boy at a time.

And Calvin, after dropping Rachel off at home, drove down to a lake just outside the city and popped open his trunk. He then pulled out a plastic tub from the backseat of his car and dumped all the contents of one of the boxes into the tub and set it on fire. Calvin stood there, watching this vile filth burn, but he couldn't stop thinking about Leonard. Why had he had Brightons key? How involved could he be? The answer terrified him. Once the materials were burnt to nothing more than ash, Calvin picked up the tub and emptied it into the lake, then did the same with two more boxes. He'd already helped rid the world of trash.

Why not keep going, he figured.

It had been a month since Michelle and Beatrice had undergone surgery together.

While Beatrice had her own apartment to stay in, and had Leslie to care for her, Michelle didn't want to burden Keagan and Lexi any further than she already felt like she had, and so when Delores insisted Michelle stay with her from now on, she couldn't refuse. They made up her guest bedroom as Michelle's bedroom, and Delores took a brief leave of absence from her job in order to help Michelle regain her strength. The surgery had gone as well as anyone could've hoped, and both women came through just fine. For a while in the first two weeks, Eliza would bring small puzzles she and Michelle could do together, simply so she would have company. Liam stopped by Bea's now and then - either to give her news about the office or in regards to the show - and of course to visit her. Sitting on the bed with her while she clipped coupons, Liam couldn't help but chuckle.

"What?" Bea asked, looking up from cutting.

"This reminds me of living back in the city," Liam said, "you know, when we first met, first started working together. We used to have to do this kind of thing all the time cause we were so poor."

"I still do it just cause it's calming," Bea said, "even if I don't intend to use the coupons, it's nice to clip them. Keeps me humble."

Liam laughed as he cut another one out and placed it on the stack on the bed. He then set his scissors down and looked at Bea, who smiled at him. She was appreciative of having him here when Leslie was at work. It was a nice month for both women, and each was somewhat saddened when their relaxation time eventually came to an end. But for Michelle, living with Delores was like a dream come true. Delores made dinner every night - and when she didn't she simply ordered in - and treated Michelle like her own daughter, something Michelle's own mother had never done. In a way, she was getting the childhood she'd never had, and it healed her a little more.

All in all, things were pretty good, and the future had never looked brighter.

                                                                                                             ***

"When do you think you'll be ready to come back to work?" Beatrice asked.

Bea had come and picked Michelle up and taken her to lunch. Sitting at a table in the corner of the outdoor patio, each one eating their lunch, it was the first time either had seen the other since the surgery. It was nice. It felt like old times, like all the problems Michelle used to have had never existed. But she also knew she was lucky, and there were plenty of people who never got the funds, nor the donors necessary to survive such a situation.

"I don't know," Michelle said, picking lettuce from her teeth, "probably soon. Nothing against Eliza, but I'm getting a little tired of doing puzzles nonstop."

Bea chuckled as she bit into her sandwich and chewed. Michelle picked up her drink and sipped from her straw, then pushed her hair from her face and looked at Bea.

"Can I ask you a question?" Michelle asked.

"Only always, love," Bea replied.

"...uh...I don't really know how to ask this without sounding like a confused teenager, but..." Michelle started, "um...how do you know if you have feelings for someone? I never...I guess...I've never really felt anything for anyone, cause I've always been..."

Beatrice put her sandwich down and listened as Michelle pulled her hair up into a ponytail and sighed.

"Okay, so, when you have something that can kill you, I guess you don't make long term plans, you know? Cause why would you bother? You never even know if you'll BE here next year, right? So I never really pursued a relationship of any kind because, well, I just never figured it was worth the pain," Michelle said, "so I don't really know how it feels to care about someone in that way, or even if they feel that way for you, or how to approach it if you both do or anything."

Bea chuckled and sat back in her chair, sipping her iced tea, stirring the cubes in her glass.

"Well," Beatrice said, "I guess, if you feel something for them, you recognize they're feelings you've never had before. If it's something you've never felt, then it's likely something new. Something real. Is there someone you're feeling this way for in particular?"

Michelle fidgeted, but after a moment she shook her head.

"No," she said quietly, "just curious."

                                                                                                        ***

"I tell you, a little charity in this industry goes a long way," Stephanie said, sitting behind her desk at the office as Liam sat in front of her; Steph continued, saying, "like, that whole kerfuffle about her sexuality? Gone in the blink of an eye because she helped save her friend. You can't buy press that good."

"Yes you can," Liam said.

"Okay, well, not easily," Stephanie said, "honestly, I'm proud of her. She didn't do what she did to look good, she did it out of the kindness of her heart. That level of wholesomeness in show business is rarely seen. Beatrice is truly a genuinely good person."

Liam sighed and leaned forward, cupping his hands.

"Uh oh, that's never a good position," Steph said, smirking.

"We need to renegotiate," Liam said.

"I don't know what else Beatrice could be given, I mean, she has-"

"No, not for Bea. For Michelle," Liam said, sighing and running his hands over his face before adding, "we need to give her more. A lot more. Beatrice is right. If Michelle, and Keagan as well, hadn't gotten together and tracked her down, tracked me down...none of us would be here right. We're sitting on a success story because of two women who barely get any acknowledgement for their part in said success story. That just doesn't sit well with me. I want them made Executive Producers, and given more money."

Stephanie was surprised to hear Liam state his demands so sternly, as he'd always sounded rather flexible. Yet, he did have a point. Those girls were single handedly responsible for bringing Beatrice and the crew out of hiding and back into the spotlight in a way they never thought they'd see.

"Well," Steph said, "let's bring them both in soon, when Michelle's up to it, and see what they have to say. I'm not against it. But I'd like to hear if they have any other kind of demands or whatever. Nice of you to go to bat for them."

"I've been going to bat for creative women my whole life it seems like," Liam said, leaning back and crossing his legs, "god knows what I'd do if I stopped. I might have to find a new hobby."

Stephanie laughed and nodded. Beatrice had always insisted Liam was integral, and now Stephanie understood what Beatrice had meant when she'd said that.

                                                                                                      ***

Eliza was sitting in The Hole, at her work desk, doing draft work when she heard the door open behind her. Expecting their craft services girl to be bringing her lunch, she waved at them over her shoulder but didn't turn to look, so she was a bit surprised when she instead saw Michelle standing there, leaning on her cane. Eliza pulled her glasses up, completely taken aback to see her here. Michelle smiled and looked down at the table.

"What are you doing?" Michelle asked.

"Uh, oh, just...um...some drawings for potential new puppets for next year," Eliza said, "you know, for when we start shooting again. I figure, ya know, that the sooner I do my part, then the easier it'll make production once it starts up again."

"Sound thinking," Michelle said.

"I'm not used to seeing you without your canula," Eliza said, pointing at her own nose, "I...I got so used to seeing a oxygen mask or a tank or something around you, that it's actually kinda weird not to now."

"Well, I guess I could just carry one around as an accessory," Michelle replied, the both of them giggling; she tossed her ponytail and knelt down by Eliza's chair, looking at her warmly as she asked, "...thank you for being there. Both in the hospital, and when I was in recovery. I really needed someone, and you were there. I know that I wouldn't be here without Beatrice's donation, or Lexi's money, but I don't think you got the credit you deserved, and I wanted you to know just how much I appreciated that."

Eliza chewed on her lip, and nodded slowly.

"You're such a warm and loving person, and I really don't know how I would've gotten through it all emotionally if I hadn't had your support, so thank you," Michelle said.

"Well, I...I wasn't about to lose someone else," Eliza said, stuttering a bit, "when I lost my mom, I felt so bad and I've never really stopped feeling bad, so I...I wanted to make sure that didn't happen again. God that sounds selfish, that's...that's not really how I meant it."

"I know," Michelle said, laughing, "I know it isn't, but I understand. I just came by to see people on set and stuff, so I should get going, but we should hang out later or sometime this week or whatever."

Michelle stood back up and patted Eliza on the shoulder before turning and heading back towards the door to The Hole. Suddenly she heard a chair scoot across the floor and heard Eliza shouting after her.

"Don't go," she said loudly.

Michelle stopped and turned, looking back at her. Eliza was standing now, shaking like she was nervous, tugging at her long braid anxiously. Neither one spoke again as they stared at one another. Michelle wasn't sure why Eliza had stopped her, but she was curious to see if Eliza said anything else, so she waited.

"I...I don't want you to go," Eliza said, "um...because I've never met someone who wanted to be...who was nice like this...who...I liked visiting you. You never make fun of me. You never question or judge me. We just can do puzzles together, and you like my trains, and I...I have felt so stupid for so much of my life, and yet...when...when you're...when you're with me I feel smart, and I feel like...like what I say and think matters and means something and...you make me...you make me feel...good. Just...genuinely good. I feel like I lost my place in the world when my mother died, and when I'm with you, it's like I suddenly have a place again."

Michelle stared at Eliza, unsure of how to respond. She chewed on her lip and waited to see if she would continue. Eliza stuttered, as if trying to form another sentence, but was unable to. She finally, tugging hard on her braid, looked at her shoes and whispered.

"You make the world make sense," she said, "and to someone like me, to whom nothing makes sense...that means the most."

Michelle smiled, and let go of the doorknob. The door to The Hole swung shut again as she started to walk back towards Eliza, who stumbled backwards, leaning against her drafting desk. Michelle leaned against her, their faces mere inches apart. Eliza could feel Michelle's breath on her skin, and then felt her hand run up on her neck. Michelle held Eliza's face in her hand and shut her eyes. What could she say? She'd never felt like this before. She'd never once felt anything for anyone, because she'd never allowed herself to. What words could she find to respond? Eliza had found the words, so surely she could as well?

"Are you gonna kiss me?" Eliza finally asked, her voice a quaky feminine whisper.

"I'd like to," Michelle responded, breathing heavily, nervous.

"I'd like you to," Eliza replied, making Michelle blush.

Michelle, as it turned out, didn't need to find the words. Instead she pushed her lips against Eliza's and kissed her in a way she'd never kissed anyone before. She kissed her with a level of adoration she'd never felt, and while kissing her, she realized what she'd let herself miss this whole time. She'd denied herself the option to love because she was afraid she wouldn't live long enough to appreciate it, or she would hurt someone by dying, but now she realized that simply loving was worth it regardless of the circumstances. Eliza leaned back on her drafting desk, Michelle putting her knee up on one side of it, almost mounting her, kissing her. After she finally pulled away, neither Eliza nor Michelle could speak.

They stayed that way, breathless, wordless, for what felt like an hour. Finally Eliza smiled and hugged her, crying. Michelle hugged her back, squeezing tightly. Michelle got pleasure from her work, no doubt. But the best thing the show had ever given her was Eliza, and she refused to ever let that go now.

                                                                                                      ***

Beatrice had the place to herself for a change.

Leslie was at work, Liam was busy negotiating contracts for the new set of episodes to be produced, and so for the first time in weeks, Beatrice was alone. She'd need to have her therapy at some point - both physical and mental - but for the moment, she just embraced being alone in her apartment again. She figured, since she had the time and, for once, the energy, she would go through her closet and clear some things out. Beatrice pulled some boxes down, as she did, an envelope slid off the top of it and landed at her feet. Beatrice furrowed her brow, confused at what it could be. She set the boxes down and then sat on them, grabbing the large envelope. As she unlatched and slid its contents out, it dawned on her what she had come across, and she immediately put them back in. These were papers she didn't want to see. These were papers she wanted to forget about.

Beatrice sighed and wiped at her teary eyes with her sweater sleeve. She never wanted to revisit that day if she could help it. It had been - aside from Beatrice's death - the single hardest day of her life. Hell, even thinking about it made her want to break down. She didn't need to dwell on it. She had people now. She had friends and family, and young women to look out for. She didn't need to drag herself back into her past and revisit something she never had any chance to change as it is. She looked at the envelope again and chewed her nails. Then, she stood up, walked to a small jar on a tiny table by the couch and pulled out a sharpie. She went back, sat back down and picked the envelope back up, placing it in her lap. She pulled the cap off the sharpie with her teeth and started writing on the envelopes face.

                                                                                               "Claire B-G."

When she was done, she looked at it, and nodded. That was all she had to write, really. The name alone would indicate to her what the envelope meant, and to never touch it again. She tucked the envelope back into the closet, back into the darkness, hiding it from herself once more. She just hoped, more than anything, that Claire would forgive her if she knew. She hadn't been able to take care of someone then, but she was able to save Michelle now, and she figured that more than made up for her regrets.

Beatrice then shut the closet door.

Wyatt, Rachel and Kelly were standing at a fence, looking out at a woman riding a horse around an arena. Wyatt's arms were folded, and he was shaking his head. Rachel, chewing nervously on her nails, couldn't possibly be anymore uncomfortable being at a ranch, and Kelly...Kelly was just seated on the fence and eating a sandwich she'd brought from the craft services table at work. Wyatt finally exhaled and looked at Rachel, who glanced back at him, their eyes locking.

"Dude, it sucks to be you," Rachel said.

"I never got the pony my parents promised me," Kelly said through chewing, "your daughter's a lucky girl."

Both Wyatt and Rachel glared at her, and she shrugged.

"...what?" she asked.

                                                                                     EARLIER THAT MORNING

Wyatt was sitting at the breakfast table, eating a bowl of cereal, while Mona was eating a toaster strudel. The baby was still asleep upstairs (the one saving grace about Mona's little brother was that he slept a lot), and Scarlett was drinking her coffee and reading the paper. She scoffed and shook the paper, then tossed it across the table to Wyatt, who picked it up.

"Look at this," Scarlett said, "remember that park Morgana was going to bulldoze? Looks like the park is now protected property by the city, and Morgana is under investigation. They aren't going to be doing much construction for a while, it seems. Honestly, good riddance. Imagine taking away places made for children, all for the benefit of low cost condos. Disgusting."

They heard Mona's brother start to cry upstairs, and Scarlett excused herself, getting up to head upstairs to gather him. Scarlett looked up over the paper and noticed Mona was locking eyes with him.

"What?" he asked.

"That's what you and that lady did isn't it?" Mona asked, "you guys stopped them. The night you took me trick or treating."

"Yeah, that was what we did, but we did it for you, and kids like you, who deserve to have a nice world to grow up in, pumpkin. Morgana was evil, and they were doing things illegally. We did the right thing," Wyatt said.

"...can I have a pony?" Mona asked, and Wyatt laughed.

"Yeah, sure, right after I get a jet plane," he replied.

"I'll tell mom what you did if you don't get me a pony," Mona said.

"...are you blackmailing your own father?" Wyatt asked, leaning in and lowering his voice, "seriously?"

Mona leaned in as well, smiling, and whispering, "I want. a pony. daddy."

                                                                                                              ***

Rachel opened the door, hearing the knock, only to find Wyatt standing in the hallway of her apartment. She pulled her robe over herself - she was wearing only underwear - and cleared her throat. Wyatt raised an eyebrow and Rachel sighed, exiting the apartment and shutting the door behind her.

"I interrupt something?" he asked.

"You caught me just after morning sex, so no, I was finished," Rachel said.

"Oh, well, aren't you lucky," Wyatt replied, "...I need a pony."

"Oh, is that all? Okay, well let me go to my closet and get you one, hold on," Rachel said, making him chuckle as she added, "why...why the hell are you coming to ME of all people? Why would you think I knew where to get a pony?"

"You told me you used to ride horses," Wyatt said, "once when the four of us had dinner together recently, a few weeks back, you and my wife got into this whole thing about hobbies you had as young women-"

"I resent that, I am still a young woman, thank you," Rachel said, folding her arms and leaning on the wall.

"-and one of the things both you and Scarlett did was ride horses," Wyatt said, "you told me you were, like, almost a professional at it or something. You did shows and won awards. I figured if anyone would know, you would."

Rachel hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head, getting her bangs from her eyes.

"...why do you want a pony?" Rachel asked.

"I don't want a pony, I need a pony," Wyatt replied.

"Well, that sounds worse, actually," Rachel said, "why do you NEED a pony?"

"Because if I don't get my daughter a pony, she's going to tell my wife about what Celia and I did to Morgana," Wyatt said, "you know, the thing Oliver got blamed for? The thing that got him fired? The thing that-"

"Yeah yeah, I got it," Rachel said, sighing and looking back at her apartment, "alright, give me a few minutes to get dressed and call someone. Meet me in the parking lot. We're gonna take your car."

                                                                                                          ***

Kelly was done with her weather reporting for the day, and was now just standing at the crafts services table, picking out some lunch. Always a challenge, deciding what to have that particular day, but she figured she should always try and mix it up. Just then her cell phone rang, and she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, answering as she picked up and examined a sandwich wrapped in plastic.

"Hello? Hi Rachel!...yeah, I'm not busy," Kelly said, "...okay, I can meet you outside."

Kelly took the sandwich and paid the man minding the cart. She then stuffed the wrapped sandwich in her coat pocket and headed out the backdoor towards the parking lot where she saw Rachel waving and whistling to her from the car window. Kelly ran over to the car and got into the backseat behind Rachel in the passenger.

"Kelly, this is my friend Wyatt, and Wyatt this is Kelly, she's a friend from high school," Rachel said.

"I know you, you're the girl who does the weather on Channel 7," Wyatt said as he started up the car and pulled out.

"Indeed I am," Kelly said eagerly, almost like she was proud, "so what do you need me for?"

"Do you remember where that place we rode horses was at?" Rachel asked, "because I cannot for the life of me recall where it was, but I was hoping you might."

"Why, are we going riding?" Kelly asked.

"Something like that," Wyatt muttered.

                                                                                                         ***

Leonard stood up from his chair in his kitchen and stretched, groaning as he adjusted his back. Calvin smirked as he looked up from grading a paper and leaned back in his chair. Leonard finished stretching and popping himself, then adjusted his large glasses and ran his hand over his mustache, sighing as he looked at Calvin and chuckled.

"Never get old, Calvin, it's not worth it," he said.

"Duly noted, Mr. Wattson," Calvin said, tapping his pen on the table, "I think we're about done with this batch. Should we drive these boxes over to the college?"

"Yeah, I'll take these two downstairs, if you just get my keys from the wall," Leonard said, gathering up two large boxes and carrying them to the front door. Calvin quickly got up and opened the door for him, which he was thanked for, and Leonard exited, heading down the apartment stairs to his car. Calvin packed up his things and then looked for the keys, noticing them dangling from a hook on the wall in the kitchen. Calvin reached for them, until he noticed one of them had a tag on it. Calvin leaned in and examined it, putting a hand over his mouth as his eyes scanned the words on the tag.

"O. Brighton Unit 321."

The key it was attached to also had the name of a company and the address embossed on it, and Calvin was terrified to touch it. He glanced back over his shoulder, hearing Leonard's trunk shut. Calvin then reached for the keys and quickly undid the one with the tag, stuffing it into his pocket, before grabbing the boxes and exiting the apartment. He handed the remaining boxes to Leonard, and then said he wouldn't mind driving them to the college. Anything to keep Leonard from realizing the key was missing for as long as possible.

But it didn't make sense, Calvin thought, why would Leonard Wattson have a key to a storage unit for Oliver Brighton? Calvin had a terrible feeling in his stomach, and he was terrified to learn the answer.

                                                                                                            ***

"Sorry, I don't sell my horses anymore," the older woman leading a horse back to the stall said. This woman, Caroline, was the one who had taught both Kelly and Rachel how to ride when they were young girls, and also had been Rachel's manager during her time doing professional riding.

"Well, if you don't, do you maybe know someone who does?" Rachel asked, keeping up with her by her side - Wyatt and Kelly following a little ways behind - as they walked, Rachel added, "somebody close by and maybe kind of cheap? Kinda desperate and in a rush here. Not to, you know, put any pressure on you Mrs. Wilkins."

As they reached the stall, Caroline pulled the door open and led her horse inside, shutting and locking the door behind her before turning towards the group and pulling her helmet off her head, shaking her sandy blonde mop of hair loose.

"...yeah, there's a small ranch a ways from here, maybe 40 minute drive, that'll sell you whatever you want," she said, "they're kind of, uh, what's the word...sketchy? They don't ask any questions so long as you pay 'em, let's put it that way. Don't care much for their reputation, I guess. Regardless, they're who I'd approach if you're looking to purchase a pony on such short notice. I have to ask...you're not gonna eat it are you?"

"Can...can you...can you eat a horse?" Wyatt asked, sounding disgusted as he added, "I didn't even....the thought never crossed my mind, but no, we're not going to eat it. Dear god. Especially not a pony. That's a baby. I don't even eat veal or lamb. I have a rule of thumb, no eating babies."

"That's a good rule to live by," Kelly said, nodding.

"Thank you, I thought so," Wyatt replied.

"Can we have the address?" Rachel asked.

Soon enough, the group found themselves at yet another ranch, this time standing at a fence, looking out at a woman riding a horse around an arena. Wyatt's arms were folded, and he was shaking his head. Rachel, chewing nervously on her nails, couldn't possibly be anymore uncomfortable being at a ranch, and Kelly...Kelly was just seated on the fence and eating the sandwich she'd brought from the craft services table at work. Wyatt finally exhaled and looked at Rachel, who glanced back at him, their eyes locking.

"Dude, it sucks to be you," Rachel said.

"I never got the pony my parents promised me," Kelly said through chewing, "your daughter's a lucky girl."

Both Wyatt and Rachel glared at her, and she shrugged.

"...what?" she asked.

"How you gonna explain this purchase to your wife?" Rachel asked.

"I probably won't," Wyatt said, "that's kinda how being blackmailed works. You don't need explanations. You just hide things."

"So, what, you're gonna rent a stall somewhere too and keep the pony there? Pay someone to feed it and bring your kid up whenever she wants, by yourself, to ride it?" Rachel asked, almost laughing, "you're insane, that's ridiculous. At some point Scarlett's gonna think something is up. She's gonna assume you're having an affair or something."

"Don't have an affair with a horse," Kelly said, shaking her head, "that'll kill you."

Rachel and Wyatt looked at Kelly with a mixture of intrigue and disgust on their faces.

"...i...i saw it on the news once," she whispered.

Wyatt ran his hands through his hair and groaned as he walked away from the fence. Kelly scooted down, closer to Rachel and spoke to her through half finished bites.

"Aren't you nervous to be here?" Kelly asked.

"Extremely, and honestly the sooner we get this done and the faster we get out of here the better. I never wanted to be around horses again," Rachel said, looking back at Wyatt over her shoulder and sighing, "I just was trying to help him. Poor guy has enough to deal with without his own kid blackmailing him."

"Blackmailing him over what?" Kelly asked, and as Rachel opened her mouth to answer, she quickly rethought this and decided against it, shrugging, shaking her head.

"I don't know, he wouldn't tell me," she replied instead. Here she was, just getting her former best friend back, and already she was lying to her. God. Well, whatever helped keep them in the dark, she figured. They'd been lying to so many people for so long, what could one more really hurt?

                                                                                                          ***

That evening, after dropping Kelly and Rachel off at their respective destinations - Kelly back at work so she could get her car and Rachel back at her apartment - Wyatt then picked up dinner on his way home. He couldn't believe the position he was being put in. Rachel had a point too, eventually Scarlett was likely to find out about the horse, and what would he say then? It wasn't like they couldn't afford it, they lived well, but still. Purchases of that nature are often ones a couple makes together, financially speaking.

All throughout dinner, Wyatt couldn't think of anything else but the stupid pony he'd talked about buying earlier. Whenever Scarlett or Mona tried to speak to him, he didn't pay any attention. He was simply too far into his own head. He put everything away and cleaned up after dinner, just to get his mind off things for even a little bit. Scarlett eventually took a shower, while Wyatt put the kids to bed. While he was tucking Mona in, he sat on the side of the bed and lowered his voice.

"...I think I found a pony," he said, "um, they're at a-"

"You actually got me a pony?" Mona asked, sounding surprised, "...I just wanted to see if you would. I'd never actually tell mom what you did."

Wyatt sat there, feeling like he was hit with a brick in the head. He started laughing uncontrollably and fell back onto Mona's bed, cackling. Mona started laughing as well, unsure of what else to do in the current situation. After he managed to gather his sense again, Wyatt sat back up and wiped his eyes free of tears, and shook his head.

"...you're evil, kid," he said.

"Sorry," Mona said, shrugging, "I just wanted to see how much you'd actually do for me."

Wyatt smiled and reached out, touching his daughters head and petting her.

"I'd do anything for you, you know that, apparently even buy a pony," Wyatt said, "whose name, for the record, is Sugarcube, is ready to be ridden any time. You say the word, and we'll go riding, yeah?"

Wyatt finished putting Mona to bed and exited into the hallway, heading up to the bedroom when he heard a knock at the front door downstairs. He sighed and headed downstairs, pulled open the door, only to find Calvin standing there. Calvin wouldn't even look at him, he wouldn't move his eyes from his shoes, but instead he simply put his hand out and pushed something into Wyatt's hand.

"...okay, first of all, what are you doing here at this time of night, and secondly, is this a key?" Wyatt asked, looking at what Calvin and handed him. He snapped his fingers in Calvin's face a few times, asking, "hey, anyone home? Calvin?"

"...you need to see something," Calvin said, "call Celia and Rachel. Tomorrow meet me at the address on that key. You need to see something."

"What's going on?" Wyatt asked, watching Calvin turn on his heel and briskly walk back to his car. As Calvin reached out for the door handle, pulling the door open and preparing to get in, Wyatt called after him, holding the key up in the air, waving it and asking, "Hey, what is this?"

Calvin stopped and looked dead eyed at Wyatt, his limps trembling.

"...it's Oliver Brighton's storage unit," Calvin said, "and trust me, you don't wanna see what's in it, but you need to."

Michelle was lying in a hospital bed, where it seemed she spent a majority of her time these days, when she heard the door to the room open and saw Eliza slink in. Michelle put her magazine down and smiled as Eliza quietly shut the door behind her and approached the bed. Eliza pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down, as Michelle put her magazine face down, but still open, on her lap.

"I brought you breakfast," Eliza said, handing Michelle a styrofoam cup and a then, after opening up a small, brown bag, she pulled out a few breakfast sandwiches and handed her one. Michelle unwrapped it and immediately began chowing down ferociously; Eliza giggled and said, "wow, I didn't know you were that hungry."

"You know that bit comedians do about airline food?" Michelle asked, mouth half full of breakfast sandwich, "...hospital food is somehow worse."

"Maybe the quality of food is directly proportional to where you're consuming it," Eliza said, shrugging.

"I doubt that," Michelle said, "if that were true, 'home cooking' would be good regardless of how terrible your home life is."

Just then the door opened again, and this time Delores entered. She smiled at the girls as she shut the door behind her and approached the bed.

"Hello Eliza," Delores said, patting her on the shoulder as she stood beside the bed, "I see you brought food."

"She's my hero," Michelle said, mouth half full of sandwich, "someone give her a medal."

"The doctor is on their way in, so you should probably finish that as quick as possible," Delores said, "they probably won't like seeing you eat that sort of thing in a place designated for protecting your health. Be like eating a giant cookie in front of a dentist."

"I don't care," Michelle said, taking a sip from her cup, "I'm just happy to eat anything that doesn't make me feel any sicker than I already do. Eliza, you're the best."

Eliza looked downwards, hiding her blushing cheeks, not wanting to be embarrassed. Anytime Michelle complimented her, she couldn't help but feel like a giddy child. Regardless of whether she ever felt the same way for her as Eliza felt for Michelle, she didn't care. She was just pleased enough making Michelle feel even the slightest bit better at the lowest time of her life.

                                                                                                              ***

Meanwhile, in the hallway across the hospital, Beatrice was on her way towards Michelle's room. She hadn't meant to take the long way around, but she'd accidentally parked on the wrong side of the hospital, and now she needed to walk through the entire hospital to reach her. Bea checked her watch and sighed, shaking her head. She'd only been up for an hour, and had thrown on whatever she could find easily around the bedroom. She hadn't even brushed her hair, for god sakes, and she was still expected at the studio at some point today after this.

As she walked past a room, she heard the sound of her own voice on, and stopped. Bea backed up and peered into the room, seeing the Beatrice Beagle show playing on the television bolted into the corner of the ceiling; her eyes then wandered from the TV to the little girl lying in the bed, hugging the Beatrice Beagle doll. Bea smiled and entered the room, standing by the bed and watching the show with the girl. The girl, Ashley Harding, looked up to Bea and waved, making Bea wave back.

"You like Beatrice?" Bea asked, and Ashley nodded; Bea smirked, adding, "so do I. She's smart and she's brave. She's the best dog."

"She makes me feel safe," Ashley said quietly, "whenever I'm here, I always have her on the TV, or have my doll, and she makes me feel safe. I'm not as scared when I have her."

"Dogs are good like that," Bea said, "they're always here to help us through the worst times, so long as we give them love back. I think it's good that you have something like that. I'm glad she makes you feel safe, especially in such a scary place during such a scary time."

Ashley squeezed the doll to her chest, and Bea had to keep herself from openly crying. Instead she patted Ashley on the top of the head and smiled warmly.

"I'm sure Beatrice will be happy to see you get through this," she said, "you just stay brave, okay?"

Ashley nodded, and Bea nodded back at her before turning and exiting the room. Once back in the hallway, she leaned against the wall and started crying silently. Michelle was right. Beatrice belonged to everyone now, and she could no longer pretend this wasn't the case. The dog was for the world. Bea turned and put her back against the wall, covering her face with her hands and wiping her face free of tears. When she pulled her eyes away, she noticed Lexi and Keagan standing there.

"Oh," Bea said, quickly wiping her face on her sweater sleeve, "god, I'm...I'm sorry. Hi girls."

"Are you okay?" Keagan asked.

"As okay as one can be expected, given the circumstances," Bea replied, "what's going on?"

Keagan and Lexi exchanged a look and then Lexi sighed, approaching Bea.

"...I think I know what we can do to save her," Lexi said.

"...I'm listening," Bea said softly.

                                                                                                            ***

"I hope this doesn't qualify as a last meal," Michelle said, leaning back on her pillows as Delores adjusted them for her; she continued, "I mean, I could have worse, but I sure hope I get to have more meals. Still, even if it was, at least I went out on a high note."

Delores finished fixing the pillows, then excused herself to use the bathroom. Eliza looked down at her shoes and grimaced. Michelle reached over and touched her knee, causing Eliza to tense up and look away more.

"Are you okay?" Michelle asked.

"...I didn't...when my mom died, I didn't get to say anything to her," Eliza said, "and I always regretted that it happened so quickly because, ya know...there was no goodbye of any kind. In fact, the last thing we did was kinda argue. She probably died thinking I was mad at her. You never know when the last time you might talk to someone might be, and if that's the case, isn't it good to tell them something before you don't get the chance to?"

Eliza looked up at Michelle, who's head cocked to the side, curious, smiling at her. Eliza felt warm inside, like the sun was shining inside her. Eliza started to feel nervous, and began pulling some of her hair down to her mouth, chewing on it out of habit.

"You're my best friend, whatever it is you can talk to me about it, you know I won't judge you," Michelle said, and Eliza nodded slowly, cautiously, as if the mere act of nodding would somehow give away the secrets threatening to spill free from her lips like waves over an ocean breaker.

"...I think...um...I think I-" she began, when the door opened again, and Beatrice, Lexi and Keagan entered, interrupting.

"Michelle," Bea said, hurriedly approaching the bed and hugging her, "sweetheart, I can't believe I'm about to say this to you, but...everything's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay. Lexi has a plan."

Lexi seated herself on the bed, and took one of Michelle's hand in her own.

"As you know, I recently got a lot of money from my fathers business," she said, "and, uh...for a bit I thought I'd be selfish, and use it to make my life better. Got a new car, wanted to get a new apartment, that sort of stuff. Still plan to do some of that, but that's beside the point, hah. But then you got sick, and I realized that the best thing I can do is help you instead. So...along with insurance from the company, I'm going to help cover the costs of a transplant surgery."

"A transplant? I don't even know anyone who would-"

"I'm going to," Beatrice whispered, kissing Michelle's hand, crying again but smiling, "I'm going to donate to you. We have the same blood type. I'm a bit older than you, obviously, but that's really the only hangup. Michelle, you gave my life back to me, so now I'm going to give your life back to you, okay? It's the least I could do for you dragging me out of that hole I called an existence in exile."

Michelle wanted to break down. Never once in her entire life had she experienced, nor expected, this level of generosity, especially not from someone she'd only known for almost two years. Beatrice was going to donate a lung to her? This seemed...insane. But, as Michelle had learned, sometimes insanity was all that worked. Eliza, likewise, couldn't believe her ears. Her jaw was full on dropped.

"Now we do have to run some tests first, obviously," Bea said, "and you can't eat or drink anything the day before, but it should be capable of being done in the next few days. We have the money, I'm a willing donor, there's no reason we can't expedite this process posthaste."

"...Beatrice," Michelle whispered, reaching up and hugging her, before turning and squeezing Lexi, whispering in her ear, "thank you so much. I'll find a way to repay you."

Lexi patted Michelle on the back.

"Just repay me by getting better," Lexi whispered back.

Michelle couldn't believe her luck. But what Bea had said to Ashley was true, and she knew it. A dog was there to help, protect and save, and that's exactly what she intended to do for Michelle, come hell or high water.

                                                                                                          ***

Liam entered Leslie's office, knocking on the door as he waltzed in. Leslie looked up, slightly irritated as she dropped her pen on the table and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.

"What is the point of knocking if you're already entering?" she asked.

"To give the illusion of respect?" Liam asked, shrugging, making Leslie laugh.

"What do you want anyway?" she asked, picking her pen back up and going back to writing.

"Uh," Liam started, scratching the back of his head, "...I just got off the phone with Beatrice, she's at the hospital with Michelle and, well, basically everyone else. Um...I hate to be the one to tell you this, but...your girlfriend's gonna donate an organ."

Leslie stopped writing, then slowly looked up.

"She's WHAT?" she asked.

                                                                                                             ***

Leslie and Beatrice were standing in the living room of Leslie's apartment; Leslie was pacing back and forth furiously, flabbergasted at this admittance, while Beatrice was standing calmly by the couch, trying to easily explain her reasoning, and how there's no danger involved.

"First of all, I have to find this out from Liam-"

"Can I help it if he's a blabbermouth?" Beatrice asked, "I would've told you when we got home."

"-but then there's the fact that this is dangerous for you, and I...what if something goes wrong? What if she doesn't wake up, or you don't wake up, or something happens and both of you...it's too much to think about," Leslie said, putting her hand to her forehead and groaning, adding, "It's a noble, beautiful thing you're doing, but I can't...what if I lose you?"

"I'm sorry," Bea said, "but I can't just let her die. She doesn't have any family willing to donate, she doesn't have long enough to wait on a list. I can fix this, right here, right now. I can't just sit idly by and let her die because of fear. Everything I have right now, I owe to her and Keagan's adoration for what I built years ago. Including you. If they hadn't brought me out of retirement, I wouldn't...we wouldn't have..."

Bea sat down on the couch and covered her face, sighing. Leslie walked to the couch and sat beside her, putting her hands on Bea's knees.

"...I'm not going to stop you, obviously," Leslie said softly, "I'd never even think of asking you not to do it, that's just selfish. I just wish we could've discussed it more first or something. I wanna make sure you're going to be safe, and that you'll come through okay. You're older than she is. This could really put you out of commission for a bit."

"And if I don't, it could put Michelle out of commission forever," Bea whispered, reaching up and touching Leslie's face; she smiled warmly and kissed her on the nose, resting her forehead on Leslie's before saying, "trust me, nothing bad will happen. We will come through this better off in the end for it. But I need to save her. I have to."

This need to save something she loved was something Leslie would never understand, and something Michelle would understand all too well. Beatrice laced her fingers through Leslie's and smiled, shutting her eyes.

"Everything will be okay," she whispered, "I promise. And you know me, I never break a promise."

This was true, Leslie couldn't deny. As of now, she had yet to break a promise.

                                                                                                       ***

Michelle was lying in her hospital bed as Eliza pulled her jacket on and stood up, preparing to leave. She stopped and looked at Michelle, who looked away from the muted television at her and smiled. Eliza sighed and rubbed her eyes furiously, as if she was anxious.

"You were gonna say something earlier, before everyone barged in," Michelle said, "if you wanna finish that thought now you can."

"...it's okay," Eliza said, "I'll come by tomorrow morning, okay?"

Michelle nodded, and Eliza turned, heading for the door. Her hand grabbed the knob, then she heard Michelle's voice, weak and gentle.

"you don't have to go," she said softly.

This made Eliza stop in her tracks and turn back towards the hospital bed.

"i mean...it'd be nice to have company," Michelle said, "i...i don't know when the visiting hours end, i guess, but..."

Eliza smiled and walked back to the bed, taking her hand.

"If you want me to stay, I'll stay," she said, "all you had to do was ask."

So Eliza stayed. And when Michelle fell asleep from the medication, Eliza watched over her until a nurse told her she couldn't stay any longer. Eliza felt like she could finally breath a sigh of relief once more. Michelle would have surgery and she would be alright. She wasn't going to lose anybody. For once in her life, it seemed, everything was actually going to work out.

Sometimes it's nice to win.

Boris was sitting on the grass, looking at his hat in his hands. He sighed and reached up, running his hand through his mostly gone hair. He shook his head and put his hat back on his head, then cupped his hands together.

"...things have been good with Chrissy lately," he said, "I got my poetry book published, and I gave her a copy. I wrote a poem for her, about her, and she thought that was neat. It's kinda nice, having her around to vicariously do the things I wanted to do for my daughter when she was her age. John is trying to start a new church downtown, one that's more welcoming of queer people, so that's been interesting."

He glanced to the headstone beside him, the one that bore Polly's name, and he sighed again.

"...god it's awful not having you here," he whispered,, "it's really....it's truly just awful. I wish you could say something, anything, to let me know that you're somewhere better now. Somewhere where you're...I don't know...not as restricted as you were in life, and maybe able to be happy with who you are. Where you aren't judged for yourself. You got lucky. You got out. I'm still stuck here, just without you."

He checked his watch and shook his head, standing up and wiping the grass stains from his pants as a middle aged couple began to walk by.

"I'll come see you again next week, alright?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets, looking at the stone, "I'll wash your rock."

"Your wife?" the man passing by asked, and Boris laughed.

"No, no, god no. Just a friend. A very good, very missed friend," he said.

                                                                                                        ***

"What is the point of having insurance if it doesn't cover what you need it to? What, just on the off chance it might cover something that happens to me? We're paying for POSSIBILITY?" Burt asked.

He and Carol were sitting in Carol's office as she tried to get some paperwork done. Burt was looking through a file she'd finished, in which she'd consolidated everyone in the homes outdated insurance information.

"Seriously, it sounds like a scam. 'Well, you might get hurt, so you should pay exorbitant amounts for this thing you'll likely rarely ever use'. That doesn't sound like a financially sound way to protect ones self. I'd rather just go to the doctor. Most insurance doesn't cover basic doctor visits anyway. Anyone who pays for insurance is a sucker, plain and simple."

"BURT."

Burt looked up, noticing Carol glaring at him, pen in her clenched fist.

"Please," she added, "shut. up. I am trying to finish this."

Burt nodded and went back to silently reading the file, listening to the pen scratches from Carol's desk while she continued getting her paperwork finished.

"I'm just saying-" Burt continued.

"Oh dear god," Carol muttered.

"-it seems ridiculous to pay for something that won't cover a good portion of your medical needs. It doesn't cover dental, it doesn't over mental. Apparently anything that ends in the 'ental' prefix is right out. There's absolutely no need for there to be a difference. It's all a part of our body, which means it's all medical care. But these goddamned bastards decided a long time ago that it was more financially draining on us to charge for multiple aspects of our health, and there's no way to untangle that web of mess now."

"I'm going to show you what good insurance is for in a minute if you don't shut the fuck up," Carol said through gritted teeth. Just then her office door opened, and Larry walked in, tossing a file onto her desk. She stopped her writing and looked up at the file, then up at Larry, who was now standing next to Burt's chair; after a moment she tapped the file with her pen and asked, "...what is this? Please PLEASE tell me you didn't just bring me MORE work."

"I didn't. I'm just delivering it to you," Larry said, shrugging, "it's actually something you might be interested in looking into. Someone in the home doesn't have their medication covered, when it so clearly should be, and all because the insurance was under their husbands name."

Carol looked at the file, then laid her face on the desk. Larry glanced down at Burt.

"What're you reading?" he asked.

"A pack of lies, that's what," Burt replied.

"GET OUT OF MY OFFICE," Carol shouted, her face flat on the desk.

                                                                                                          ***

John Krickett was seated in the usual booth at the usual diner. He checked his watch, then took a sip from his coffee. He heard the bell over the door jingle, and looked up to see Boris approaching. Boris took his coat off and slid into the booth, across from John, who was just smiling at him.

"You're not usually late," John said.

"I'm very punctual, yes," he replied, "I had to take care of something today."

"Anything important?"

A few seconds passed, and Boris looked away from the table. He pulled his hat off and set it on his jacket, then sighed.

"...it's been a year," he said, "since...since Polly. Today, in particular, is the anniversary of her OD."

"It's been a year? Fucking hell, it certainly doesn't feel like it," John said.

"I was at the cemetery. I go to the cemetery every week and talk to her headstone, but of course you know that already," Boris said, "...but something about doing it today was...I don't know...somehow sadder than usual. I guess it made it sink in how final it all is. She's just not here anymore. She was here, and now she's not. And I'm still blaming myself. I'm still mad at myself for not stopping us from-"

"You need to stop blaming yourself," John said, adjusting his roman collar and shaking his head, "I know it's hard to, but you have to, otherwise you're never going to move on in any real significant way. She made a decision. She was clearly unhappy. If nothing else, be grateful that you showed her, right at the end, that someone still cared. That someone was willing to be there, even at her absolute worse."

"The woman was a mess," Boris mumbled, chuckling gently, "she was a goddamned nightmare from the day that I met her, and she continued to be a nightmare til the day that she died. But she was something else the oher folks at the home weren't, and that's honest. Far too many people my age, they like to pretend they've lived lives of no regrets, of no disappointments. That they're happy with the way things turned out. Plenty of them are not, and I know it for a fact. When you have insomnia, you spend a lot of time at night by yourself, and you can hear some of them crying in their rooms. They aren't happy. They're just too scared to admit that, now that they're so close to the end, there's nothing they can do to fix it."

John leaned back in the booth and shrugged.

"So what are you saying, that life is nothing but a series of neverending mistakes?" John asked.

"I don't know what it is I'm saying, honestly," Boris replied, "all I know is this. Polly didn't pretend to be happy. She was pissed off. She was pissed off on getting screwed over time and time again all because of having been born at a specific point in time that didn't allow her to be happy. To feel like a real person. To feel equal to those around her, specifically to the men around her who got to openly flaunt their love for the women in their lives. It was refreshing. She was angry. She was mean...and I loved her for it."

Father Krickett hadn't heard Boris speak of Polly in a while, but he was more than happy to listen right now. He was happy to hear Boris try and get things off his mind, and out into an open space. He felt the old man was generally way too closed up, and he needed to talk more.

"Is that what made you guys friends? Mutual anger? I mean, didn't you feel the same way?"

"I didn't love men," Boris said, laughing.

"No, not like that," John replied, laughing, "but I mean, you were a man who wanted to do things that men didn't normally do. Poetry writing was more often than not a womans field, really. Or at least that's how it always came across. More feminine leaning."

"There's been male poets for as long as literature has existed," Boris said, scoffing, "I'm not even entertaining the idea of that. But you're not wrong. I do think it was the anger. I was mad at myself for not being a better father, and mad at society for failing to teach me how to be more openly emotional. I failed my daughter. I failed my wife. I failed myself, but that's okay, it's okay to fail yourself. It's NOT okay to fail those who are depending on you. Those you support."

A moment passed, and Boris wiped at his eyes with a napkin from the table.

"You okay, buddy?" John asked, his voice hushed.

"I'll be alright," Boris replied, "I have to. I don't really have any other choice."

                                                                                                         ***

"But why isn't it capable of being covered?" Carol asked, pacing back and forth behind her desk, phone lifted to her face; she listened, rolled her eyes and then replied, annoyed, "because he's DEAD, this isn't complicated. Isn't she entitled to some kind of benefits if he dies? For god sakes, she's 82, she can't go out and apply for a job! She doesn't have the income to pay for insurance of her own!"

After a moment, she groaned, then said goodbye and hung up. She looked at Burt, still seated in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, before she sunk into her own.

"...I'm supposed to be able to help people," Carol whispered, "that was the whole idea of buying this place, was to be able to do the things nobody else could do. Go to bat for people our age who couldn't go to bat for themselves. But it feels like I get stuck at every turn, and it's infuriating, and frustrating. Nobody will take me seriously."

"I take you seriously. The people here take what you do seriously. You do wonderful things, Carol," Burt said, which made Carol blush.

She tapped her nails on the desk, resting her chin on her other fist and sighing.

"...we could always go see Elaine," Burt mumbled, and Carol looked up.

"Who?"

"Come with me,"  Burt said, getting up and exiting the office, Carol quickly on his heels.

                                                                                                         ***

"What do you do when you've made it?" Boris asked, "when you accomplish your goal? If I hadn't gotten this thing published, I'd still have my regrets about not going for it, but now that it's been produced, I don't have those regrets. Who the hell ever ends life fully satisfied?"

"Not many do, but those who somehow manage to probably feel pretty pleased with themselves. Smug bastards," John said, making Boris smirk as he continued, adding, "but here's the thing...is that all life is? At the end, do you just run through a mental checklist and cross out everything you managed to do, while sulking on the ones you didn't? Seems kind of boring to me. You think, in those last few minutes, Polly had regrets?"

Boris leaned back in his side of the booth and folded his arms, exhaling.

"I...don't know," he said, "I really don't. A part of me would like to think that she didn't. A part of me would really like to believe that she truly was happy with how things had turned out. I mean, after all, sure...her family wasn't accepting, society was pretty heavily biased against her, but she did manage to be with the person she loved. So even if they died, so what? Everyone dies eventually, right? I mean, it's sad, but how many closeted people from our generation get to the end of their lives and wind up regretting never even trying, you know? She tried, and succeeded. I think that alone is cause for celebration."

"Exactly," John said, smiling as the waitress stopped by the table and refilled his coffee; he took a long sip, then sighed and said, "it's so easy to accentuate the negative, because the negative is the thing that sticks with us. Our brains are hardwired to remember the bad, not reflect on the good. I don't know why we're hardwired that way, but we just are. Regardless, it takes effort to remember the positive, but I say if it takes effort, then it's something worth remembering."

Boris nodded, listening. He glanced out the window and thought about Polly. Thought about how she'd feel today if she were still here. She was clearly in a lot of pain, clearly angry at the world, clearly upset with herself. She'd made her decision, a decision she felt was right for her, and Boris had to respect that even if it made him sad.

"...there'll never be another like her," he whispered, a tear rolling down his face. John reached across the table and held the old mans hand to comfort him; Boris added after a moment, "...and that's good, because there was only one person capable of being her, and it was her."

                                                                                                          ***

"Why don't I know about this?" Carol asked.

She and Burt were standing in a janitorial closet, where Elaine Sylar was rooting through boxes and boxes of pill bottles.

"Because you aren't in the circle," Burt said.

"And you are?"

"I'm circle adjacent, yes."

"What's adjacent to a circle, a rhombus?"

"Would you two PLEASE?" Sylar asked, glancing over her shoulder before going back to digging through boxes. Burt lowered his voice and approached Carol, pulling her a bit away so they wouldn't bother Sylar again as he started to explain the situation.

"This is Sylar, she's a janitor, but she also steals and resells medication. She's also capable of acquiring medication from other nursing homes through her janitorial friends who work at those locations. They meet and swap info and meds, sometimes for free, often for a price. If someone needs something and their insurance doesn't cover it, Sylar's who you come to," Burt said, as Carol looked over him to get a good sight of the young drug lord in their midst.

"And this is just...happening? I was never informed of this?"

"Because would you have allowed it?"

A moment, and then Carol shook her head, and Burt nodded.

"Exactly," he said.

"Here," Sylar said, approaching them, hand outstretched as she handed them a bottle, saying, "give this to them. This is what they need. You know, people often give me shit for my way of making money without thinking about the fact that the insurance business is an even bigger racket, generally full of worse criminals than I am. I'm not ripping anyone off. I'm stealing things that are no longer needed, and redistributing them to those in need, because the government apparently cannot be bothered to care for their own citizens, either young or elderly."

Carol took the bottle and looked at it in awe, before looking back at Sylar.

"....so sure, I'm a drug dealer, whatever. But at least I'm honest about it. At least I'm not hiding behind a guise of helping people when in reality my business is ripping them off and sucking them dry financially," she said, "that's what's most despicable is these companies absolutely adamant belief - their utter conviction even - to their own lies. I'm a thief, but I'm NOT a liar."

Carol smiled and shook Sylar's hand, thanking her. Afterwards, she and Burt exited the janitors closet and stood back in the hall. Burt cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Welp," he said, "guess it's time for this ol' mule to mosey on to where he once came."

"Who're you, the Lone Ranger?" Carol asked, laughing, "actually, Burt, thank you. Thank you for your help. I hate asking for help, but...I do appreciate what you managed to do here today, and I'm sure our fellow housemate will appreciate it as well."

"All in a days work," Burt said, smiling, as he turned and headed down the hall. Watching him go, Carol realized just how little she actually knew the people around her, despite working for them. She made it her duty right then and there to become better acquainted with those in the home, and befriend them as well. Nobody deserved to be without their medication, and nobody deserved to be alone, especially not at this stage in their life. She looked at the bottle grasped firmly in her hand once more and smiled. She'd get this to its necessary recipient immediately, and then, maybe, she'd take a nap.

She'd worked hard today, after all. She felt she deserved a little rest.

                                                                                                    ***

Boris, the following week, was back at the cemetery, back at Polly's grave, but this time he brought his poetry book with him. He sat and he read poetry aloud to the gleaming, freshly cleaned headstone, and he ate the lunch he'd brought with him in between poems. Sometimes he'd stop and he'd tell Polly things, things about what was going on at home, or at the home, or about his new stuff he was working on. But all in all, he just liked being here. With her.

Boris realized after his conversation with Father Krickett, that sometimes, just because someone is gone, doesn't mean you still can't spend time with them. She was here, and she'd always be here, and for that he was thankful. Boris coughed and re-opened the poetry book, after finishing the peach he'd packed as part of his lunch. He raised the book back to eye level and smirked.

"You might like this one," he said, "it's about you, it's called 'Bitch'."

He knew, if she were here, she'd have laughed.

Kelly Schuester had expected that, once she got out of college, she'd never have to wake up early again. Turns out even the weathergirl has to be up at a certain time. Kelly would bathe, dress, then head to the studio so she could have her makeup professionally done before finally going live in front of the green screen. And she was a professional to boot. No matter how terrible she felt, no matter what mood she was in, she was always chipper on screen. The way she saw it, many times the first person you see for the day is the weatherperson, so she may as well put a smile on peoples faces if she could.

Today, on her lunch break, she was pulling into a parking lot and groaning. She'd done her job, she had some paperwork to do, and then she could go home and relax. She had been feeling so ill lately, she really needed a vacation, but with the convention coming up soon, she knew she'd have to wait until after that. Kelly climbed out of her car and shut the door behind her, only to be jerked back and momentarily surprised until she realized the car door had eaten one of the coat tails of her jacket. She shouted and fumbled with her car keys, electrically unlocking the door once again and pulling her coat tail violently from the doorjam before turning back and realizing she was face to face with Rachel.

"....oh, hi," she said quietly.

"You havin' trouble there?" Rachel said.

"...my car ate my jacket," Kelly muttered, causing Rachel to burst out in laughter, which only made Kelly chuckle a little in response.

"I saw you from the parking lot across the street," Rachel said, "I work at that coffee shop. I just was hoping you weren't in need of assistance."

"Oh I am, just not that kind," Kelly remarked, the girls laughing again, "...are you on break?"

"Yeah."

"I'll buy you lunch," Kelly said, and despite Rachel slightly hesitating, she nodded in agreement.

Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet.

                                                                                                       ***

Wyatt had made these reservations a week before, and now he was on the phone being told that they could no longer accommodate them thanks to a recent, very small, fire in the kitchen. Wyatt didn't even get to have a conversation with anyone, he got a fucking voicemail. That's how serious this was, apparently, it warranted voicemails. Now was what he going to do? He set the phone back on its base and collapsed onto the couch, groaning, dragging his hands down his face as Scarlett came down the stairs, putting her hair up, already dressed for the evening. She was wearing a tight black dress and tall white leather boots. She stopped in front of him, hands on her hips.

"We're not able to go, are we?" she asked.

"You look like a go-go dancer," Wyatt said after a moment of looking her outfit up and down, "and no, we're not able to go, but we can...I don't know...find somewhere else?"

"Do you still want to?" Scarlett asked, tossing her loose strands of hair from her eyes.

"Of course, this is date night, we never miss date night," Wyatt said, "I just...am at a loss for where to go is all."

"Well," Scarlett said, "we could just go downtown and drive around until we find somewhere we think looks interesting, like we used to. We're too set in our ways now, we know our favorites and refuse to budge. We should get back out there and start exploring again."

"Alright, that...that's not a bad idea, let me go take a shower and get ready and stuff," Wyatt said, standing up and kissing her on the cheek before heading upstairs. As he got into the upstairs bathroom and shut the door behind him, he turned to see Mona standing on a stool in front of the enormous vanity mirror spread out across the sink, looking at her moms makeup. She wasn't trying any, she was just examining it. Wyatt smirked and approached his daughter.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Does every girl have to wear this stuff? It seems like it'd be uncomfortable," she replied.

"Naw, girls don't have to. A lot of them like to, a lot of them feel pressured to, but you don't have to if you think it would make you feel uncomfortable or weird," Wyatt said, leaning against the bathroom sink and folding his arms, adding, "don't you think mommy looks pretty with it?"

"Mommy looks pretty either way," Mona said, making Wyatt chuckle as she continued, "but I don't like the idea of having stuff on my face."

"Well, nobody is going to force you to, okay? Now go somewhere else, daddy has to shower," Wyatt said, gently patting her on the back to get her to move along from the bathroom. As she exited, she turned and looked up at him.

"Why don't boys wear makeup?" she asked.

"Because boys think they don't need help, when in reality, we can't do a single thing ourselves," he said, making her laugh as he said, "in fact, I'd be lost without you and your mom. Hopelessly unable to care for myself. We're just wired that way."

Mona laughed and ran off, as Wyatt shut the bathroom door and looked at himself in the mirror. Truth was, he had worn makeup a few times, but mostly as a teenager to cover up acne or a scratch on a photo day or something. He didn't mind it, but he also recognized he wasn't your usual run of the mill typical 'bro' who thought anything other than Football and eateries like Hooters were inherently homosexual. He licked his lips, then licked his index fingertips and smoothed out his eyebrows. Wyatt was vain, he wouldn't deny it. But that didn't mean he needed makeup, and frankly, Mona was right, neither did Scarlett.

                                                                                                            ***

"I'm just so exhausted," Kelly said, sitting inside and sipping her iced coffee from the straw plunged into the lid of her cup, "and now with Cloudcon coming up, and I'll be flying in a few weeks to-"

"...Cloudcon?" Rachel asked, taking a bite of her sandwich and chewing.

"Oh, it's...it's a convention for weather persons out in Orlando," Kelly replied, "I have to go every year, see new technological updates to the services we use to predict weather patterns, stuff like that. Plus sometimes we're given a seminar of how to act on screen. You'd be surprised at the limitations one is given even in just announcing the weather."

"....they seriously called it Cloudcon?" Rachel asked, making Kelly laugh.

"They seriously called it Cloudcon, yeah."

"That sounds like an evil company in a futuristic dystopia," Rachel mumbled, still chewing her sandwich.

"Iced coffee is delicious but it hurts my braces," Kelly said, tapping at her teeth with her nail.

"Look...one of the reasons I came across the street to talk is cause I...I wanted to apologize for how I acted. Not just in high school, but also at the reunion. I was a bitch, and I'm sorry. You deserve better than that. I owe you an explanation. Um...I was worried that, because we were such close friends, that....I guess that I'd start to feel something romantic for you. I didn't, but I was worried I MIGHT, and that scared the shit out of me. That's why I cut you off, because it was easier than dealing with myself."

Kelly leaned back in her chair, still tapping at her braces mindlessly as she listened. Rachel pushed her bangs from her eyes and scratched her forehead, exhaling.

"Ugh, this is weird. I knew I was gay, I just...I didn't want to admit it yet I guess, and I was scared that if we kept spending time together, or god forbid we did somehow attend the same college-"

"I understand," Kelly said, interrupting.

"No, Kelly, no, you...you don't," Rachel said, "you were the best friend I ever had. You were the only person who ever accepted me flat out for who I was, and I was stupid enough to believe you wouldn't if you knew what I was really like, so instead of finding out, instead of even giving you the chance to prove me wrong, I decided it was easier to not be friends whatsoever. That's not fair to you, and I'm so sorry."

Kelly smiled and looked down at her coffee cup.

"...I was so angry at you for so long," Kelly whispered, "you were the only friend I had. Even at work, I'm always the odd one out. Nobody's ever really wanted to be friends with me, no matter how hard I try. So that really did hurt, but thank you for being honest, I guess. For what it's worth, I would've accepted you, but I think you know that at this point. And, hey, if a girl was going to be romantically interested in me, I guess I could do worse than you."

"Hey!" Rachel said, both of them laughing.

Rachel and Kelly had been best friends. They'd been as tight and close as two girls could be, without it being romantic. Cutting Kelly out of her life had hurt Rachel, but she'd deemed it necessary for her own, and for Kelly's, sake. But, after having reconnected with Wyatt, Calvin and especially Sun Rai, she'd come to discover that maybe she should give people a chance to prove her wrong. For so long, she'd just assumed Wyatt was a jock and that Calvin was a weirdo, and they were sort of those things, but a stereotype isn't defined by its stereotypes. They're still people, capable of being individuals, even if they fit into a certain categorical definition. Rachel was starting to learn that herself. So now, sitting here as an adult with her best friend, she couldn't be happier with her life.

It was nice to have some bit of normalcy amongst the madness.

                                                                                                       ***

Calvin pulled open the door so Leonard could enter the college library and set the boxes down on the table, before following him inside himself. Calvin looked around, remembering when he'd been in college, and the hours he'd spent in the library. Those had been good days. Leonard groaned and put a hand on his lower back as the boxes hit the tabletop, and Calvin approached him, concerned.

"You okay Mr. Wattson?" he asked.

"Please, Calvin, call me Leonard for christ sake, this is awkward," he replied, chuckling, "and yeah, I'm fine, I just have a bad back. Comes with the territory of living this long, I suppose."

"I could've carried it, you didn't have to do the manual labor yourself, I'm more than willing to help," Calvin said.

"I appreciate that, Cal, I do," Leonard said, twisting and popping his back, sighing, "but if the school detects any kind of physical weakness, it'll be seen as me being too old to work or something, and I can't have that. I'll be fine. Just take some pain meds when I get home and use my hotpad. What you CAN do, Calvin, is start unloading these onto the table."

"What is 'these'?" Calvin asked as he started opening the flaps on the boxes and pulling the innards out as Leonard stepped away momentarily and cleaned his glasses on the hem of his sweatervest, chuckling.

"These are student papers," Leonard said, "mostly lengthy essays about the possibilities in the field of engineering for the current year. We'll split it, yeah? You just read through them, check spelling, punctuation, stuff like that. Then slide them over to me, and I'll mark any inaccuracies regarding the science of it all."

"That sounds fair," Calvin said, stopping as Leonard dragged some chairs to the table and seated himself in one; Calvin chewed his lip then said, "thanks Mr. Wattson, er, Leonard. I think I really needed something kind of ordinary for a while. Life has been so....fucked, honestly."

"I believe it, Cal. I'm sorry you had to go through what you did," Leonard said, crossing his legs, "it's not fair when life rips from you the only thing you really care about. The only thing that means anything to you. The thing that defines who you are, and what you wanted from existence."

Calvin felt like Mr. Wattson was speaking from experience, but he didn't want to pry. Calvin sat down himself and slid some of the papers across the table to Leonard.

"These appear to have already been corrected," he said.

"Yes, I went ahead and did some ahead of this to make it easier," Leonard said, pulling a red pen from his sweatervest pocket, "that way I'd have something to do while you got started. You know, you were my best student, it's a shame you didn't stick with science."

"I still kind of do things," Calvin said, shrugging as he uncapped a black pen and started working on a paper as well, "I just do it in my parents shed in the backyard. Nothing spectacular, just little projects to keep my mind sharp, keep me focused, give me something to do."

"That's nice to hear," Leonard said, smiling, "I'm glad to have instilled a lifelong love of science in you."

Calvin had lost his wife, his children, the one thing he had left was science, and he rarely considered it but he was, in fact, grateful for that, and now here was Mr. Wattson once more, giving him something else to do with his life. He was the man who kept on giving, it seemed.

                                                                                                         ***

Wyatt and Scarlett were parked in a lot, eating messily from the burgers they'd picked up at a small, hole in the wall burger place that looked good, and boy were they happy they had, because it was indeed delicious. Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and glanced at his wife, who was sinking her teeth into the center of her burger and he smiled. God she was beautiful.

"Mona asked me about makeup," he said.

"Yeah?" Scarlett asked, chewing, "I hope she was able to give you some pointers."

Wyatt laughed and reached into their shared fry box, grasping a handful and shoveling them into his mouth.

"Why'd she wanna know about makeup?" Scarlett asked.

"Cause she wanted to know why people wore it. She said you didn't need it," Wyatt said, "and frankly I agree with her. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like it when you look like a cheap french harlot, but I also like when you look natural."

Scarlett cracked up and pressed her head against the window, laughing as Wyatt lifted his drink to his lips and sipped.

"Well, thank you for your honesty," she finally managed to say between laughter, "to be honest, I never wanted to be wearing makeup at this stage in my life. I mean, I don't know. It's fun, it's like art, in a way, but at the same time it makes me feel like I'm just giving into The Man and what society expects from women, physically, you know? It's gross. It's demeaning. Good on Mona to recognize that so early on."

Wyatt nodded, taking another bite from his burger and looking out at the other parked motorists, doing the same. They never missed date night, and he wouldn't have missed this one for anything either. Even if their plans fell through, Wyatt and Scarlett always seemed to come through in one way or another in terms of finding backups. Wyatt put his burger down in its cardboard container and sighed, leaning back in the drivers seat.

"God...when did we get to be this age?" he asked quietly, "it still feels like we're teenagers ourselves. I can't believe we have a mortgage, and kids, and...fuck."

"I know," Scarlett replied, "it's crazy how much time passes without you even recognizing it."

"...are you happy? Like, with this life, and with me?" Wyatt asked, and Scarlett smiled, the took a napkin and wiped the lipstick from her lips and leaned in, kissing him.

"I really really am, man," she whispered, "I couldn't imagine my life any other way."

Wyatt smiled, putting his hand on her face and kissing her back. Wyatt had gotten lucky. He acknowledged this. He had a job thanks to his father, he had a house thanks to the job he got from his father, he was married to his high school sweetheart and had two kids. Most of the people he knew, Rachel and Calvin and Celia, they were struggling in some way, and Wyatt felt guilty for not struggling even slightly. Unless he counted with his conscience. Then he struggled intensely, because, after all,  he had blown up a man.

                                                                                                           ***

Kelly Schuester had never expected to get her best friend back.

As she prepared for bed that night - changed into her pajamas, did her oral hygiene routine and undid her braids - she couldn't help but think how lucky she really was. She got to do the job she always wanted, AND she got her best friend back to boot, PLUS an explanation for her behavior in the past. How many people get that? Not many, she assumed. Kelly sat down on her bed and set her alarm clock. She had to be back at work tomorrow morning, early, to determine the weather for everyone, but it didn't matter. And it didn't matter what the weather was like tomorrow. It didn't matter whether it was rainy and cloudy or a goddamned monsoon somehow. Because nothing could beat the weather she felt today. Today had been sunny, today had been bright, today had been lovely.

Today had been a lovely day to be alive for.

If there was one thing Eliza Tartt was familiar with, it was hospitals.

That was perhaps the one similarity she and Michelle shared more than anything else, not that Michelle was very well aware of this. The reality of this made Eliza feel sick, ironically, and the last place she ever wanted to be again was a hospital, even if it wasn't for her. After the accident, when her mother died, Eliza simultaneously couldn't wait to leave the hospital, and yet she never wanted to leave. On one hand, leaving meant her life would never be the same again. Staying, however, meant she was closer to the event. Closer to her mother. Like, if she just tried hard enough, she could somehow get back to that moment and maybe change it. In the years since her mother died, Eliza had recognized this was a ridiculous thing to wish. But now, seeing Michelle regularly going to the hospital, it made her nervous. How many more people was she going to have to lose? First her mother, now her best friend? Where would it end?

She set her scissors down on her drafting table and sat back in her chair as she heard the door to The Hole opening behind her. She didn't even turn to see who it was. She didn't care. It wasn't like anyone respected her privacy as it was, so why fight it. When she looked to her side a minute later, she realized it was Liam, of all people.

"You never come out here," she said quietly.

"I know, and I probably should," he replied, biting into the already half eaten apple in his hand and chewing, "it's nice out there. Quiet. Away from everyone. You hermits sure know how to live."

Eliza smirked and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"You okay, kiddo?" Liam asked, and she shrugged.

"Is anyone?" she asked, "I don't know that I've ever been okay, honestly. I'm not sure I even know what okay feels like."

"God," Liam said, "Remind me not to come hang out with you again, you enormous bummer."

He smiled at her, to let her know he was kidding, then he pulled over one of the stools and seated himself on it, looking at the puppet she was making on the table. He picked up a few loose sheets of paper with designs on them, measurements and material options, and read through them before setting them back down, sighing and looking at her.

"Eliza, I promise you that Beatrice is going to do whatever it takes to make sure Michelle will be okay, alright?" Liam asked, "I know she's your best friend, but you have to have some faith, okay? I promise, she's gonna be fine."

"But what if she isn't?" Eliza whispered, and Liam couldn't even answer that.

                                                                                                           ***

"It's so nice to have someone else in the house," Delores said, standing at her stove, making a pot of soup while Michelle sat at the table. Since her health had worsened, she'd taken up to living with Delores - not just to give Keagan and Lexi some space, but also for some help from someone who spent their life helping others - and it was...comforting. Michelle's mother had never been the most loving or affectionate, so to have a woman about the same age as her mother give her that kind of motherly love...it was nice. Michelle coughed and laid her head down on her folded sweatshirt on the table; her voice was weak lately from all the coughing.

"What do you think I should do?" Michelle asked, almost wheezing, "there's things they could do, but...what do you think I should do?"

"Personally," Delores said, sipping from her stirring spoon, "I would want you to do whatever you can to get better. You need to take some time off from work, first and foremost. I know Beatrice and the show is important to you, and that you're a crucial part of it, but you simply cannot go on doing things the way you're doing them right now in the condition that you're currently in. You'll only worsen yourself, okay?"

Michelle nodded, smiling. She shut her eyes, and simply listened to the sound of Delores humming and cooking. It felt so safe being here, and Michelle was so grateful to have such a caring social worker. After a few minutes, she heard a chair scraping on the floor, and opened her eyes to see Delores seating herself at the table across from her, and looking at Michelle seriously.

"W...what?" Michelle asked, coughing.

"You need to stay here," she said, "it's okay, I have plenty of room, but you need someone to take care of you during this. You need to not feel in the way. I'm more than happy to welcome you into my home. But you also have to do something for me, and that's to continue fighting to get better, no matter what it takes, okay? Cause no kid of mine gives up without a fight."

Michelle blushed, and nodded.

"Okay, I'll keep fighting," she said weakly.

"Now take a nap. I'll wake you up when the soup is done," Delores said.

                                                                                                       ***

Leslie was sitting in her office when the door opened and Beatrice came in, slamming the door behind her, surprising Leslie, who yelped at the loud noise. She put her pen down and looked at Bea, who was now pacing nervously back and forth, chewing on her nails.

"Problem?" Leslie asked.

"Too many," Bea replied.

"Well, let's look at some of them," Leslie said.

"Where to even start? I've been outed, my biggest creative partner is in extremely poor health, the show and its merchandise is doing so well that it terrifies me, and I don't know what to worry about first. That's how many problems I have, I can't even figure out which one to focus on."

Leslie laughed a little. She always appreciated seeing Beatrice anxious, because she so rarely did, and it reminded her that she was, in fact, a human being. Beatrice tried so hard to be anything other than that, to be perfect and all knowing, and to see her actually full of doubt made her all the more endearing to Leslie. Leslie leaned back in her chair and put her legs up on her desk.

"Are you wearing cowboy boots?" Beatrice asked, stopping and looking at her shoes.

"I can wear whatever footwear I want," Leslie remarked.

"Why do you feel the need to dress up as a mythological figure?" Bea asked.

"Asks the woman who wears a dog suit for a living," Leslie replied, cackling, "look, my choice of shoes isn't the issue here, alright? You need to calm down, okay? Just chill out for a second and let's approach these issues one at a time, and we'll make some kind of progress or-"

"I can't just slow down!" Beatrice shouted, surprising Leslie.

Leslie liked seeing her nervy, but she didn't like seeing her scared, Leslie got up from her desk chair and went around, putting her hands on Bea's shoulders and stopping her from pacing. She made her face her, and looked in her eyes. Beatrice stood and stared Leslie down, her eyes wet with tears. Then, without even realizing she was doing it, Leslie hugged her. They'd tried not to be openly affectionate in public since the incident, but hell, they were at work in an office, and she needed something right now. It was more than worth the risk. As she stroked Bea's hair, she could hear softly crying into her blouse.

"...what do i do if she can't get better?" Bea whispered, "...i don't think i can do the show without her."

"She's not even IN it," Leslie said, confused.

"But she's why it's back at all," Bea added, "she's why it exists at all right now. If she...god, I can't even say it."

"She's not going to, alright? She's just having a health scare," Leslie said, "but she'll be fine, trust me. Even if she can't come into the office for a bit, we'll find a way to include her in some capacity. Get her a work station for home or something. She's clearly willing and capable, she built a set in her goddamned basement after all."

Beatrice smiled, nodding. Leslie was right. She just had to relax. Michelle was tough. She'd survived childhood with this illness, surely she could survive adulthood. Especially now that, this time, she had such a strong support system surrounding her. All she had to do, for once, is simply not worry. Something Beatrice was, sadly, almost incapable of doing.

                                                                                                         ***

Lexi was sitting in the living room of the apartment when Keagan got home. Shutting the door behind her and tossing her bag on the floor by the door, she sighed loudly before noticing Lexi was sitting on the couch, cross legged, in the dark. Keagan furrowed her brow, but didn't turn the lights on. Instead, she walked around to the front of the couch and climbed onto it beside her.

"You okay?" Keagan asked, tracing her fingertips up and down Lexi's arms.

"...i can save her," Lexi whispered.

"What?"

"Michelle, I can save her," Lexi said, turning her head to look at Keagan; her eyes were red, like she'd been crying hard for hours, but she was smiling regardless as she added, "I can do it. I have the money. If there's a treatment that can save her, that can help her, I can pay for it. What good is getting this money if I don't do good with it? My dad was greedy, he went to jail because of money, but now I can take that very same money and put it towards helping rather than hurting."

Keagan was stunned. Lexi, since obtaining the money, had seemed like she was focused on shallow, almost superficial things. A better place to live, buying a nicer car, so to hear her state that she could do something for someone else...it threw her. She honestly didn't know how to respond. She was touched, to say the least, but her shock was currently overwhelming any other emotions she could possibly convey. Lexi smiled and looked down at the drink in her hand.

"...I have to do it," she said softly, "Michelle's determination to get Beatrice to come back not only got you a career, but it allowed me to take the chance and be with you, bravery via admiration is still bravery regardless of its source. Everything she has ever done has been for the good of others. It's time someone did something for the good of her."

"Well, if you think you-"

"It's not about what I think. It's the right thing to do. If there's one life lesson to be learned from Beatrice Beagle, it's to help your friends," Lexi said, chuckling, "look at us, adults taking lessons from a kids show."

"There's a reason they're popular," Keagan replied, shrugging, the girls laughing.

                                                                                                      ***

Michelle had eaten what Delores had cooked, then had - at Delores's insistence - taken a bath with the lights off, before taking a nap afterwards. When she woke up, she pulled on the robe Delores had given her and stumbled out into the kitchen, surprised to find Delores sitting at the table, eating an enormous slice of cake, her hair in rollers. Delores merely smiled at Michelle as she entered.

"Everything okay?" Delores asked.

"I wanted some water," Michelle said weakly, "...where did you get cake?"

"Secret hiding spot," Delores replied, getting up and getting Michelle a glass of water as Michelle seated herself at the table.

"You hid an entire cake?"

"You'd be surprised the enormous things women can hide," Delores said, handing the glass to Michelle before adding, "...that might not have come out right, but you know what I mean."

Michelle giggled as she sipped her water. Delores sat back down and, fork back in hand, continued digging into her cake. Michelle sat back in her chair and drank her water, trying to wake up as she watched Delores eat the biggest slice of cake she'd ever seen in her life.

"I feel so pathetic," Michelle said, "I feel like I don't deserve any of the help I'm getting. I know that's just my moms hatred of my illness speaking, but still. People have so many things to worry about in their lives without having to worry about me on top of it. I know you're a social worker, you're, like, pre-programmed to care, but still."

Delores laughed as she wiped her mouth and set her fork down, looking at Michelle.

"Here's the situation kid," Delores said, clearing her throat, "you're sick. You're sick with a lifelong illness, and you were given shitty parents. In fact, the only saving grace in your life is that you somehow weaseled your way into the life of a woman who vanished some fifteen plus years ago, and has only returned as a result of your determination. Your life is not the same as others, which means the circumstances aren't going to be the same either. But you know what? That's good. That's means it's entirely unpredictable, and you get the things, and people, you never expected."

Delores reached forward and put her hand on Michelle's arm, smiling.

"The people you never expected," she continued, "people who love you, and care about you, and want to help you. I won't tell you that you should be happy, because you have every right to feel however you want. The situation sucks, and far be it from me to try and tell you to hold your head up and smile. Cry all you goddamn want, sweetheart, you're in an unfair situation, and you deserve to grieve over a seemingly 'normal' life. But you should recognize, while acknowledging your emotional autonomy, that you are lucky. We love you. All of us. And we're gonna do whatever it takes to help you. After her plane crash, my daughter didn't want my help. She pulled away from me, and that killed me, because all I ever knew was to help my children. Let me help you."

Michelle nodded, crying silently. She wiped her eyes on her robe sleeve as Delores got up and kissed the top of her head as she took her plate to the sink, then exhaled.

"I'm off to bed kiddo," she said, "by the way, a package came for you while you were napping. It's on the coffee table in the  living room. See you in the morning."

With that, Delores spirited herself away upstairs to her bedroom. Michelle got up and, cinching the belt around her robe, headed into the living room. She sat down on the couch and saw a small, brown package sitting on the coffee table. She recognized the handwriting on it right away as Eliza's, and she furrowed her brow, unsure of what to expect. She picked up a small pair of scissors from the table and started opening the package, only to gasp. She reached inside and pulled out a handmade Beatrice doll. Attached to it was a small note, which Michelle quickly detached and read to herself

"Michelle, I made this for you. It's special. It's not like the ones you can get in the stores, and it's the only one like it to exist. Now you can have her with you whenever you feel scared. I'm not good at explaining my feelings, and especially bad at explaining my feelings about others to them, but...you're very important to me, like Beatrice is to you, and I want you to feel safe and comfortable during this terrifying time. I hope to see you again soon, either at work or elsewhere. I hope you're feeling better, and if not, I hope this makes you feel better. Your very best friend, Eliza Tartt. PS: squeeze her paw."

On the verge of full on ugly crying, Michelle gathered herself best she could and looked at the doll, her hand slowly gripping the paws and squeezing. Eliza hadn't clarified which, so she tried one, and when that didn't work, she tried the other. When she did, the small voicebox inside just barked at her, and Michelle started laughing and crying simultaneously. She vowed she'd get better, if for nothing else than for Eliza. She'd suffered enough loss. Michelle held the doll to her chest tightly and cried in the darkness of the living room.

Eliza, lying in her bed at home and staring at a photo of herself, Bea and Michelle in The Hole sometime during production last year, was crying too, but for an entirely different reason. She was hopelessly, helplessly in love, and didn't know how to show it, so she just did what she did best.

She made a doll.

The reviews were in, and they were being clipped out and pinned on a corkboard in Boris's bedroom. Each day, a new review to be cut from the paper and posted to the board. Then, he'd get dressed, stand back and admire the view, smiling to himself. These people were talking about him, about something he'd made, and he couldn't be more proud of himself. Sure, at first he was worried, scared even, but once he started getting good reviews, his fears and anxieties regarding the situation were gone in an instant. And now, standing in a bookstore downtown and looking at his poetry book on its own little island table, he couldn't believe his luck. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he shook, somewhat surprised, until he realize it was just Father Krickett standing there, a book in his hand.

"It really is something to behold, isn't it?" Krickett asked.

"Would you call it a miracle?" Boris asked.

"...no, no I wouldn't," Krickett said, chuckling, "but to be fair, I don't call much miracles, so maybe I'm not the best one to ask."

Boris smirked, then, taking a sip of coffee from the cup in his hand, he nodded at the book in Krickett's hand.

"You find something?" he asked.

"Need some reading material regarding starting an organization," Krickett said, "Since Jenn and and I are going to do this upstart downtown, we need to be armed with all the possible information we might need upfront before really talking to people about it. It's going smoothly so far, but we want to be prepared."

"Solid idea," Boris said, "never hurts to be prepared."

"So, how's it feel, looking at your own creation?" Krickett asked as they approached the counter and he slid his book to the cashier; he and Boris glanced back at the island where his poetry book sat in stacks upon stacks, and Boris couldn't help but blush a little.

"It feels pretty damn good, John," he said, "pretty goddamn good."

                                                                                                          ***

The noisemaker popped right next to Larry, who quickly threw his hand over his ear and yelped loudly.

"Christ! That was right in my hearing aide!" he shouted, as Caroline laugh.

"I'm so sorry, but we're celebrating an anniversary at the home today," she said, coming around and handing out noisemakers and party hats to those seated in the lounge area; she continued, "so everyone take a hat and a noisemaker and just...ya know...be in a good mood. I don't think that's asking too much from you guys."

"Then you don't know us very well, somehow," Burt said, strapping his party hat on.

"Please, I know you guys better than any of your lovers have ever known you and I've certainly put up with more than they ever did," Carol said, scoffing as she put down her supplies and start taping streamers to the walls, adding, "it's a special occasion, how many more special occasions are we gonna have the chance to experience?"

"I think I've experienced too many and frankly I'm over it," Larry said, adjusting his position in his chair and going back to reading his magazine, folding his legs.

"You guys are the literal definition of party poopers," Carol said, hands on her hips, shaking her head.

"Hey, we have incontinence, okay, that can't be helped," Burt said, making everyone laugh. Even Carol chuckled a little as she headed down the hallway, towards the cafeteria. When she got inside, she did the same thing, putting up streamers and various decorative items, while a few people sat and ate lunch. After a few minutes she stepped back and admired her handiwork once again, before noticing Boris was standing beside her.

"Oh!" she said, "I didn't even know you were here."

"I only just got here," Boris said, "I was out with John, and we went to a bookstore. What are you doing?"

"Celebrating," Carol said.

"Life in general or something in particular?" Boris asked.

"Why would I ever celebrate life in general?" Carol asked, making Boris laugh as she added, "no, it's an anniversary today. I only celebrate special things; birthdays, holidays, anniversaries. That kind of crap."

"What's the anniversary?" Boris asked, and Carol stopped and exhaled. Should she even say? Would it take away any of the special feeling the day held if she shared the real reason for the celebration? She hesitated, then turned and looked at Boris, smiling warmly.

"Nothing you need to worry about," she said.

                                                                                                       ***

Regina Whittle was putting dishes away in the kitchenette of the apartment as Chrissy sat the table, doing homework. Neither had said anything to one another, but that was kind of how they preferred it. Each liked to live in silence amongst someone else's presence. It felt far more comfortable than trying to make conversation that neither was truly invested in. Chrissy bit the top of her pen and then put it down on the table and turned in her chair, looking at Whittle as she pulled open a cabinet and started stacking plates inside it.

"If the school told me that they needed to talk to my parents, would you go?" Chrissy asked, "I mean, you're not my mom, but would you?"

"We enrolled you, so I don't think they care much," Whittle said, "you've been living here a while, so I'd say it's fair to say we're your legal guardians for the time being. Why?"

Whittle stopped and leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Cause we're supposed to have parent/teacher meetings, and the teachers are supposed to show our parents what we've been doing, and what we've been excelling at, but obviously I can't just go and ask my parents to go. That's why I was asking if you guys would go."

"What, me and Boris together?" Whittle asked.

"Or you and John? If it feels weird to go with an old man," Chrissy said, "John is closer to your age, he could pass as a father figure."

"Well, I wouldn't want to outright lie, Chris," Whittle said, sitting down at the table now, "why do you want us to lie?"

"Is it a lie? I mean, you said it yourself, we're a family, right?" Chrissy asked, "that we all live here, under the same roof, and-"

The door to the apartment opened, and Boris and Father Krickett entered, in the middle of conversation.

"You're telling me that you only like chocolate that has coconut inside?" Boris asked, "You have to be one of the only people I've ever heard of who prefers coconut to literally anything else. That's quite the refined palette you have there."

"Well," Krickett said as they entered the kitchen, "what can I say? I like the finer things in life. Like really old wine and annoying old men."

"Annoying? How dare you," Boris said.

Whittle patted Chrissy on the back, and she gathered her things from the table and headed to her bedroom. Boris pulled the fridge open and rooted around inside as Krickett sat at the table and started leafing through the book he'd picked up from the store. Whittle nodded towards the book, curious.

"You find something that'll help?" she asked.

"You know," Krickett said, crossing his legs, "they never tell you how hard it is to establish a church, or even a branch of a church. Apparently it's the same as any business, until it comes to paying taxes. Then again, I guess it's not that different, considering most business avoid paying taxes too. But Sister Jenn and I are hoping to have this open sometime next year, if we can secure the building. We've picked out the spot and everything, and we have the money, it's just a matter of contractors and city terms."

Whittle nodded, scratching her nose as she turned away from John and looked back at Boris, who'd pulled a sandwich out of the fridge and was plopping it into the microwave to warm it up.

"We have to talk," Whittle said, tapping the back of the chair with her nails, "Chrissy says that her school has a student teacher meeting thing, and that someone is required to come and represent her. I guess we're her legal guardians, though not legally really, but I was wondering if you were interested. If not, John and I could go."

"Whoa whoa whoa, I'm not raising your kid," Krickett said, making them chuckle, before he smiled and said, touching Whittle's arm warmly, "I'd have no problem going, I love that little lady and I'd do anything to help you guys."

"I was never very good at dealing with teachers," Boris said, "even with my own daughter, I was rarely the one who went. Lorraine was always the one who dealt with stuff, and on the rare occasion I did have to show up, I never spoke. I don't do well with adults who try and crush kids spirits."

"If that were true, you'd hate every adult," John said without even looking up from his book, biting into his bear claw.

"Who said I don't?" Boris asked, getting his sandwich from the microwave, sighing, "but...if it's important to Chrissy, if it'll help her..."

"Boris, don't do something that'll make you uncomfortable," Whittle said, "you know there's no reason to push yourself into something, especially if you know you won't do well once you're there, alright? We have a few days to make a decision, so we'll figure something out."

Boris sat at the table and cut his sandwich in half, then picked up one half and bit into it. As he chewed, he looked at the cover of John's book and shook his head.

"Yes?" John asked.

"Nothing," Boris said, mouth full of sandwich, "just didn't know you were allowed to read anything besides the bible."

John chuckled a little, taking another bite from his bear claw.

"You're really pissing me off today, man," he said, both men laughing.

                                                                                                   ***

Carol entered her bedroom and sighed, tossing her bag of party supplies on the floor.

She flicked the lights on and looked around the room. The home was quiet, it was the evening now, and she had nobody left to talk to, not that she felt particularly like talking right now. Carol sat on the bed and looked at the mail on the bedside table, the mail she'd gathered that morning, with the one torn open envelope, the one piece that had pushed her to have a little celebration. She sighed and reached for it again, pulling it off the table, sliding it out from the envelope and unfolding it once more. She still couldn't believe it. Celia Barrows was dead. When Carol couldn't succeed the way she wanted, she gave her designs to Celia - her roommate when she was young - and Celia, in turn, had done wonders with them elsewhere. For years, that was how it had worked. Carol would design something, and Celia, being the businesswoman, would pass them off as her own, then send half the money to Carol. It was a mutual, beneficial partnership that nobody even knew about, and now...now Celia was gone.

Carol laid on her back on the bed and sighed, hugging the letter to her chest, trying not to cry. When was the last time she'd talked to Celia? It must've been a year ago now, on this day, which would've been her birthday. It was such a nice, pleasant conversation, one that made Carol feel like a young woman again. Celia was the last friend from her early life who was gone now, and it had begun to sink into Carol how little time left she likely had. How much longer, realistically, would she or any of them be here? It was not only inevitable, it was inching ever closer, and it terrified her.

Carol's head rolled on her pillow, and she found herself scanning the contents of her closet, full of clothes she and Celia had created together, and she smiled. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her cries, but she was crying nonetheless, happily even. Celia might be gone, but their clothes would outlive them, and suddenly Carol understood Boris's fascination with writing poetry. Creating something that ensures the world doesn't forget you were here, and you cared and you felt things. This was what mattered. Carol fell asleep quickly, and she dreamt of herself and Celia designing clothes, and when she woke the following morning, she didn't feel so sad anymore. Sometimes all we can do is accept reality, and try to move on.

Something only the oldest people can really grasp.

                                                                                                        ***

Chrissy was in bed, reading a book when the door opened and Boris entered. He smiled at her as he sat on the side of her bed, and she put her book down. Boris exhaled, then put a book on his lap and cleared his throat.

"So...Whittle tells me we may have to come talk to your teachers," he said.

"It's just a standard meeting, I'm sure it'll be fine," Chrissy said.

"...my book came out," Boris said, "I thought you might like to hear something."

"Okay," Chrissy said, smiling, excited as Boris cracked open the book, thumbed through it a bit until he stopped on a specific page and took a long, deep breath.

"For every mountain, there is a lake, and for every sky, there is a star. For every fix, there is a break, and for every plane, there is a car. There is always another, an alternative being, one we might ignore but cannot ignore seeing. There is always an option, for better or worse, for every wedding limo, there is a hearse. And for every family, there is a black sheep, and for every lie, there's something that's true. For every father, there is a failure, and for every me, there is a you."

He stopped and shut the book, then looked at Chrissy, smiling, tears in his eyes.

"I wrote that for you. Before I met you, I just sort of accepted that my time dealing with kids was over, and that I'd done a shit job anyway so why bother? But seeing you deal with a rough home life, the way I did, the way my daughter had to, it made me want to do something about it. Of course I'll go to the meeting, Chris. We're not your parents, but god dammit do we love you, and wanna be there for you."

"...you wrote me a poem?" Chrissy asked, hugging her knees.

"Yeah," Boris said, "you needed a change, so you made one. I needed a change, and you were an inspiration for building to change. I'm not your grandfather, but I definitely care for you the way one would. I just want to see you be safe, happy, successful, especially if it means I get to help you be that. Otherwise, what's the point of living to be this age if you can't help those younger than you? What's the point of accruing wisdom if you don't intend to share it."

Boris kissed her on the head, then tucked her in and gave her the book.

"This is for you," he whispered, "it's your book now. Now get some sleep."

Boris exited, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Standing in the hallway, he saw John pulling his jacket on and the two men stopped and looked at one another for a moment.

"You taking off?" Boris asked, putting his hands in his pockets and approaching.

"Yeah, figured I should get a good nights sleep. Sister Jenn and I have meetings all day tomorrow with investors and contractors," John said, "...you know, seeing your book in the store today, it made me realize just how far you've come. Seriously, you're a much different man now then you were when we met. I'm proud of you."

"Awww, thanks dad," Boris said, making John laugh.

"Seriously Boris," he continued, opening the door and stuffing his book in his coat pocket, "you put something into the world that didn't exist before. I mean, you did that with a child too, but you know what I mean. Something eternal. Something that won't go away, unless of course the world turns to ash, but by that point who would care?"

"Not makin' me feel better, John," Boris said, chuckling.

"When we get the church up and running, please, come by and see it," John said, "because I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't have people around me who felt the need for comfort in places they couldn't find it before. I think all the things we make as people - be it art or other people - is highly facilitated in its creation by the people around us. So for someone so anti religious, how's it make you feel knowing you're somewhat responsible for the creation of a new church?"

Boris chewed his lip and nodded.

"Pretty disgusted, not gonna lie," he said, "might have to start worshipping Satan, actually."

John and Boris cracked up and hugged, then Father Krickett turned and left. Boris went to bed himself shortly after, but before he fell asleep, he laid in his bed and read some of his poetry book first. After all, he'd waited his whole life for this moment.

He may as well savor it.

"See, he's shallow, all he cares about is her body! Did you notice how, immediately after they had their little pool date, he was nowhere near as smitten with her and just because she had stress marks and stuff? Oh no, a woman who's given life to a child! How disgusting!" Scarlett said as she and Wyatt lay on the couch, eating ice cream cones and flipping through channels.

"You're not wrong. She was charming, she was smart, and honestly, even with the stretch marks, she was in way better shape than most moms seem to be," Wyatt said, "course, nowhere near as good shape as the mom I'm married to, but."

"Awww, you dweeb," Scarlett said, giggling as she finished her ice cream cone while Wyatt - who had finished a few minutes earlier - was massaging her feet in his lap. He blushed at her affection and kept massaging her feet just as they heard their son start crying from upstairs. They both sighed, glancing at one another. This had been a problem for a while now, and neither were sure how to break him of the habit. Scarlett pulled her legs off Wyatt's lap and swung them over the side of the couch, heading upstairs as Wyatt picked up the remote and kept flipping through channels, eventually landing on the local news, where he saw a blonde woman with braces and pigtails, in a nice suit, in front of a weather map.

"That's how things are shaping up for this week, it looks like a beautiful time to be outside, get some fresh air, even with the potential light showers ahead," she said, "I'm Kelly Shuester, and that's the weather. Back to you Adam."

The camera cut to the front news desk, where a middle aged, yet attractive news anchor named Adam Lebarbara turned towards the camera and smiled, nodding.

"Well, even after months of silence, one group is still protesting downtown constantly, and that group calls themselves The Evergreens. Dedicated to protecting our cities natural resources, they've hailed local, Oliver Brighton, as a hero for the environment, even in light of his despicable actions. They see his sacrifice as a necessary one. Here's Stacy with-"

Wyatt immediately muted the television, just as the phone rang. He leaned to the side table by the couch and answered.

"Y'ello?" he said, sighing, "yeah...yeah I saw."

"This is ridiculous," Rachel said on the other end of the line, "how can they call him a hero after what he did? Did his supposedly singular act of heroism for the environment somehow alleviate the guilt of the crime of killing his goddamned family? Bullshit."

"Well," Wyatt said, scratching his stubble, "nobody listens to them, so they're just shouting to the wind. It's nothing to worry about. What're you doing tomorrow?"

"Nuffin'," Rachel said, shoving a handful of chips in her mouth, "you wanna do something?"

"Sure. Scarlett's going to spend the day with her mother and she's taking our son, so Mona, you and I could go miniature golfing or something," Wyatt said.

"That sounds cool, just gimme a call," Rachel said.

Wyatt hung up the phone and sighed heavily, looking back at the TV screen, where Brighton's image was plastered as the reporters discussed the situation with Grudin, the murders, and the environmental disasters that'd been adverted as a result of everything. Wyatt couldn't watch this. He picked up the remote again and flipped channels, winding up on one of the softcore adult channels they had as Scarlett came back in, smirking as she climbed onto the couch again with him.

"Oooh, watcha doin'?" she asked.

"Not what you think, that's what," Wyatt said, laughing.

"Could we be?"

"We sure could," he replied, as Scarlett climbed on top of him and kissed him, Wyatt's hand reaching behind and slightly overhead, shutting off the floor lamp beside the couch.

                                                                                                           ***

The following afternoon, while Sun Rai was at work and Scarlett was, indeed, shopping with her mother, Wyatt and Rachel - with Mona tagging along - headed to a local miniature golf course that Wyatt had frequented before. He and Mona met Rachel in the parking lot after they'd parked, and then together they all headed inside together, Mona running ahead of them excitedly.

"I remember when I used to enjoy things that much," Rachel said.

"That's a sad sentence," Wyatt replied, both of them chuckling.

"You know what I mean, man, like...like being young and carefree," Rachel said, "always looking forward to something. Now I look forward to avoiding things. Adulthood is just a never ending attempt to find ways out of enduring it on a day to day basis."

"Awww!" they heard Mona groan, and looked up towards her as she came walking back up to them, somewhat sullen.

"What is it pumpkin?" Wyatt asked.

"The airplane isn't working!" she said, annoyed, crossing her arms.

"The airplane?" Rachel asked.

"One of the holes here is a sort of animatronic airplane that goes up and down in front of a hole," Wyatt said, "well, we can just skip that hole, but I'm sorry. I know it's your favorite. What are all these people doing here?"

Rachel shrugged, confused, as they headed to the ticket booth to procure clubs, balls and give payment. Once there, Wyatt looked at the irritated looking teenager behind the glass, and read her nametag, smiling.

"Hiya Peggy," he said, "we'd like to golf, us and my daughter."

"That'll be 14.50," Peggy said.

As Wyatt dug into his wallet for the money, Rachel, who was chewing her nails, glanced over her shoulder again and then looked back at Peggy.

"Hey, what's with everyone outside with the signs?" she asked.

"It's the Evergreens," Peggy said, placing their clubs and balls on the counter, "they've been here for the last week and, frankly, it's gone past humorous to outright annoying."

"Why...why would they be here?" Rachel asked.

"Cause we want to expand, add onto the course, which of course means extending into an undeveloped piece of land and, of course, they hate that," Peggy said, "look, I'm not ubercapitalist, I think modern infrastructure and unchecked industrialization is as bad as anyone else rightfully should, but I'm trying to do my goddamned job and the people they should be targeting are the local government, not us. I just work here on the weekends, man."

Wyatt laughed as he paid and grabbed their clubs and balls, as Rachel hit him on the arm. He looked at her, and noticed she was pointing back at the group, a few of which were holding signs with Brighton's picture on them and a slogan that said, "For a Brighton tomorrow!". Wyatt merely rolled his eyes, gathered Mona, and together they all headed inside to golf.

                                                                                                       ***

Calvin stumbled down the staircase, from his bedroom at the top, wearing an old blue robe over a white v-neck and a pair of boxers, when he noticed his father wasn't alone in the kitchen. He could hear another mans voice, and as his eyes adjusted to the light in the kitchen, he realized it was Leonard Wattson.

"Oh...Mr. Wattson, what...what are you doing here?" Calvin asked, yawning.

"Oh, I came by to see you, but you weren't up yet, so I figured I'd talk to your folks," he said, smiling politely and tapping the mug on the table between his palms and adding, "your father makes a great cup of coffee, Calvin."

"Can I have a cup of that?" Calvin asked, while his father got up and went to get another mug; as he poured coffee into it, Calvin looked from his dad to his former teacher, who seemed perfectly content sitting here in the kitchen of a former student, like this wasn't weird at all. After Barry gave Calvin his mug, he patted him on the shoulder and told him he'd give them some privacy, before exiting the kitchen. Calvin raised his mug to his lips and took a few sips, before finally exhaling, running a hand through his bedhead and looking Mr. Wattson square in the eye.

"What are you doing here?" Calvin asked, repeating his first question.

"Actually, Calvin, I was wondering if you were curious in doing a project together," Leonard said, "As I said at the college, I'm teaching, and I was wondering if you'd like to help now and then. I could even arrange to pay you, if you were curious. Be sort of a...a teacher for hire, hah."

"...well, I certainly could use the income," Calvin said.

"It's nothing serious," Leonard said, "just doing some filing, sometimes helping me with course projects, that kind of thing. Just figured you could use an excuse to get out of the house once in a while, do something you enjoyed, you know? Things have to be hard, considering."

Calvin smiled weakly, thinking about what Leonard had said. He wasn't wrong, it would be nice to get out of the house from time to time, have something to focus on besides his grief and his guilt. It would be nice to be somewhat distracted from the mundane existence of his day to day life. He nodded, looking back up at him now.

"I think that sounds like a fun idea," he said, "do you want to get some lunch, and we can discuss it more?"

"Sounds like a plan," Leonard replied, smiling warmly.

                                                                                                            ***

Celia was in her office, packing her things up to go to a meeting, when her new secretary, a young man named Randy, knocked on the door and opened it as he knocked. Celia looked up from her desk as he entered.

"Um, someone is here to-"

Wyatt walked in, outright ignoring his introduction, and Celia chuckled.

"Thank you Randy," she said, waiting until Randy exited before looking at Wyatt, who proceeded to wander around her office, looking at her decorative decor and her various degrees hung on the wall; after a few moments, Celia finally asked, "what are you doing here?"

"...so, you work the environment."

"Yes, it's true, I represent all of nature, I do pro bono for squirrels," Celia replied.

"You know what I mean," Wyatt said, turning to face her now, "...you hear about this group, Evergreen?"

Celia went quiet, then exhaled deeply. She adjusted herself in her chair and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.

"Must be serious if this discussion requires that level of physicality," Wyatt said.

"I've been wondering when this would come up," Celia said, "truth is, I've been hoping you'd never come to me about it, but let me assure you that I'm already two steps ahead of you and six steps ahead of them."

"Wow, that's eight whole steps."

"Congratulations on passing basic 4th grade math," Celia said, smirking, "rest assured, nothing will come of it. They're annoying, but they won't be causing any issues, and besides, their beliefs regarding Oliver are so fringe nobody is taking them seriously, nor will they start to. They represent the worst facet of a good movement. That's why, when they came to me for legal counsel, I took them up on it. This way I can control the narrative. I can present weak cases in court, and keep them constantly under the laws thumb."

Wyatt was, admittedly, shocked. He finally pulled a chair over to the desk and sat in it, staring at her wide eyed.

"Excuse me what now?" he finally asked, "you're-"

"Yes, I am representing them, because if anyone else did, they might have a chance to be a thorn in our side. Wyatt, they considering Oliver a martyr, do you realize how far people who believe in martyrs will go to get others to believe in their martyr? To clear their martyrs name? That's...that's not something we want. This way, I can actively destroy their chances, then tell them 'well, the court isn't always fair', and they go back to picketing, looking nutty."

"...wow, I'm impressed," Wyatt said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the degrees on her wall and adding, "those aren't just for show, you actually did graduate law school."

"Imagine that!" Celia said, laughing, "trust me when I say I have our best interests at heart. There's nothing you have to worry about right now. I know it seems concerning, but really, nobody is going to listen to them when it comes to defending a man who killed his family."

Wyatt nodded, scratching the back of his head and then leaning forward, putting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands, crying, surprising Celia with this open expression of vulnerability.

"Wyatt?" she asked softly.

"why did we do this," he asked through his tears, his voice wavy, "why...why didn't i stop it? why didn't i stop Calvin? it's all spun so far out of control."

Celia stood up and walked around the desk, rubbing his back as she knelt by his chair.

"I know," she whispered, resting her head against his arm, "I know. I'm sorry. But we'll get through it. Nothing worse could happen, at least."

Oh if only she knew. If only she knew just how much worse would happen in just a few weeks.

                                                                                                          ***

Leonard Wattson pulled open the large steel rolling door, then stared at the inside of the storage unit, hands on his hips, sighing and shaking his head. He walked inside and lifted the lid off a large plastic tub, then looked inside. He reached in and pulled out a small photo album, then started flipping through it, admiring the shots. Shots Oliver had taken. Shots of...well...young girls. Leonard plopped the book down into the tub, then leaned against it and looked at the wall of VHS tapes, film reels and DVDs lined against the wall across from him.

Oliver had been the best. Oliver had pumped out the most in demand content from their clients, and it was always quality, premium stuff. Oliver never let his work slip, and he'd never be willing to let society know about his part in it. After all, he prided himself on being a 'family man'. To his neighbors, he was a loving father and husband. To his job, he was a dedicated craftsman. If only they knew the sick bastard he actually was. Leonard rubbed his hand down his face, exhaling. He didn't know where to turn for answers. All he knew was that he had to find something else to follow, some kind of lead, ANY kind of lead.

Then there was Brian. He had to contend with Brian on some level at some point, give him something concrete. Leonard had found the unit, thankfully, by pretending to be related to Brighton, but that was only a small step in the right direction. How was he going to haul all of this stuff back to the city? Back to his own studio? He could rent a truck, but what guarantee would he have of its safety, and his...privacy? Leonard slammed his fist against the plastic tub behind him, and groaned. Goddammit Oliver, he thought, you goddamn idiot. You've put us all in the sights of danger with your actions, intentional or not.

One day at a time. That's how he had to approach this. Tomorrow Leonard would go back to work, and start to approach the little sisters of the girls he had in his class. He had to start getting more girls on the payroll again. Had to make up for Brighton's losses resulting from his death. One day at a time.

Leonard finally pushed himself away from the tub and walked back to the door of the unit. He reached up and grabbed the bar, tugging it down, giving the contents one more solemn glace before he pulled it shut entirely and locked it again. He tucked the key back into his shirt pocket and buttoned it tight, patting it with his palm and smiling as he walked back down the hall, back towards his car in the lot.

So long as nobody else found the unit, he knew he'd be safe. But as Brighton's death had proved, nothing in life has guarantees.

"What even is perpetual motion?" Rachel asked as she and Calvin walked down an aisle made up of tables at a local college. This was the yearly science fair for anyone in the community to be involved in, and it was something that, for a long time, Calvin himself had been a part of. Nowadays, he simply liked to walk along and look at all the various entries from people in the neighborhood or attending the college.

Rachel continued, asking, "I mean, it has an extremely specific name, is it exactly what it sounds like? Or is it one of those deceptive names where they make it sound simplistic, but then when you read into it, learn about it, it's actually incredibly obtuse and complex, like most science?"

"Is most science obtuse and complex to you?" Calvin asked as they stopped at a table and Calvin looked at something.

"I mean, it wasn't my strongest subject in school," Rachel said, shrugging, making Calvin chuckle.

"Well, simply put, it's the motion of bodies that continues forever in an unperturbed system," Calvin said, "though in actuality, the idea of a machine based on this theory is impossible. People have theorized that they could make a machine that could do work infinitely without an external energy source, but this straight up violates the first and possibly second law of thermodynamics."

"Okay, look, if you're not going to respond to me like an ordinary human being, you can just tell me," Rachel said, folding her arms, smirking.

"Calvin?" a voice from behind asked, causing them both to turn and face an older looking man in a sweatervest with a long sleeved shirt beneath, ash colored slacks and loafers, short black hair and a pencil mustache. He was standing there with a clipboard, smiling.

"Uh...yes?" Calvin asked.

"It's...it's me, Mr. Wattson," the man said, "Leonard Wattson, I...I taught science over at the high school, you were in my class?"

"Mr. Wattson!" Calvin said, grinning, shaking his hand firmly, excitedly, "oh my god, what...what are you doing back in town? I heard you'd moved!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's fun to come home," Mr. Wattson said, "I've been teaching here for a few months now, just to supplement my income in addition to my retirement funds, pension and whatnot. Still interested in science I see?"

"Absolutely," Calvin said.

"And what about you? You interested in science too?" Mr. Wattson asked, politely looking at Rachel with a warm smile.

"Nah," Rachel replied, "I kinda have this weird crazy urge to have a social life."

With that, Rachel continued on her way, while Calvin and Mr. Wattson watched her go. Mr. Wattson looked at Calvin, who just shrugged.

"We're not close," Calvin said.

                                                                                                            ***

Wyatt and Mona were sitting in a small diner, having their usual weekend waffle feast. Every Sunday, Wyatt took Mona to a diner nearby and they each got a bottomless stack of waffles, then tried to see who would get tired of eating first. Wyatt was still in his first, but nearing the bottom of the plate, while Mona was already starting her third. The appetite on this kid, he swore, she was insatiable.

"Dad?" Mona asked after swallowing what she had in her mouth, "I need new shoes."

"You couldn't have told me this the day before you went back to school?" Wyatt asked.

"Well, I forgot," she said.

"Alright, we'll go get some shoes after breakfast," Wyatt said.

As they ate, they heard the bell over the diner door ring, but Wyatt didn't think anything of it until he looked up and noticed Rachel standing by the table. She looked down and smiled, waving at Mona, who waved gleefully back at her, before Rachel scooted into the booth next to Mona and picked up the coffee mug in front of Wyatt, sipping it.

"That's mine!" Wyatt said.

"I'll pay for your breakfast," Rachel said, continuing to drink from it, before making a face and asking, "god, do you load this up with sugar?"

"I like my sweets," Wyatt said, "why, how do you drink your coffee?"

"Black, obviously," Rachel said, "like a real adult."

"Yeah? You smoke cigars in a trenchcoat while drinking that?" Wyatt asked, making her laugh.

"Is coffee good?" Mona asked, looking from her father, then to Rachel.

"Well," Rachel said, "not for children. It's better for adults. See, when you get older, you lose all the ability to have energy, because by the time you're our age, your bones and your muscles have given up completely and now you need all the help you can get. Enjoy your youth while you can, because before you know it, you won't even be able to get out of bed without the help of a walker."

"You could've just lied to me," Mona said quietly, making the adults laugh.

"So," Wyatt asked, stuffing waffle into his mouth from the end of his fork, "what are you doing here anyway?"

"Eh, Sun's spending the weekend with her folks, so I'm just putzing about, seeing what's going on with everyone," Rachel replied, "went to this little science thing with Calvin earlier at the college, but I'm not that interested in science. One of his teachers from high school works there now, I guess, so that was awkward. What are your plans?"

"Well, after waffle wednesday-"

"It's Sunday," Rachel said, interrupting.

"Yeah but that's not alliterative and therefore it sounds stupid, so, after Waffle Wednesday, we're going to go to the mall and get Mona some new shoes for school, and then, who knows, the day is open with possibilities," Wyatt said, "why, you wanna come?"

"Can you come?" Mona asked excitedly.

Ever since Rachel and Scarlett had started doing painting together, and thus Rachel had begun teaching Mona how to channel her feelings through painting as well, she had become extremely attached to Rachel, something everyone, Rachel especially, found incredibly endearing. Rachel looked at Wyatt, who just shrugged, before she looked back at Mona and agreed to tag along on their little weekend excursion. Better than spending her time at a science fair, she figured.

                                                                                                        ***

"I heard about your family," Mr. Wattson said, shaking his head, "I am so so sorry, Calvin."

He and Calvin had found a small table in the cafeteria and had gotten some food and seated themselves there for a bit. Mr. Wattson was here to judge, so he did have to eventually get back to work, but he figured he could take some time off for his favorite former student. Calvin just bit into the sandwich he'd gotten from the vending machine and shrugged.

"I mean, these things happen," Calvin said.

"Well, sure, but that doesn't make it easier or any more fair. Either way, you don't deserve to live with that pain," Mr. Wattson said, adjusting his tie, "how have you been since that happened? I hear you're living with your folks."

"Yeah," Calvin said, "living at home, doing science projects in my dads shed."

"Where's your sister? She was always entertaining," Mr. Wattson asked, chuckling.

"...she doesn't live here anymore," Calvin said, "let's just leave it at that. I was going to group meetings for a while, ya know, like a grief support group, someplace downtown...but that only made me feel even worse. I've learned how to cope on my own. It is what it is. Nothing I can do to change it. Besides, Grudin got what he deserved."

Mr. Wattson's eyes widened at the name of Grudin.

"Grudin? Robert Grudin? The...he was the politician that was blown up a few months back, right?" Mr. Wattson asked.

"I shouldn't have said that. What happened was awful, but still, a small part of me can't help but feel vindicated when the guy who killed my family, even if by accident, was killed himself. Shows there's some level of karmic justice in the world," Calvin said, chewing while Mr. Wattson took a long sip from his thermos.

"Understandable," Mr. Wattson said, "do you know anything about the guy who did it?"

"Oliver Brighton? Other than he went to school with us, not really," Calvin said, shrugging, hoping he sounded sincere, "I know that he killed his family after he was fired, and he blamed Grudin for his firing. I mean, everyone knows Grudin was so into big business that if big business was a person he'd have slept with it. It's no secret he was planning on doing major restructuring of the cities remaining parks, outright shutting a lot of them down."

"Environmental assassin," Mr. Wattson said, chewing his lip, "so you think Brighton blamed Grudin, was fired, arranged for Grudins death, then offed himself and his family as a follow up? That's...that's some sick, heavy shit, not gonna lie."

"Well, like I said, I'm not invested or anything, but I am glad to know the man who took my life from me is also rotting underground," Calvin said, making Mr. Wattson nod, chuckling.

"Sometimes it's important to be just a little nasty," Mr. Wattson replied, "it helps ease the pain. Doesn't make a lot of sense though, does it? I mean, I taught Brighton, he wasn't - unlike his name implied - the brightest kid when it came to science. How could he build a bomb by himself? I mean, I know the internet is chock full of guides, and you can find books on the subject, but I have to imagine he had some sort of accomplice."

"I personally couldn't imagine standing to work with him," Calvin said, "nobody wanted to be his lab partner in school, why would they now?"

Mr. Wattson nodded, stroking his mustache. Calvin raised a good point. Maybe all this time he'd spent here had been for naught. Maybe he was wrong in thinking Brighton had been framed. Maybe Brighton really had killed Robert Grudin, and maybe that was that. Besides, no charges had been brought forward since his death, and there hadn't even really been an investigation as far as Mr. Wattson could tell. He broke his train of thought and looked back at Calvin, smiling again.

"You know Calvin," he said, "I'm running a small get together every week here at the college, it's for locals interested in science. You should come on by! It's on Friday nights, and it's always a great time. I think you'd fit in just fine!"

"I appreciate that," Calvin said, "I really do. I don't have much of a social life these days."

Well, that wasn't true. It's just that the social life he had...he couldn't really talk about, considering what they'd done.

                                                                                                             ***

Rachel was admiring a pair of tall, black spiked heels, while Mona tried on her third pair of shoes at a nearby bench. Rachel felt Wyatt suddenly walk up beside her, looking at the shoe with her as she stuffed it back into the box. Wyatt shook his head, which made Rachel curious.

"What?" she asked.

"Would've looked good on you," he said, "maybe I'll get 'em for Scarlett. She loves shoes like that."

"I don't think I really have the legs to pull of stuff like that," Rachel said.

"Well, we can't all dress like lesbian gym teachers," Wyatt said, making her laugh as she hit him in the chest lightly; he continued, "honestly, heels hurt. I know, I wore a pair of Scarlett's heels once for...well, I actually don't think this is an appropriate place to discuss it, but they hurt."

"I prefer comfort, you know?" Rachel asked, picking up another box and pulling the lid off, "Mona would understand."

Mona did, in fact, understand. For Mona to buy a new pair of shoes, they had to not be too snug, but not too lose, and she couldn't have laces, so they had to be either slip ons or velcro, and she often didn't like the sound of velcro, so that was usually out. They also couldn't feel tighter while wearing socks. Ever since her diagnosis, Mona had become increasingly in tune with her sensory, which Wyatt thankfully helped her navigate.

"Well, I didn't actually come by to shop for shoes," Rachel said quietly, "I actually came to talk to you about Calvin. He's...he's holding it together pretty well, but you can tell he feels guilty. I'm starting to worry about his ability to keep everything under wraps. We should have a...contingency plan."

"...are you suggesting-"

"I'm not suggesting anything in particular other than we come up with some sort of fallback, just on the offchance, which likely won't happen anyway but it doesn't hurt to be prepared, that Calvin snaps at some point," Rachel said, pushing some of her hair from her eyes and back behind her ear, adding, "that's all I'm saying."

Wyatt glanced back over his shoulder at his daughter, then sighed and looked back at Rachel.

"So what do you suggest then? I mean, we can't-"

"Again, not suggesting anything in particular, just putting forth the notion that it might be a good idea to keep tabs on him and come up with a contingency plan of some kind," Rachel said, "right now he seems okay, but he's talked to me on a few occasions about how he's felt ever since it happened, and...he doesn't sound good, Wyatt."

"Well, I'll talk to him," Wyatt said, "don't worry, nothing will come of it."

"Dad! I hate shoes! Shoes are the worst!" Mona shouted from behind them.

                                                                                                           ***

Mr. Wattson entered his apartment and sighed, pulling his sweatervest off over his head and placing it gently on the back of a chair before heading over to the landline phone hanging on the wall of his kitchenette. He picked it up and dialed, then stood against the wall, tapping his foot on the floor until someone finally answered.

"Is this Brian?" Mr. Wattson asked, "it's Leonard. I have nothing of note to say, just phoning to say hi, and see how things are holding up over there. You think it's....yeah? Yeah, okay. I was wondering when we could start up production again. Definitely, some of the girls in my class have little sisters, and I bet I could entice them to be interested for the right price. Alright, well, I'll do some scouting and get back to you."

Mr. Wattson hung up and sighed. He pulled his glasses off his face and wiped them on a hankerchief he kept in his pocket, then slid them back up his nose. He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to his closet in the hall. He slid open the door, pulled out a suitcase, and pulled out a disc. He walked over to his desktop computer, inserted the disk and opened it on the screen, where he was flooded with a litany of images and videos, all of which Brighton had created for him.

What did Brighton get himself involved in? How could this have happened? He'd helped Mr. Wattson create an empire of filth, and now his best working man was gone, and all because of a feud with a local politician? Leonard wanted to scream, but he knew being angry would get him nowhere. He just would have to shut down Brighton's operation, take his work from wherever he'd hidden it, and leave town as quickly as possible. He thought about Calvin, how Calvin might be willing to help him. Calvin seemed unconcerned with Grudin's death, and unconnected to Brighton, so perhaps he might be the right person to help him find out where Brighton had stashed his work.

He'd think about it more in the morning over breakfast.

Leonard shut his computer down, stood up and headed to his bedroom. He put his glasses on the side table, then put on his pajamas and climbed into bed. He'd have to hire someone new, someone he could trust, to eventually replace Brighton. Someone with just as low morals as Brighton himself had had. Leonard Wattson had a lot of work ahead of him, and he wasn't happy about it. At least he had his day job to keep him occupied.

After all, they say the satisfaction more than makes up for the lousy pay of teaching.