There was nothing Michelle liked better than going for a ride.

Even as a little girl, her only really good memories of being with her mother were on car rides. Especially car rides late at night, when the dashboard was lit up while the rest of the world was asleep, with only the passing overhead streetlamps to light the way, and the air conditioner blowing on her face, the whole sensation lulled Michelle into a sense of security that she rarely got otherwise. For just a brief moment, she felt like she could ignore the world outside her car, and simply enjoy being alive. And she really liked it when she didn't have to drive, and thankfully, she didn't right now. Beatrice was in fact the one behind the wheel, but mostly because it was Beatrice who had any idea of their destination.

Michelle pulled open her small package of peanuts and started eating them slowly, one by one, sucking the salt from them in her mouth before chewing the remains, all while Beatrice drove in silence. The radio wasn't on. They hadn't spoken since they left a half hour ago. All in all, the mood was what Michelle might consider 'offputting'. Finally, Michelle took a deep breath from the mask strapped around her neck and then exhaled before continuing to eat her peanuts.

"Sorry to demand this little road trip," Beatrice said, "I know it's probably not what you want to do right after being in the hospital, but I wanted to spend some time alone with you."

"It's fine," Michelle replied, shrugging, "if nothing else, it's nice to be able to go somewhere without having to put any effort into it firsthand. I'm glad you're the one driving."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Beatrice asked, heading down the long empty straightaway in the middle of nowhere, "just how much we take existence itself for granted. We just...we push aside any thoughts of dying, of non existence, because not only is it too scary to think about but also because hey, if we've made it thirty years, why wouldn't we make it another thirty years? But time is finite. Existence is fragile. I was so scared you might die."

"I get that," Michelle said, "when I was a little girl and in and out of the hospital all the time, I think I was scared too. Then, when nothing fatal ever happened, I sort of just assumed I was in the clear. Like you said, I just pushed it all to the back of my head. Told myself I was fine. When I collapsed at the event, I had this moment where the last thought to run through my head was 'it took a while'. Imagine that being the last thing you think."

Beatrice smirked and clicked her turn signal on, despite there being no cars around for miles.

"I guess the benefit of youth is the outright denial of death, not even denial, the abject inability to even comprehend such a thing," Beatrice said, "I never thought about how short life was when I was 10, because I was 10, and it didn't occur to me that life ends. Even when someone finally did die, someone in the family or something, it still never really got through to me that it would eventually happen to me one day. People talk about the loss of innocence of childhood as we get older, but what we really lose is that sense of immortality. That's what we lose, and as a result, we're terrified to do anything new, because, hey, it could kill us."

Michelle chuckled and nodded, popping more peanuts into her hand and then tossing them into her mouth as Bea continued.

"Your mom came by," she whispered.

"Really? To the hospital?"

"Only to cause a scene," Beatrice said.

"Yeah that's kind of her thing," Michelle replied.

"People who don't put in the time to love you don't deserve the chance to grieve you," Beatrice said flatly, "everyone else who was there that day...everyone was devastated. Your social worker, Keagan, even Eliza...we were all so worried to death, and then she comes strolling in like this is just something she was expected to show up to, like an appointment of some kind. She doesn't deserve to worry, if she never cared to love you to begin with."

"I think she does love me, that's the problem," Michelle said, "she just...loves herself more. It's always been more about her. But I think she loves me in the sense that I give her an excuse for her failure at life. I'm the scapegoat. Sure, that's not the kind of unconditional parental love one craves, nor should it be acceptable, but it's love, I guess."

"My parents bent over backwards for me," Beatrice said, "if anything made me upset, they'd find a way to make me feel better. Nowadays, people act like loving your child too much is somehow a negative thing. Now far too many parents leave their children in the hands of society, in the hands of media, which is why I decided the media they consume has to make up for their parents inability to love and nurture them. If they weren't up for the job, then god dammit I would be."

"You ever think about having kids?" Michelle asked, and after a brief pause, Beatrice shrugged.

"At this stage in my life it would be weird," she said, "but I see everyone as my child now, not in a creepy Jesus kind of way, but, you know what I mean."

Michelle, laughing, nodded. The sound of her laughter filled Beatrice with happiness, and she was so glad to see Michelle feel good enough to laugh again. Michelle finished her peanuts pouch and crumbled up the bag, stuffing it into her denim jacket, before pulling her hair up into a messy bun and clipping it there. She grabbed the mask and put it over her face, taking another long breath, before setting it back in her lap and then biting her lip, trying not to cry.

"What's wrong?" Bea asked, concerned by her sniffling.

"...i wish she loved me," Michelle whispered, "I know, I know that's, like, so cliche, but...god I wish I had family. I wish I had a mother. I know I shouldn't want her acceptance, her love, after how she's treated me, but I do."

"It's only natural," Beatrice said, her voice low but caring, "we all want our parents to love us, especially those of us who don't get that. And the world doesn't feel fair, by comparison, because so many other people have loving parents, why don't we? I feel so guilty for coming from such a warm and loving family, because it makes my art feel invalidating. The kind of pain I feel should only come from deep sadness, but I'm not a sad person, really. I'm actually a pretty happy person. I'm jaded, cynical, but I'm overall satisfied with my life, especially with all of you in it."

Michelle smiled, blushing, as she wiped her eyes on her jacket sleeves and exhaled.

"I hate myself for wanting her to love me," Michelle said, "it makes me so mad that I want her acceptance, but I do. I can't help it. I want her to love me the way she loves herself and her art."

"That's the thing about art, it isn't borne primarily from pain like so many people think," Beatrice said, "it can come from people who are perfectly content, like myself, or from people who are incredibly self indulgent, like her. She loves herself, she thinks she's the best thing since sliced bread, so she creates art to convince everyone else of that very same worldview. She can't fathom a life where she isn't the best and the brightest. She needs that acceptance, just like you want hers."

Michelle nodded, understanding what she meant. Michelle smiled meekly.

"I'm almost ashamed to admit this, but...when I was in the hospital, sometimes I would sneak to the nurses station and steal cards meant for other kids, and I'd read them, pretending they were for me. Pretending that my parents loved me enough to send me something. It's sick, but I guess we do what we have to to get by or whatever."

"That's not sick, Michelle, it's sad as fuck but it's not sick," Bea said, the both of them chuckling as she continued, "you have to create these false realities when reality doesn't give you what you need. Why do you think I created what I created. Why do you think you remade the set in your basement? We create the realities we need, because the realities we need don't exist. I'm sorry they didn't love you."

"It's fine," Michelle said, "I've gotten used to it."

"But that's the thing," Bea said, "nobody should have to 'get used to it'. You should have to get used to a romantic relationship ending, or someone dying, but not the people who should love you not loving you. Nobody should have to get used to their family not wanting them. That's just wrong."

"Nothing that can be done about it now," Michelle said, shrugging.

"That's where you're wrong," Beatrice said, "there is something you can do about it. You wanna see?"

This piqued Michelle's interest, as she had no idea what Bea meant with this cryptic statement. Bea turned down a long dirt road, surrounded by absolutely nothing for miles - not a building or person as far as the eye could see - and continued driving until finally something came into view in the distance. It got bigger and bigger, until finally Michelle could see what it was. A doghouse. Why was there a doghouse out here? And why would Beatrice bring her to it? Finally, as they got close enough, Bea slowed the car down, then came to a full stop. Bea shut the car off, opened the drivers door and climbed out, before heading around to the passenger side and helping Michelle from the car, dragging her oxygen tank behind her, mask fully on her face now.

"What...Bea...what is this?" Michelle asked, as they approached.

"When I was a little girl, Michelle, I had a dog. A beagle. She was my best friend in the whole world," Bea said, "I didn't really like other kids, and living more out in the country, I wasn't around kids much besides school, so she was the most companionship I had, aside from my folks of course. She died when I was in college, and it...it broke me. Something inside of me died that day, and it never recovered. Much like our own perceived immortality when we're young, we also rarely think about the fact that our pets will eventually go too. It's just, I don't know, too sad a thought I guess to really comprehend. But...she died, as every dog before her and after her has done or will do. After college, I came home for a bit before going to the city and...I moved her doghouse out here."

"Why?" Michelle asked.

"I just...I needed a place in the world just for us. Where I could come and pretend like nothing had changed. Like I was still that little girl in the country with a dog for a best friend," Bea said, "this is why it's been so hard this year, merchandising, because she isn't just a character, she's real. She's me. A part of me, anyway. I took her name, I made her a character, I wanted the world to love her the way I do. But...the closer that comes to being a reality, the more it scares me. It feels like she's no longer just for me. Now I have to share her. I wanted that, but when you get what you wanted, you start to wonder why you wanted it in the first place. I guess I wanted her to be shared and loved by everyone because of all the happiness she brought me. I wanted others to have that. You had it."

Michelle stood there, unable to come up with anything to say.

"In the hospital, watching the original show, you had it. You found a joy in her that I had found years before. I didn't know it at the time, but I had accomplished my goal a long time ago. You needed someone, and she was there. I was there," Beatrice said, "and I'm here for you now. She's here for you now."

Beatrice approached Michelle and put her hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes.

"...you're the only one who needed her," Bea whispered, "the world doesn't, you did. The doll, the show, everything...it was all for you, I guess. Unlike your mother, my art wasn't made for my sake, but for yours. Not intentionally, obviously, not at first anyway, I didn't even know you, but looking back on it now...it's hard to deny. There's so few things in this world that matter to me the way Beatrice did, but you're one of them."

Bea wrapped her arms around Michelle and squeezed her tightly, both women crying now as they hugged in front of the doghouse. Never in her life, especially not as a child, could Michelle have expected that one day, the very thing that got her through her sickness, would give her this level of love. She was so grateful, and she couldn't believe her luck.

"You know," Michelle said, half laughing half crying, "they say not to meet your heroes, but I think those people just have shitty heroes."

Bea laughed loudly, squeezing her tighter. Beatrice had never brought anyone else to the doghouse. It was a sacred space, meant only for herself, but she realized Michelle was the only other person in the world to understand that level of love, and how important it was to have. Michelle had to see it, because seeing it meant knowing who Beatrice was fully, and she needed that level of connection with an older adult.

"I know I'm not your mom," Bea whispered, "but I sure I hope I've somewhat made up for her failures."

"More than you'll ever know," Michelle whispered back, "more than you will ever, ever know."

                                                                                                            ***

Sitting on the roof of the doghouse, Beatrice looked up at the night sky, taking a long drink from the beer can she had brought with her. She'd only finished building it a few days ago, and she would go back to school in a few weeks time, but for right now, she had this. She had this moment of solitude, this place where she could just be sad, and open, and alone. But she wasn't alone, and she knew that. She knew she wasn't alone. Beatrice was here. It was in that moment, that Amelia Burden decided to take Beatrice's name for her own, and leave her old identity behind. Soon enough she'd graduate college, and she'd be out in the city trying to make art, make a name for herself, and what she needed was an identity she could hide behind, to give her strength.

And what's stronger than the love of a dog?

Absolutely nothing, that's what.

Kelly Schuester had never used an airplane phone before, and she couldn't believe it was the last thing she'd do before dying. She dialed quickly, with reckless abandon, hoping that the numbers she put in would actually connect to the number she'd hoped to reach. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, during the fourth ring, it finally picked up, and Kelly felt an immense sense of relief, despite facing her seemingly impending demise.

"I didn't know who else to call," she managed to squeak out, tears welling in her eyes, "I didn't...this is the only number I could think of."

"It's okay, you're okay," Wyatt responded.

"Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, the TV is super loud," Wyatt said, "everyone screaming over one another. Kelly, just breath, okay? Just breath and everything will be okay."

"I'm on a crashing plane, how will everything be okay?" Kelly asked, fighting back tears, "Wyatt, just...tell Rachel she's my best friend no matter what, okay? And...and that...and tell my parents, you can find them in the phonebook, tell them that I love them so much, please, and-"

"Kelly, you're not going to die, okay?!" Wyatt shouted, "You're gonna be just fine!"

"I can see the ground," Kelly said, "I can-"

The phone went dead. The line clicked endlessly. Wyatt stood in the kitchen, staring at his cell, before he turned and threw his phone across the room and watched it shatter on the wall just as Calvin entered the room and their eyes met. Wyatt approached him and grabbed him by his collar, lifting him up a bit, his eyes burning with hatred.

"What did you do?" Wyatt asked through gritted teeth.

                                                                                1 MONTH EARLIER

Wyatt hadn't had a good nights sleep in months.

He'd tried a dozen different sleep aides, he'd done the classics, like drinking warm milk - despite his utter disgust for milk in general - and he and Scarlett had even started having sex extremely frequently simply because they knew it would tire them out. Unfortunately for Wyatt, while Scarlett managed to fall asleep relatively soon after their nightly bouts of passion, Wyatt instead tossed and turned, opting eventually to climb out of bed, drag himself downstairs, and watch old classic westerns and horror movies on TV. Sometimes Mona would wake up and they would sit and watch movies together, just having some father/daughter bonding time. In actuality, while he did hate not sleeping, he was appreciative of the time he was managing to spend with his daughter.

This particular morning, he was standing in the kitchen pouring himself a large mug of coffee when Scarlett entered and kissed his neck from behind, making him blush. She then patted him on the butt and headed to the stove, turned it on and pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge, plopping them on the counter.

"You know," she said, "I think I've lost weight since we started having sex so much. Do I look thinner to you?"

"That's a question I've learned not to answer," Wyatt said, making Scarlett laugh.

"No, really! I look good, man," she replied, "It's better than going to the gym, honestly. It's like swimming a ton of laps all at once."

"You're not just using me to get in better shape, are you? Am I just exercise equipment to you?" Wyatt asked as he stood opposite of her on the island. Scarlett leaned over the island grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks a little and smiling at him.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't love it, my little trophy husband," she said, making him laugh. Wyatt pulled up a chair and sat at the island. The kids were at his mothers for the weekend, and he didn't have many plans. He figured he might go into the store, do some inventory, maybe get lunch and bring it home so he and Scarlett could eat together. He pulled his cell phone out and checked his texts, but didn't see much of anything of interest, until he noticed he had 4 missed calls from Rachel. This caught his interest, because why would Rachel call him that regularly? Something had to be wrong. He sighed and dialed it, then, phone tucked under his chin, he picked up his mug again and opened the sliding glass door that led to the backyard and stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

"Hello?" Rachel answered.

"You called me. Actually you called me a handful of times," Wyatt said, taking a sip from his mug, "anything going on?"

"Not particularly," Rachel said, "I just was curious what you were up to and if you and Scarlett wanted to join Sun Rai and I for dinner tonight."

"Where are you going? Cause I gotta tell ya, I'm not a huge fan of mexican food," Wyatt said.

"We don't know yet. We were thinking something a bit more ethnic, or does that make you uncomfortable, being the white honky you are?" Rachel asked, making Wyatt laugh loudly.

"No, that...that's fine, just call me back and let me know where and when," he said.

After hanging up, he heard the glass door slide open again, and Scarlett handed him a piece of bacon as she took a seat in one of the lounge chairs, soaking up the hot morning sun. She exhaled, relaxing, as Wyatt stood and watched her, munching on his bacon and occasionally sipping his coffee. Nothing could change what he'd been a part of, he knew this, and as such the last 3 months had been relatively odd, considering, but he knew to take his breathers where he could get them and today one of those was right here, watching his wife enjoy the warmth. He wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

                                                                                                   ***

"God, this story just keeps getting worse everytime, I swear," Calvin's father, Barry, said as he sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper; he rustled it a bit and added, "seems like twice a week they uncover something that just adds to the ridiculousness of it all. I mean, sure, Grudin was a self serving jerk who wasn't interested in helping the community, but that doesn't mean he should've been murdered."

Ever since the Grudin incident, his parents had talked about it endlessly, and while they did, Calvin just had to sit there and pretend he didn't know anything. Pretend he didn't have a major hand in the mans demise. He ate his cereal in silence as his mother, Amelia, finished cooking breakfast for herself and Barry and setting the plates down on the table before seating herself and starting to eat.

"They robbed that poor little challenged girl of her father," Amelia said, mouthful of eggs, "that, to me, is the worst part of it all."

"He was scum," Calvin finally muttered, making his parents look at him and, sadly, remember the accident. Amelia leaned over and patted Calvin on the forearm, nodding.

"I know sweetheart, I know, I'm sorry," she said, "but his death isn't bringing them back. If anything, it's only created a void much like you have now, and-"

"How? How the hell's it create the same kind of void?" Calvin asked, tossing his spoon down into his bowl and speaking sternly now, feeling annoyed, "she at least still has her daughter. I don't have anything. I'm not going to feel remorse for a man who did horrible things, who lied to the very people he sought election from. Fuck Robert Grudin. I'm glad he's dead."

With that, Calvin stood up and exited the room, heading upstairs to his bedroom. Amelia looked at Barry and sighed, shaking her head.

"Maybe he should go back to therapy," she said softly.

"I don't think that's gonna fix a thing," Barry said, "I mean, he shouldn't keep his emotions bottled up, sure, but I think we're far beyond anything therapy could be beneficial towards. I don't know what could help him, but therapy isn't it. Maybe we should set him up with someone. Maybe if he just met someone new that would do him some good, you know? Get out of the house, get his mind occupied with someone else?"

"Perhaps," Amelia said, "...but he loved that woman so deeply, I doubt that-"

"He doesn't deserve to live his entire life in pain," Barry said, "nobody does."

But Calvin, unbeknownst to his folks, didn't mind living his entire life in pain. Pain he understood. Pain was eternal. If there was anything he'd taken away from the death of his family it was that happiness was fleeting and could be stolen in an instant. That joy was never guaranteed. Sitting on his bed, crying into his hands, Calvin liked the pain. The pain was a companion. That's the thing about loss nobody ever tells you, is that sure it creates a void, but eventually that void becomes your friend. Calvin didn't know what he'd do without that void now, and he didn't wanna try and find out.

                                                                                                        ***

Wyatt discussed with Scarlett about dinner, and she thought it sounded like a lovely idea, so he called Rachel back, and they made a plan to meet at a place downtown called Smokem's, a pretty popular BBQ bar and grill, at about 7 that night. This gave Wyatt plenty of time to get some things done before dinner, along with Scarlett, who wanted to shower and pick out something nice to wear. Wyatt grabbed his keys off the table by the door as Scarlett was grabbing a towel from the nearby linen closet in the downstairs hall, and they looked at one another, smiling momentarily.

"Where you going?" Scarlett asked.

"I wanna run into the store, get some stuff done quick before we go," he said, "I won't be gone long."

"Okay, I'll be here," Scarlett said, heading up the stairs to their bathroom before adding, "you can join me in the shower when you get back."

Wyatt blushed and grinned, as he exited the house and headed to his car. He climbed in, started the engine and started to pull out of the driveway. Wyatt hadn't been working much lately, taking advantage of his built up vacation time, simply so he could unwind from what he'd been a part of, so seeing him in the store had actually become somewhat of a rare occurrence. Either way, when he entered, Ben, who was manning the counter training the new girl, briskly walked over to him and handed him a clipboard stacked with papers.

"What's all this?" Wyatt asked, licking his thumb and going through them slowly as they headed back to his office.

"A lot of it is just acquisition requests, companies asking us what we need and how much, you know, ordering manifests and stuff. There's also some stuff from your dad in there, but I put it at the back, since, ya know, he sucks," Ben said, making Wyatt chuckle.

"Thanks," Wyatt replied, unlocking his office door and entering, Ben behind him, before asking while he pulled his jacket off, "so how's the new girl working out? Seems kinda young."

"She's a sophomore in high school but she was eager," Ben said, shrugging, "can't deny someone who's willing to put in the time and effort. She just seemed like the best choice for the job."

"Fair enough," Wyatt said.

Ben nodded, smiled, and headed back to the counter as Wyatt seated himself behind his desk and plopped the clipboard in front of him. He grabbed a pen from the little bowl on his desk and uncapped it, starting to fill things out and put his signature on stuff when the door re-opened, but, instead of Ben, this time Celia entered. Wyatt immediately put the pen down and sat up to attention as she sat down across from him, rubbing her forehead.

"You okay? Were you...were you waiting for me to come in?" he asked.

"Yes," Celia said, "and everything is...I don't know whether it's okay or not. I mean, nothing immediate is of concern, but I feel...gross. Everyday I feel gross. I've been having nightmares lately, it's been unpleasant."

"I'm sorry. For what it's worth you aren't alone. I haven't been sleeping well myself," Wyatt said, picking his pen back up and continuing to sign papers as he continued, "but that's not the same, I guess. I'll take poor sleep over nightmares anytime. Hopefully you haven't been keeping up with the papers and news and such. These articles, man...they're too much to handle."

"I'm not an idiot, Wyatt, I know what reading or hearing that stuff would do to me," Celia said, "my conscience is already on the brink of despair. Stupid conscience."

"Well," Wyatt said, lowering his voice and looking up from his desk, "he's gone. He's gone and that's all that matters, and they still think Brighton did it. By all accounts, we're in the clear. It's been three months, Celia, I don't think anything is coming back on us. Have you talked to Calvin?"

Celia shook her head as she sipped from the water bottle she'd brought in with her. After capping it and setting it back in her lap she sighed.

"I haven't. I mean, I talked to him maybe a week after, you know, it happened, but he was....morose isn't the right word, but I'm not sure what it is so morose will have to do," she said, "but it was his idea, honestly. He's the one who wanted Grudin dead."

"Maybe he feels guilt. We didn't know he had..." Wyatt said, before stopping himself, "we didn't know he had a family. We didn't know what he'd be leaving behind. Still, doesn't make what he was doing alright."

"They're calling Brighton a hero," Celia whispered, and this caught Wyatt's attention.

"...pardon? How does supposedly blowing a man up make one a hero?"

"You are aware of the military worship in this country, are you not?"

"Shut up," he said, chuckling, "who's...who's been saying that?"

"Some fringe environmental papers," Celia said, "because of what Grudin was planning to do to the city parks and infrastructure if elected. Either way nobody else is repeating their claims, not yet anyway, but still...it's...alarming, to say the least. He was an innocent, he didn't even know what he'd gotten involved in. That doesn't excuse him killing his family and himself, but still."

"Look, much as I love a light hearted discussion," Wyatt said, making Celia smirk, "I have other things to do today and then Scarlett and I are going to dinner. Do you think we could meet sometime this week and talk about this more in depth somewhere else? Or, hell, even here, I don't care."

"Definitely," Celia said, standing up and tugging her purse strap over her shoulder. She headed for the door, but once her hand was on the knob she stopped and looked back at Wyatt, asking, "...did we do the right thing?"

"What even IS the right thing, Celia?" Wyatt asked, "Morality is subjective. Just ask any differing religions and you'll get a vaguely categorical answer. We did what we thought was right, and it might not actually make it right, but we did it for what we think was the greater good, and our intentions are what was in the right place, whether our actions were or not. When you start to feel guilty or responsible or anything, just remember, this was what Calvin wanted. Grudin killed his wife and daughter in a drunk driving accident, and this was what Calvin wanted. We didn't do this. Calvin did it. Don't forget that."

Celia nodded, then opened the door and exited, leaving Wyatt to his tasks. However, he no longer felt the urge to do much, so instead he powered through the paperwork, then told Ben he was leaving again. When he got home, he did indeed join Scarlett in the shower, and that more than made up for his time in the office.

                                                                                                        ***

Smokem's was crowded, but that only further proved the quality of their food to Wyatt. When he and Scarlett entered, they were led to their table, where Rachel and Sun Rai were already seated, eating cornbread and drinking. Or, at least, Rachel was drinking, since Sun Rai was the one who was going to drive home. Wyatt pulled his suit jacket off and placed it on the back of his chair before pulling out Scarlett's chair for her, then seating himself.

"Oooh, what a gentleman," Rachel said mockingly, making him laugh.

"I can't help it, my momma raised me to be kindly to the ladies," Wyatt said with a fake southern drawl, "how long have you guys been here? Hopefully you haven't been waiting too long."

"No, only about fifteen minutes, long enough to get bread," Rachel said.

"It took fifteen minutes to get bread? God, I wonder what the actual wait time for your meal proper is," Scarlett said, giving her drink order to a waitress before looking at Sun Rai and asking, "so, what have you been up to? I don't think we've seen you in like a month."

"I've been busy," Sun said, "honestly, I thought going back to school would be easy, but boy it's anything but. I'm so tired all the time. I thought once I got out of school I'd never have to wake up that early again."

"You wouldn't, if you didn't re-enroll to college like a loser," Wyatt said, making everyone laugh, before his eyes, scanning the restaurant, caught something interesting...Calvin, here with a woman. Wyatt tried to ignore it, but it was so out of place, that he didn't know he could.

"But it's going well," Sun Rai said, "It's nice to not be the best simply because I'm Asian and it's expected of me, you know? I don't wanna be the minority poster child. I just wanna be a normal adult woman who happens to be in college again."

Calvin, only half listening, nodding as though he were following. He watched Calvin intently, until he noticed he excused himself from the table and headed into the bathroom. Wyatt immediately did the same, and headed for the restroom as well. When he entered, he didn't see Calvin anywhere, so he knelt down and noticed only one pair of shoes in a stall, indicating they were the only two people in the bathroom. Wyatt leaned against the counter and crossed his arms before clearing his throat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Jesus!" Calvin shouted from in the stall, "that's terrifying, don't do that!"

After a moment the door opened and Calvin came out, zipping up before heading past Wyatt to the sink and washing his hands.

"If you must know, my parents stupidly set me up tonight," Calvin said, "and since I can't say no to them, I guess I had no choice but to be here."

"She's pretty," Wyatt said, "you getting along?"

"Frankly, Wyatt, I'm not particularly interested in dating," Calvin said, "once your spouse dies, believe it or not, it really puts the futility of romance into question. What about you? You just like BBQ or you checking up on me?"

"I didn't even know you were here, remember? I'm just double dating with Rachel and her girlfriend," Wyatt said, "...I saw Celia today. She asked about you."

"She did?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said, "said you weren't doing great the last time you two talked. We're just worried, man. You doing alright?"

Calvin leaned against the counter and nodded, before starting to cry, finally letting it release. Wyatt rubbed his back as Calvin sobbed, breathing hard.

"I thought killing him would make me feel better," Calvin said, "but it didn't. Nothing's made my life any better just because he doesn't have a life anymore. My wife and daughter are still dead. All we did was hurt someone unintentionally."

"Yeah, I...I know," Wyatt said quietly, "I saw his daughter on the news too."

"...what do I do, Wyatt?" Calvin asked.

"A hobby? Therapy? I don't know, Calvin, but you don't have to go through it alone, alright? We're here for you, we did this together, we're friends," Wyatt said, patting him on the shoulder, "isn't there anything you like to do? Something to take your mind off stuff?"

"I used to participate in science contests," Calvin said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, "I guess...I guess maybe you're right, maybe a hobby is necessary."

Calvin turned away from the sink and looked at Wyatt, before suddenly, albeit somewhat reluctantly, hugging him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Hey man, it's no problem," Wyatt said, hugging him back, smiling, "it's the least we can do for one another."

                                                                                                          ***

Leslie Grudin tucked her daughter into bed that night, read her a story and then, once she was asleep, kissed her on the forehead and headed into the living room. She pulled the cordless phone off its base and dialed a number before sitting down on her couch and waiting. After a few rings, someone finally answered.

"It's Leslie," she said, "...do we have any information? Anything new?"

"I told you I'd call you when I knew anything," the voice replied.

"I'm getting anxious," Leslie said, "someone has to have slipped up somewhere."

"There's a man in town," the voice said, "flew in the same night your husband died. He just happened to know the man who supposedly blew him up, that Brighton fellow. I'm keeping close tabs on him for the moment, but so far all he's done is come into town and get a teaching position at a local college. Certainly nothing unusual. Like I said, Leslie, when I know anything even remotely concrete, you will too."

"...okay," she whispered, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a bother, I just...I miss him so much."

"I know you do, and trust me, we'll find out what really happened," the voice said, "I'm the best in this business."

Leslie nodded, thanked them for the reassurance and then hung up the phone. She sucked on her lip for a moment, then she picked the phone back up and dialed another number, but before she could finish calling her mother, she heard her daughter, Michelle, standing in the hallway and crying. Leslie put the phone down and looked at Michelle, standing there hugging her doll tightly.

"When is daddy coming home?" she asked weakly, and Leslie's heart broke more. She opened her arms up, and Michelle ran across the house to her mother, climbing up into her lap and crying on her as Leslie stroked her hair. It didn't matter what it took, it didn't matter what would happen if she succeeded, she was going to find out what really happened to her husband, and she was  going to make the person responsible pay for it. That much was clear.

Come hell or high water.

The word had spread like wildfire.

Online entertainment news sites and even a few local papers were suddenly bludgeoning readers with various headlines, such as 'Star of kids show is outed!' or 'Beatrice Beagle is discovered with woman at event!' and, in one instance, a really rude headline that used numerous slurs. Beatrice didn't have time to read them, however, because she was too focused on staring at the tiles on the hospital hallway floor. She had to keep herself distracted for the time being. Leslie, however, was scrolling through her phone, scoffing at various pieces she was stumbling upon, and some unflattering comments as well as some very supportive comments. After a moment she looked at Bea and opened her mouth, but decided against it.

Liam, on the other hand, was in front of the public eye, trying to dissuade the general outcry and hounding reporters. How could he possibly handle this? He locked himself in his office at one point, trying to simply escape for even a singular moment, then opened the minifridge and pulled out a beer and popping the top, downing the entire thing in seconds flat. Jesus christ, why had this happened? Wasn't Beatrice aware of what would happen if she was discovered to be queer? Then again, Liam himself wasn't one to talk. He himself had never been very public about his own sexuality. He sighed and sat on his desk, rubbing his forehead.

None of this mattered right now, he had to remind himself. What really mattered was Michelle, who was in a hospital bed and on machine that was helping her breath. She was what really mattered in this moment. Everything else could be dealt with later.

                                                                                                      ***

"...what if she dies?" Bea whispered, sitting in the chair in the hallway, the same place she'd been seated for the last day, "...what if...she just...doesn't wake up? What if she's comatose?"

Leslie set her phone down in her lap and leaned over, rubbing Bea's back.

"She's gonna be okay, okay?" Leslie said, "trust me, she's got health coverage thanks to the studio, and you, and they'll take care of her. She's gonna be just fine. She'll wake up and we'll talk to her about her health and, and..."

Leslie trailed off, then sighed.

"...I don't like lying to you," she finally said quietly.

"I appreciate that," Bea replied, "the last thing I need is dishonest hope."

They heard a pair of shoes heading down the hallway and looked up to see a heavier set woman in a business suit walking towards them. She set her briefcase down and looked at the women sitting on the chairs before exhaling and holding her hand out, which Beatrice shook firmly.

"My name is Delores. I'm Michelle's social worker," she said, "I tried to get in touch with her only to be told she was in the hospital for the last day. Is she okay? How has she been? Is there any kind of-"

"There's been no news for a few hours," Bea said, "but she's...she's strong, she'll probably be fine."

"May I sit down?" Delores asked, and the woman nodded; Delores grabbed a chair and pulled it over across the hall to theirs and seated herself before asking, "what happened? All I know is that she collapsed and was taken here immediately. I heard it was at some kind of event?"

"That's really all we know too," Bea said, "it was at an event, an event for my show, but I don't know what happened. I just know that she fell over, couldn't breath. I know she has health problems, trouble breathing, that she's been in and out of hospitals since she was a little girl because of it, but I can't say that I know what the problem exactly is or what's effecting her new as a result of it."

Delores nodded, sucking on her lip, shaking her head, then started crying. Leslie stood up and walked over to Delores and hugging her, which Deloris appreciated and hugged back.

"She'll be okay. I'm sure she'd be so thankful you cared and came," Leslie said.

Beatrice had to get away from this for a moment. She stood up and excused herself, heading down the hall and around the corner, then leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. She took a long deep breath and then heard banging nearby. She opened her eyes and looked down the hall to see Eliza standing in front of the candy machine, banging on it with her fist. Beatrice smirked and walked further down the hall, approaching Eliza.

"Did it eat your money or not deliver the goods?" Bea asked, "I could get you something else if-"

"It just...took it!" Eliza shouted, "It just took my dollar and didn't give me anything in return!"

"Well, honey, calm down, it's not a big deal, we can just-"

"Why does life keep taking things from me!?" Eliza shouted, putting her hands on the snack machine glass and crying, "why...why does life keep taking people from me?"

The sadness, the pain in her voice...it broke Bea's heart. She reached out and pulled Eliza against herself and let her cry as she rubbed her back.

"It's okay, she'll be okay," Bea whispered, even if she didn't know if she believed it herself just yet, "...she'll be okay honey."

"She's my best friend," Eliza whispered.

"I know, I know that, and I'm sure she'd be so grateful you were here and were so worried," Bea replied, "it's okay. Life...just...does this. It takes things from us, whether we want it to or not. We just have to cope with it, learn how to accept it and try to stay strong. But she's young, she has money thanks to the network, and she'll be okay, okay? I'll make sure of it. I'll guarantee she's okay."

Eliza didn't even respond, she just cried harder, and Bea just stood there and let her cry on her. After all, she'd dedicated her life to being there for others. Why stop now?

                                                                                                      ***

It was several hours later, and still no change or news had come through. Delores had gone to get everyone dinner, and Eliza had fallen asleep on the couch of the waiting area, which was mostly empty now, thanks to the time of night it was. Beatrice was standing, staring out of a large window and out at the twinkling night city, when Leslie approached her from behind.

"Liam's on the phone," she said quietly, "he wants to know how we move forward with all this...you know...queer stuff."

"...why is it always on me?" Bea asked, and Leslie furrowed her brow, then put the phone back to her ear.

"She'll have to call you back," she said, before hanging up and walking up beside Bea, asking, "...why is what always on you?"

"...feels like, my whole life, I've always had to be the one who keeps things together. We helps everyone feel better. What happens when I need someone? What happens when, suddenly, I require the same kind of love and kindness I've spent my whole life doling out? Michelle is why I'm here. Michelle and Keagan are why I came back at all. Michelle proved to me that what I did, even at my worst, had worth. Had value. I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing right now if not for these girls. And now...now she's lying in a bed and I don't even know if she's alive, and...and I feel like I have no one to turn to."

"But you do," Leslie said, "you have Liam, you have Eliza, you have me. You have ME, Beatrice."

"My name is Amelia," Bea said, surprising even herself at this sudden admittance, "...my real name is Amelia Burden."

"Well, whatever your name is, you have me," Leslie said, "I'll be here for you, I am here for you. I know how close you two are, I know how much you must hurt, and-"

"No, no you...you don't," Bea said, finally starting to cry silently, tears rolling down her face as she looked out the window, "...everything I've ever truly loved has eventually found its way to a hospital. I wasn't there for my dog because I was too busy doing school and work, and then she got sick. I wasn't there for Michelle because I was too busy dealing with merchandising, and then she got sicker. I've never been there when I'm actually needed, only after the fact, only once there's nothing left I can do to change things."

"I don't think you could've changed things, baby," Leslie said, "this shit happens, you just have to deal with it. She's gonna be okay, okay?"

Beatrice looked at Leslie, as Leslie, using her sweater sleeves over her hands, wiped her face free of tears, making Bea smile before she glanced back at Eliza, sleeping on the couch. Beatrice sighed and shook her head, looking back at Leslie.

"...Eliza is a mess," Bea said, "I don't...I don't think I've realized until now how close she and Michelle have become, and...and it worries me. If something happens to her...Eliza's already dealt with enough loss, she can't...she wouldn't be able to..."

"Shhh," Leslie said, kissing Bea's forehead, "it's okay, it'll be okay. Come sit down. You need to rest."

Leslie, taking Bea by the hand, led her to a pair of seats, and they sat down together. After a bit, Leslie dozed off, but Bea continued to look out the window, just from afar now. When she checked her watch, it was now 5 in the morning, and she heard the doors to the waiting area open, and turned to see Keagan entering. Beatrice stood up and smoothed her clothes out, then walked up to Keagan and, before she could even speak, flung her arms around Keagan and squeezed her tight. Together they sat down a bit aways from Leslie and Eliza - both of whom were still sleeping - and took deep breaths.

"I'm so sorry, I was tied up with something and I couldn't...is she okay?" Keagan asked.

"I have no idea," Beatrice said, "they haven't told me anything in hours."

"...god I hope she's okay. I feel so bad for not being here earlier, but...I don't know how to explain this, but...being black, I've had a hard time making friends with white people, understandably. But Michelle, she just took me at face value, and she accepted me, and she wanted to work with me. We've become a bit distant lately, but I need to fix that. I need to make the effort to get back with her, like we were before, and work together again."

Bea smiled, nodding, patting Keagan's hand.

"...she can't die, Bea," Keagan said.

"...she won't," Bea replied, "She'll be fine."

Even if she didn't necessarily believe it herself, there was no reason to not say it to others.

                                                                                                    ***

Leslie had returned to work, Delores had done the same, and Eliza had been instructed by Bea to go home and get some relaxation in, which she couldn't argue against. Now it was just Bea sitting in the hall outside of Michelle's room, once again counting the tiles, and thinking about her life with Michelle...and a life possibly without her. She sighed and scratched her head, terrified of the idea that Michelle might not be here tomorrow, or even later tonight. She swore under her breath, furious that nobody had come to talk to her in so long. Then she saw a woman approaching, and she was surprised, because this woman looked rather professional. A suit, well done hair, clearly someone who was coming to tell Bea something.

"Thank god, I've been waiting for so long, I didn't-" Bea started, but the woman held up a hand to stop her.

"I'm not a doctor," she said, "sorry, hah. I'm Celia Helms, I'm...I'm Michelle's mother."

This hit Beatrice like a freight train.

"...well, where the hell have you been?" Beatrice suddenly said, a feeling of ire in her voice, "I mean, if your her mother, why haven't you been here the last day?"

"Well, I was at a gala event for my work, and I didn't even know at first, but once I was informed, I couldn't just leave, that's unprofessional," Celia said.

Beatrice couldn't believe what she was hearing. She balled her hands into fists, and spoke through gritted teeth.

"Get. out. of here." she said sternly.

"Excuse me?"

"Get. the fuck. out of here, NOW," Beatrice repeated, "before I pull that stick from your ass and beat you senseless with it. You have the fucking gall, the sheer audacity, to put your work over your own child, make her feel bad about her health issues, then not even show up when she winds up in the hospital? What a conceited blowhard you are, holy hell."

"You can't talk to me like this!"

"I can talk to you however damn well I want!" Bea shouted, "you know why? Because I've been there for her! I came immediately! I followed the goddamned ambulance to this fucking hospital, because unlike you, I give a shit about her well being! I was in the middle of a work event too, but guess what? This takes precedence! You have no right to call yourself a mother. Just because you give birth to someone doesn't inherently make you a loving person. You still have to put in even the most minimal effort, something you've never done in regards to your family."

Celia was in shock. Nobody had even talked to her in this manner, especially not someone in Michelle's defense. She didn't really know how to appropriately respond. Bea walked closer, her face right in Celia's, their eyes locked, and Celia shaking in her heels.

"Now," Beatrice said, "you get the FUCK out of her, or you'll find yourself in a hospital bed."

Celia nodded, quickly turned and walked briskly away and around the corner. Bea leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, quickly, until she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked to see Liam smiling at her.

"When did you get here?" she asked.

"Literally a second ago, to see that stunning display of motherly affection," he replied, "God damn Bea, that was...that was heavy."

"She doesn't deserve Michelle, and Michelle deserves better," Bea said, before looking at Liam again and falling into him, as he wrapped his arms around her and consoled her while she cried into his shirt.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he said, "I've been trying to fend off reporters and paranoid parents alike about, well, you know. But eventually I realized that could wait. There's no need to clear the air on something that isn't bad to begin with, even for the sake of some lunatics piss poor excuse for a belief system. The network is fielding everything for the moment, and I decided to come down here and-"

"I need you to do me a favor," Bea said quietly.

"Yeah, of course, anything at all."

"Get me my head," Bea said.

                                                                                                        ***

When Michelle finally opened her eyes, it was almost two whole days since she'd lost consciousness. Her eyesight was blurry at first, but she was able to ascertain right off the bat - likely thanks to a lifetime being spent in hospitals - where she was. If anything, she wasn't sure if she should be more annoyed that she was in a hospital, or grateful she wasn't dead. Michelle shut her eyes again and took a long breath, the best she'd taken in weeks it felt like, until she looked to the side of the bed and noticed Beatrice, in the full suit, sitting beside the bed. Michelle's eyes widened and she tried to sit upright.

"Bea?" she asked.

"I'm here," Beatrice replied, standing up and touching Michelle's face with her costumed paws, "you're safe now. I was in the hospital with you as a child, and I'm in the hospital with you now. You're okay, Michelle."

Michelle wanted to cry. This was, bar none, the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. She tried to sit up more to give Bea a hug, but Bea met her halfway, and hugged her tightly. Michelle couldn't believe Bea was here, nor that she would put on the suit just for this situation. It was in that moment that Michelle realized how lucky she was. After a moment the door opened and Eliza poked her head in. Beatrice backed away and said she'd bring them something to eat, then left the room as Eliza sat on the chair Bea had been in.

"...hey," Michelle said weakly, coughing a little.

"...you're alive," Eliza said, her eyes darting around the room, as if hoping to look at anything other than her best friend, "...they didn't tell us anything for a long time, so...so nobody really knew if, you know."

"Well, I'm here," Michelle replied, "did anything else happen while I was out of commission?"

"...the candy machine ate my dollar," Eliza said, making Michelle laugh a little, which hurt.

"Well," Michelle said, "When we get out of here, I'll give you a new dollar."

And for the first time in nearly two days, Eliza laughed, and it felt good to laugh again. Eliza then suddenly stood up and flung herself on Michelle, hugging her tight, and Michelle hugging her back. Michelle had never had visitors when she was in the hospital as a little girl...and now?

Now she couldn't keep people out of her hospital room.

And she was SO grateful for that.

"Michelle?"

No answer. Eyes shut tight. Body limp on the ground.

"Michelle?!"

Sounds all around. Noises and whispers. Everything was still at least slightly audible. Then the sound of sirens in the distance. Then everything went silent, and nothing was heard anymore.

                                                                                                       ***

"You look good," Leslie said, leaning against the wall as she watched Beatrice put earrings on in front of her vanity in the bedroom. Leslie was already dressed, in a loose white blouse and tight jeans, with Beatrice having yet to choose her outfit for the appearance. Beatrice sighed and shook her head, pushing her bangs from her eyes.

"I really don't want to do this, I'm no good at public stuff," she said, as she felt Leslie standing behind her now, massaging her shoulders.

"You're gonna be great, okay? You're unveiling the doll, announcing new episodes, have a little meet and greet with some kids, it'll be a fantastic day," Leslie said, leaning in and kissing her neck, "and everyone will be there. Liam, Eliza, everyone will be there to support you, alright?"

Beatrice nodded, just as the doorbell rang, and Leslie ran to answer the door. Beatrice stayed staring at herself in the vanity mirror and thought about herself. About what people might think of her when they see her in person, outside of the dog suit. Would kids like her, or did they just like Beatrice the dog? She nervously chewed on her nails and began to pace back and forth, just as Liam entered the room, leaning on his cane as he walked. Beatrice looked at him as he walked in, and furrowed her brow at the reappearance at his cane.

"You still have that?"

"Some days my left leg doesn't work so great," he says, "I think I did nerve damage to it when I...well, you know."

"Indeed I do."

"Anyway, ever since the hospital stay, I've had to use it on and off," Liam said, "so, you gonna wear something to this event or just go like that?"

Beatrice scoffed, chuckling as she headed to the closet, pulling the doors open and peering inside. Liam walked up behind her and looked in as she reached inside and pulled the light string, illuminating her wardrobe.

"Should I be fashionable, casual, what?" Beatrice asked.

"I would choose something casual, sure," Liam said, "but it depends on how much you care about how others view you. See, me, personally...I'm an attention whore. I refuse to leave the house without looking fabulous. You think this just happens? Nah. This takes time and effort."

"You're so goddamned annoying," Beatrice said, laughing, shaking her head as she leafed through pieces of clothing hanging from the closet until she finally pulled out a light blue long sleeve button down shirt and a grey wool skirt. She turned and held them up against herself together before asking, "well, what do you think?"

"They need a new name for lesbians with no fashion sense like you. I know there's chapstick, but you're not chapstick, you're more like...well, I don't know but you're boring," Liam said as Beatrice started to get dressed.

"I'll take boring over dramatic any day," she said, pulling the skirt up around her hips and zipping it up alongside the side before adding, "the last thing I need is attention."

                                                                                                           ***

Eliza was standing in front of her bathroom mirror in the upstairs hallway, clipping some of her hair back up when she stopped and stared at herself. She pulled her glasses off slowly and looked at herself again. Blurry. She couldn't see. She slid them back up on her nose and sighed as she pulled the tube of lipstick out and applied it, just as Michelle entered the bathroom, surprising her a bit.

"What are you doing here?" Eliza asked, checking her watch, "You're...15 minutes early."

"Well your dad let me in and told me where you were, so I figured I'd find you instead of waiting in my car," Michelle said, almost wheezing, "but boy...those stairs are killer on my lungs right now."

"You still having trouble breathing, more than usual?" Eliza asked, "what about that little machine?"

"It's doing its job but it can only do so much. My poor biology is much stronger than medical science, sadly," Michelle said, "why are you putting on makeup? Should I have put on makeup?"

"I don't know. I just...I figured it would be good to look good. It is a public appearance," Eliza said, "I could put makeup on you."

"I...I don't think I've ever had someone apply makeup to me before," Michelle said, laughing a little, "never really had girlfriends growing up, no slumber parties or whatever it is girls do together, but it...it could be fun, sure. I look good in eyeliner."

"I could do that, sit down," Eliza said, snapping her fingers and pointing at the toilet, where Michelle took a seat as Eliza rifled through her makeup bag, found her eyeliner pencil and then knelt down so they were eye level as she started to apply it. Being this close up, Eliza couldn't help but realize just how odd Michelle's eyes were. After a moment she stopped and said, "you know, you have two different eye colors."

"I know."

"That's really neat," Eliza said, "it's very pretty."

"Thanks," Michelle said, smiling as Eliza continued.

"So," Eliza asked, biting her lip, "do you...do you know if I'll have to speak at this thing? Cause I'm the one who actually designed the doll. I'm not good at public speaking."

"I'm not sure but I'd like to think if you didn't want to they wouldn't make you," Michelle said.

Eliza stopped, her free hand on Michelle's face, staring into her eyes and looking at the job she'd done thusfar. She knew it was bad to make a move without consent, but she couldn't help but feel like all she wanted to do was kiss her. She leaned in closer, breathing hard, then raised her pencil hand again and continued applying eyeliner.

"Your breath smells nice," Michelle said, laughing, "smells like fruit."

"I had a smoothie for breakfast," Eliza said, laughing nervously, "but thank you."

After another minute she was done, and she capped her eyeliner pencil again. Michelle stood up and admired herself in the mirror before thanking Eliza and saying she'd go get the car started. Once she was out of the bathroom, Eliza locked the door, then leaned her back against it and did her best not to start crying. She wouldn't want to reapply her makeup, after all.

                                                                                                       ***

"I love your cane," Leslie said as she, Liam and Beatrice drove to the event in Bea's car. Liam smirked and watched as Leslie looked at his cane up close, adding, "the detailing is absolutely incredible. Did you get someone to carve this for you personally?"

"Please don't humor him," Beatrice said.

"No, humor me," Liam said, "and yes, I hired someone who does woodworking to carve this for me. It's a visual representative of a trail Marvin and I used to love to hike. See, at the top, in the knob, there's a mountaintop, and a sunset, and it all leads up the cane to that image."

"That's so sweet, I wish I had a cane that was symbolic of my love for Beatrice," Leslie said, handing his cane back.

"When we get home I'll cripple you, how about that?" Beatrice asked, turning onto a street and approaching the venue as Liam and Leslie laughed uproariously in the backseat. They loved getting to her, and today was a good day just for that. Irritating her was Liam's way of making Beatrice distracted from what scared her, and she appreciated his efforts. She pulled in and parked, the three of them getting out of the car as they noticed the crowd already gathering - parents and little kids alike - and the area that was set up outside just for her, with a cardboard standee of Beatrice waving that the kids could take their pictures with.

"God I'm so nervy," Bea said, digging through her purse, "fuck, I didn't bring any cigarettes. Did you guys?"

"I have a joint in my pocket," Leslie said, smirking.

"God you're perfect," Bea said, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her away as Liam shouted after them.

"Just don't be late! We're on a schedule here!"

Meanwhile, in another lot, Michelle parked and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Eliza opened her door and climbed out the passenger side as Michelle got out and locked the car up. Together they started to head across the street towards the event. Eliza couldn't help but notice that, with every step she took, Michelle was wheezing a little.

"Um, are you sure you should be doing something physical today, if...if you...ya know...are having this much trouble?" she asked, "ya know, with your health and breathing and stuff?"

"I can't just put my life on hold cause of it," Michelle said, "I have responsibilities."

"Is Keagan coming?"

"She and Lexi had to meet with an accountant today regarding the money Lexi got from her father," Michelle said, "but they're gonna meet us afterwards for dinner. You are coming to dinner, right?"

"Di...dinner, like...with you?"

"Yeah, with us," Michelle said, laughing, "You're our friend."

Eliza's heart sunk. She nodded, stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and continued walking close by Michelle's side. She just couldn't bring herself to say the truth.

                                                                                                             ***

"Say it again, say I'm perfect again," Leslie said, sitting on Beatrice's lap as they were sitting on top of a trash can in the alley near the toy store, and Beatrice rolled her eyes as she made a grab for the joint, just as Leslie jerked it away and laughed, saying, "come on! Say it and you'll get more!"

"Fine, you're perfect, okay? You're the most perfect amazing woman to ever live," Beatrice said, taking the joint from Leslie and taking a long puff, just as Leslie leaned in and kissed her on the collarbones, making Bea laugh and blush, as she added, "Come on! Jeez, you horn dog!"

"I can't help it, weed puts me in the mood," Leslie said, "Also, you rarely wear skirts and you look so good in them."

Beatrice took a long drag and then exhaled before looking at Leslie and smiling, blushing.

"You're so beautiful," Beatrice said, whispering, "like...like so beautiful. I wanna take you to meet my parents. They live out in the country and I think they'd love you, not like I do of course, but still."

"You're so corny, man," Leslie said, chuckling as she took the joint back, took a long drag and then exhaled as Beatrice leaned up and licked her neck, making her screech in surprise and laugh hard as she said "geez!" before grabbing Bea's face and kissing her hard. Beatrice, for so long, had hidden who she was, and who she loved, only because she was a private person, not because she was ashamed. But after hiding it so long, being with Leslie this way, so publicly, it felt so good...so real. As the kiss broke, Bea and Leslie looked into eachothers eyes and Bea realized for the first time in her life that she was, even with everything going on around her, truly happy.

"Beatrice?" a voice asked, and both women looked to the end of the alley only to see a little girl standing there, holding the doll. They were giving them out as a promotion, and she'd already gotten one, squeezing it tightly to her as she added, "I recognize your voice."

Both women were frozen, and as Leslie attempted to climb off her, an older woman, clearly the girls mother arrived at her side and grabbed her hand, staring to apologize before realizing what it was she was seeing. She stopped mid sentence and stared, unsure of how to react. After a minute or two of awkward silence, she just tugged on her daughters arm and they headed away. Beatrice exhaled deeply as Leslie adjusted her blouse and fixed her hair.

"Well," she said, "that was sufficiently awkward. Guess we should get going. You've gotta give a speech."

                                                                                                            ***

"God, look at the turnout," Michelle said, "this is fantastic!"

"It's a lot of people. You wouldn't get me in a crowd this big if it wasn't for her," Eliza said quietly.

"Same, honestly," Michelle replied, "oh, there's Liam! He's on the stage!"

Michelle grabbed Eliza's hand and pulled her closer, squeezing her hand tightly as she got more excited upon approach. By the time they got to the little makeshift stage and podium in front of the toy store, even Eliza couldn't help but smile, as Michelle's joy was simply contagious, and she was happily infected with it. Liam tapped the microphone and cleared his throat as he began to speak to the crowd of kids and parents.

"Hello," he said, "My name is Liam, and I'm Beatrice's best friend. We are here today to celebrate the release of the very first Beatrice Beagle talking doll. And of course, my friend Bea is here, and she will happily talk to any and all kids who want to meet her! These dolls are made by our very own puppet maker on the show, and we cannot be grateful enough to her for her efforts in bringing it to life!"

He glanced to the side of the stage and noticed Bea standing there, nervously chewing her lip.

"And now, please kids, welcome miss Beatrice Beagle herself!" he said, moving aside to let her approach the mic, standing behind her now as everyone applauded politely. Beatrice got to the microphone and tapped it, then exhaled nervously and blinked a few times.

"Beatrice Beagle is a dog, and dog is mans best friend," she said, "and that's why I wanted to make this wonderful doll made by my wonderful friends, because everyone deserves a best friend who loves them. Far too often, kids are-"

"Do you think same sex relationships are a good thing to promote for children?" a woman in the crowd asked, interrupting her, "because I heard just today that you were seen, by a child, kissing another woman near the store. What do you have to say about that?"

"I...I uh...I don't know what you're..." Bea said, stammering, stumbling over her words, her emotions caught in her throat.

"I don't think kids need to be subjected to anyones sexuality, straight or otherwise," a man said, interjecting, "how could you come to an event with children as the primary audience and then flaunt it?"

"Flaunt it? It was in an alley!" Bea said, before realizing what she'd just done. She looked back at Liam, who was quickly realizing he needed to do damage control, but Bea then turned back to the mic and added, "I mean, I kissed someone, yes, but it...it was out of sight and, and uh..." she glanced to the side of the stage, looking at Leslie before saying quietly, "...I'm sorry?"

And all hell broke loose as other parents started to chime in, and Bea relinquished control of the podium mic back to Liam, but he was drowned out by the audience. Michelle, looking around, was horrified. Simply horrified at the ridiculousness of the situation. She looked at Eliza, and then she turned and started to walk away angrily, Eliza in tow. As they got further from the crowd, Michelle finally started to stomp her feet on the ground.

"Why is it that every time something nice starts to happen for her, someone ruins it?!" she yelled, "this was supposed to be a big day, a huge event, and that...those bigoted assholes are just...god! Who cares who loves who?!"

"I...I don't..." Eliza said, fighting to find what to say in response.

"I mean, she's actually genuinely happy, and they're stuck in bad marriages, often with kids they never wanted! Just like my mom! God! They just wanna take whatever morsel of joy they can from those who can actually attain it because they're pissed they couldn't have it themselves!" Michelle said.

"Can I...can I tell you..." Eliza said, trying to find courage. This was it. This was the moment. This thing with Beatrice being out in the open, and now Michelle's ranting. Eliza knew she'd never have a better chance.

"I just cannot stand..." Michelle said, "...cannot...stand..."

She stumbled back, grasping at her chest as Eliza watched in horror as she dropped to her knees and then fell onto her side. Eliza screamed and then jumped up and down, calling for Beatrice, who quickly left the stage and raced over there, a crowd behind her. Beatrice knelt down beside Michelle and patted her on the face, her eyes nearly closed now, breath barely escaping her throat.

"Michelle?"

No answer. Eyes shut tight. Body limp on the ground.

"Michelle?!"

Sounds all around. Noises and whispers. Everything was still at least slightly audible. Then the sound of sirens in the distance. Then everything went silent, and nothing was heard anymore.

"I'm not going to just say whatever it is you want me to," Beatrice said, standing in front of the microphone in the recording booth, hands firmly on her hips, "I am not going to just stand here and read out whatever trivial nonsense you put in front of me. If we're going to do this thing, then I'm the one coming up with what comes out of it. These words are coming out of MY mouth, after all."

"She has a point," Liam said, sitting in a chair next to Steph, who had come down here from the studio to give what she considered moral support, but what Beatrice knew was actually damage oversight; Liam put his pencil behind his ear and shrugged, continuing, "I mean, she is the doll, after all."

"She is making every single aspect of this process a living hell," Steph muttered, and Liam chuckled.

"Yeah, I told you she would," he said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Can't you do something?" Steph whispered, frustrated, scratching her forehead.

"If you think I have any control over what she does, then you've sorely misjudged our relationship up to this point somehow," Liam said, "that being said, I can talk to her."

This interaction was 4 days ago. They hadn't rescheduled a recording session since.

                                                                                                           ***

"If I can write the character on the show, why can't I write the dialogue for the doll?" Beatrice asked, sitting at a table in The Hole with Michelle, while Eliza worked on a puppet nearby. Lately, Beatrice had been taking shelter in The Hole when she didn't want to be found, because she knew nobody was stupid enough to visit Eliza without being invited; Bea bit into an apple and chewed, adding, "I don't want this doll to say the same stupid crap they put into every doll on the market. I want it to be special."

"And you have every right to want that and to push for it," Michelle said, the machine on her arm making a beep as she took a long deep breath, and added, "but at this point I think you're wearing them out."

"Good, maybe they'll drop the whole thing," Bea said.

"What would you have it say? Have you even come up with some lines?" Michelle asked as Eliza started up her sewing machine behind them.

"I...I don't...no, I haven't, so I don't know, but that's beside the point. I could easily come up with a slew of things for the doll to recite, if I needed to," Beatrice said, "and besides, it only really needs one line. It only needs one really good line for it to be worthwhile."

Bea leaned back in her chair and sighed. She pulled a package of cigarettes from her pocket and then looked at Michelle, who nodded, allowing her to continue. Beatrice rarely smoked, but she'd been doing so more and more lately thanks to the added pressures from all this marketing. She lit up and sat there, puffing for a few minutes while they listened to the whir and hum of Eliza's sewing machine nearby.

"I don't want it to be like everything else," Bea muttered, "I want it to be meaningful. Impactful. When they come across it as an adult in life, I want them to be able to look at with the mindset of what it did for them emotionally, and not just be something else they donate to a thrift store while clearing out their moms attic."

Michelle nodded, understanding. After all, she'd gotten that from the show when she was in the hospital, so she knew all too well how important it was to connect to something that could, in theory, save you. Eliza shut her sewing machine off and seated herself at the table with them, sighing.

"What if you just had one line?" she asked, "Just one singular line that was the best line possible?"

Beatrice and Michelle exchanged a glance before looking at her, waiting for her to continue, so she did.

"You think about it night and day and eventually you'll come up with one very important line that kids will want to hear on repeat, because it makes them feel comforted and special and heard," she added, "all it takes to help a child is one sentence."

Little did Eliza know that this sentence would ruin the next few days of Beatrice's life.

                                                                                                         ***

"What's the one thing you never heard from your parents?" Michelle asked Keagan and Lexi as they sat around the table to eat that night. Keagan, who had cooked again - this time a giant baked pasta dish and some greens - thought about it for a minute before shrugging, while Lexi took a sip of her drink and sighed, sucking her teeth.

"That I was more important than money," she finally said.

"I guess I don't really have one," Keagan said, "my parents are great."

"Mine would be that I mattered more than my mothers career," Michelle said, picking up a fork and scraping some of the pasta onto her own plate; she continued, "all my life all I ever heard was how disappointed she was that my illness siphoned off her time and energy to work on her projects and be the success she knew she could be. It was like I was sick on purpose or something."

"Your mom sucks," Lexi said, chomping into an asparagus she'd picked from a plate before chuckling and apologizing; she said, "Sorry, I just, I've never met your mom so I guess I don't have any problem admitting she sounds horrid."

"You're not wrong," Michelle replied. After a few minutes of eating, Michelle cleared her throat and asked again, "So, now, as an adult, if you could hear one thing from your parents, what would it be? What would bolster your self esteem and confidence more than anything else?"

Each girl thought about it for a bit, and eventually nobody responded. Michelle grimaced.

"Jesus, are we so grim and detached that we can't even have nice fantasies?" she asked, "That's worrisome."

But Beatrice, humorously enough, was having the same problem.

Across town, in her apartment, she was sitting on the couch with Leslie's legs outstretched across her lap as she chewed her lip and jotted down line after line in a small notebook, frustrated that she too couldn't come up with anything. She sighed and looked around the apartment, feeling empty. The trouble with art being born of pain, she always knew, was that if you have no pain, you have no depth, and thus no art. But she knew that was bullshit. She knew art wasn't solely born of pain, and that pain didn't automatically give one depth. People, and their emotions, were far more complex than that. Beatrice glanced at Leslie, who was eating ice cream out of a single pint container while watching some nature show.

"Do you think I'm too controlling?" she finally asked.

"God, do I always have to answer you?" Leslie asked, making Beatrice chuckle; Leslie smiled and added, "Naw, I think you're protective of who you are and what you do, and I think you have every right to be. I think what you make represents who you are, because so much of you is put into it, and it only makes sense you'd wanna be protective, and perhaps controlling, as a result of that. Anything that's shoddy looks bad on your part."

"Thank you," Bea said, "finally, someone else who really understands. I don't want this doll to be just another doll. I want it to be special and important, and to mean something, you know? I want it to make a difference to a child, not just be an entertaining distraction for a year or so."

"Have you come up with anything yet?" Leslie asked, nodding at the pad, but Bea shook her head and slumped back into the couch.

"Of course not, why would I?" she asked softly.

Leslie sat up and smiled, putting the now empty ice cream container on the floor beside the couch before reaching over and touching Bea's face. Bea looked towards her and blushed.

"You will," Leslie said, "I have faith that you will, and that it will be amazing and perfect and so very you. Because you're Beatrice, and you know what you're doing, and what you want. I believe in you, even when you don't."

"God you're so saccharin," Bea said, the two laughing as Leslie pulled her in and kissed her.

                                                                                                         ***

"You're pissing them off," Liam said during a shooting break the following day. He and Beatrice had snuck off to the back of the studio, near the dumpsters, so they could share a joint and be alone. Beatrice, still in costume but with the head sitting on her lap, smiled as Liam leaned against the wall and took a long puff.

"Good," she said, "I want them to be pissed off. I want them to be so tired of me that they refuse to work with me any further and drop this whole merchandising idea."

"I don't blame you," Liam said.

"What made you change your mind? How'd you go from being so into the idea of making more money via shilling out to protecting intellectual property?" Bea asked, sitting on the top of the dumpster as Liam pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and thought. After a minute he kicked a crushed can with his shoe and exhaled.

"...I was younger, and stupid, and I didn't realize at the time what this meant to you," Liam said, "After meeting your folks, after seeing the grave, I get it now. I wholly get why this means what it means, and why you'd fight tooth and nail to not overly commercialized and thusly sullen it at the behest of capitalism. But also, I think...not having you in my life, being essentially cut off - and understandably so might I add - made me realize you and what you made were far more important to me than money could ever be. Losing Marvin, I guess, really made me reassess what's truly important."

"You really miss him don't you?" Bea asked.

"More than you could ever imagine. He was my entire world," Liam said, "he..." he started to sniffle, and took a long breath before continuing, "he used to write these little notes in the morning, since he went to work before I did, and uh, and he'd leave them on the pillow so they'd be the first thing I'd see when I woke up."

"That is so cute it makes me wanna puke," Bea said, making Liam laugh, nodding.

"Yeah, and they were always so fucking cheesy, you know, just the most ridiculously sappy things you could think of, but I loved them, because it showed he thought of me, and he cared about me enough to take even just a minute every day to do something he knew would make me feel good. It's not about the time you spend with the people you love, it's about how you spend it. Well, maybe it's sorta both, but you know what I mean," Liam said.

"...do you still have those notes?"

"Yeah, of course. I keep them in a little scrapbook, you wanna see 'em?" he asked, and Bea nodded. Just then the backdoor opened and a stage producer leaned out, informing them they were needed back on set. Beatrice climbed down off the dumpster and put the head back on, sighing.

"After the filming, show me, I'm curious just how much he thought of you," she said.

                                                                                                    ***

"Well," Steph said, "Hopefully we can work past this now, and get this thing on the road. I'm glad you were able to reschedule."

"Hey, she's the one who asked me to confirm the date, don't thank me," Liam said.

Liam and Stephanie were sitting in the editors booth, watching Beatrice in the recording room. She was pacing, back and forth, scratching her head furiously, like she was having a nervous reaction. Stephanie leaned towards Liam and lowered her voice.

"Let me ask you something," she said, "and please, don't be coy, just tell me outright...is she gonna be okay? She doesn't seem like the kind of person who can handle copious amounts of success very well."

"She'll be fine, don't worry," Liam said, before leaning forward and pressing a button, letting him speak to Beatrice, "BeaBea, we're ready to roll tape. You okay in there? You need a few more minutes or what? Can we make this thing happen now?"

"I'm fine, Liam, thank you," Beatrice replied through her own intercom, just as the door opened and Michelle entered, much to Liam and Steph's surprise. Stephanie turned and looked at Liam, her eyebrows raised from curiosity.

"What is she doing there?"

"I...I don't know," Liam said, half laughing from nervousness, "maybe she asked her to come in for moral support or something."

Beatrice, in the recording booth, turned and looked at Michelle. She walked over and she knelt down, getting on her knees and putting her hands on Michelle's. Michelle looked into Bea's eyes, confused. She had asked Michelle the previous night to come into the booth with her today, but hadn't specifically informed her why, and the entire day she'd been nervous as hell. Bea took a long, deep, slow breath and then locked eyes with Michelle too.

"I haven't been around a lot lately," she said gently, "and I apologize. I've been so busy. But I am here because of you, and what you and Keagan did for me, and I want you to be here for this, because what I'm about to say didn't come from me, but I mean it 100%. Do you understand?"

"I...uh...not really, but okay," Michelle said, the both of them laughing anxiously as Bea reached up and stroked her hair.

"I couldn't be here without you," Bea whispered, before kissing Michelle's forehead and then standing back up, walking back to the microphone. Michelle had never been more confused, or felt as good, in her life as she did right then. Beatrice adjusted the arm of the mic, and licked her lips, before grabbing a bottle of water on a nearby stool and uncapping it, taking a long sip. She then breathed out, then pulled the mic to her lips; she said, "I'm ready, Liam."

Liam hit record from the other side of the booth, then grave her a nod, indicating she could go anytime. Beatrice looked at Liam, then looked back at Michelle, then looked back at the mic.

"I'm here," she whispered.

She did one take. Liam had to leave because he knew where she'd gotten the line from and he couldn't help but burst into tears. He could still remember the day Marvin had left it on the pillow beside him, and it was the last note he'd ever left him. And Michelle...Michelle felt the wind knocked out of her. It could've been something so cliche, so simplistic that a million other dolls had already spouted: "I love you", "you matter", "believe in yourself", but Beatrice, to her credit, delivered the one thing it seemed so many parents couldn't give...herself. She had given herself to children, wholly. She wanted kids to know they were not alone, and that they could depend on her no matter what. Beatrice walked away from the mic and knelt down again, putting her hands on Michelle's face and smiling, tears running down both their cheeks.

"I'm here," she repeated.

"I know," Michelle replied, "I know."

Michelle and Bea hugged tightly, and all the jealousy Michelle had been feeling lately melted away in a singular moment. Fuck, she didn't need a doll.

She had the real deal.

Puzzles, blankets, posters, the parade of endless advertising options that Beatrice and Liam had been subjected to visually today was staggering and, in some cases, outright disrespectful. But Bea had told Steph that she would look into this avenue of revenue, so here she was. She was sitting in a small board room, smoking a cigarette as she and Liam were presented with footage of children scrambling to see all the new potential merchandise that had been created. Course, it was all prototypes, but still. She couldn't deny the fervor these kids seemed to have was impressive, and she did like seeing children happy, but she also knew that it was a double edged sword because while the children got happiness, the businessmen got their pockets lined. After a few minutes, one of the men clicked the television off and looked at Bea and Liam, smirking.

"So," he said, "as you can see, it's highly sought after stuff. I mean, the market is there. Kids are clamoring for something that respects their intelligence the way you do. You don't talk down to them. You talk TO them. That's something they can admire and want to be a part of."

"Don't use flattery as a sales technique, it's scummy," Bea said, making Liam hide a small laugh; she took a long puff of her cigarette, then ashed it in the tray on the table and leaned forward, asking, "so...you tell me this stuff is popular, but all I see is the same old merchandise that will eventually wind up in a thrift store once everyone's outgrown the fad. If I'm going to sell my soul, I want it to be for something truly good, something that will stand the test of time."

The three business executives, the two men and one woman, looked at one another and spoke quietly amongst themselves before looking back at Beatrice.

"We can...we can try something else, we can always find something new," the woman said, "you're right, this stuff is the same old same old and you deserve something better. Something unique. Fresh."

"Buzzwords notwithstanding," Beatrice said, "if we're going to make something that bears my likeness, I want it to be something someone wants to keep forever. The doll is a great example. Dolls get passed down from generation to generation. This kind of stuff does not. So let's just think about it for a while, yeah?"

After the meeting adjourned, Beatrice and Liam headed out into the hallway. Liam zipped up his jacket while Bea put her cigarette out entirely and sighed. She looked at Liam, who was just smiling at her warmly.

"I'm not being a pain, am I?" she asked.

"Oh you most definitely are, but I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, "I told you this time we're gonna do things your way, and by god I'm gonna stand by that."

Bea blushed. It was good to know that, no matter what, Liam would always have her back.

                                                                                                        ***

"It's getting harder and harder to breath, even with the machines," Michelle said.

She and Eliza and Keagan were standing around the craft services table, just snacking away while they waited for production to start back up. Eliza picked up a chip and scooped some dip onto it, then pushed it into her mouth while Keagan ate a carrot stick.

"Maybe you should see your doctor again," Keagan said, shrugging, "I mean, if it's getting to be worrisome, then-"

"I wouldn't say it's worrisome just yet," Michelle said, "but like, I have these days or long periods within days where my chest is tight or I wheeze a lot. It's not ideal, definitely. That being said, I also am sick of being in doctors offices for the time being."

Truth be told, not that Michelle would tell them the truth, she was more scared than anything else. She was scared of going back, of being told this was something they couldn't fix and which would only worsen with time. Something that would eventually kill her. She picked up a finger sandwich and bit into it, chewing, as Beatrice approached the table and picked up one for herself.

"How was your meeting?" Michelle asked.

"It was what it was, another slew of soulless corporate shills trying to get me to hurt my creative endeavor for the biggest sin, the all mighty dollar," she said; after a moment of chewing, she grimaced, then looked back at Michelle and asked, "Was that too grim? Am I being too dramatic?"

"Not dramatic enough, actually," Keagan said.

"I've been down this road before, that's the thing," Beatrice said, "you know, back when we were with the pizzeria. I know Liam won't betray me this time around, but that doesn't mean the feeling of uncertainty isn't there. The feeling that someone is just waiting for me to turn my back for a second so they can jam a knife into me and then sell my corpse to kids as the latest trend in toys."

"Kids do love corpses," Michelle said, making them laugh.

"It's just...corporate America is all so sickening," Beatrice said, eating another sandwich, "they don't appreciate the work, they appreciate what the work can get them. Nobody does it for the sole purpose of creation. Everyone does it for the hopes of creating a franchise, a cinematic universe, whatever the flying fuck that's supposed to mean. We've whored out art for the sake of commodity and, with it, the beauty in ourselves that it was birthed from, proving to everyone that, yeah, art is worthless without money backing it. It sickens me."

Someone with a megaphone somewhere on set made an announcement, and Beatrice finished her sandwich and pulled her dog suit head on over her own, sighing. She then gave each girl a hug and headed off to the sound stage. Watching her go, Michelle began to worry.

"...You guys don't think she's gonna snap, do you?" she asked.

"If she hasn't yet, I doubt she will," Keagan said, "then again pressure does things to a person."

"Yeah, like suck your eyeballs out of your skull," Eliza said, and only after she noticed the others were looking at her strangely did she add, "oh, you mean peer pressure, I...I'm sorry, I thought, nevermind."

                                                                                                           ***

"It makes me sick," Bea said that evening, making dinner for herself and Leslie as Leslie sat on the couch, thumbing through a magazine; Bea continued, "like, is that all I'm worth? Money? Is that all people are worth in general? Doesn't art have some sort of function in society beyond simply pulling in dollars, or is everything so shallow, hollow and meaningless that it's all simply another hallway towards achieving more cash?"

"Honey, I work for public broadcasting, you're preachin' to the choir," Leslie said, flipping a page and adding, "besides, I don't think what they're offering you is all that bad. In fact, they're listening to you, which is a good sign. Like, for once, they're not just taking whatever you make and slapping it on whatever product they want. It has to go by you first. You know how many creatives would kill for that level of control?"

"Only happening because Liam wrote an airtight contract," Beatrice said, just as there was a knock at the door. She put down her utensils and headed to open it, while Leslie excused herself to go shower until dinner was finished. Beatrice pulled open the door and found Michelle standing there. She smiled and stepped aside, letting Michelle indoors; after she was in, Bea turned and asked, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need to talk about art," Michelle said.

Beatrice nodded and went back to making dinner as Michelle sat on a stool on the other side of the counter.

"...my mother hates me," Michelle said, "but I've told you this before. How she saw my illness as nothing more than an obstacle to her success in the art world. She used me to garner sympathy, but it didn't garner her success. In a way, you're the complete opposite of my mom because while you believe in the work you do, you aren't willing to hurt the people around you to accomplish it."

"I'd never hurt you, sweetheart, you know that," Beatrice said, smiling as she opened her oven and slid a baking tray inside.

"I know that," Michelle said, "but I also know that you want the products created to be meaningful. What if I sat down and helped you come up with some? Eliza can make the doll, but what if I helped you come up with special products too? Things that aren't like the same crap every other kids show has, you know? That would be cool, right? My mom never let me be part of her artistic process, but maybe you would."

Beatrice set her utensils down once more and sighed, scratching her forehead.

"...let me tell you a story, Michelle," she said, "it's about a young woman in a big city, whose only friend sold her out."

                                                                                                10 YEARS AGO

"I'm surprised you wanted to see me," Liam said, sitting at a table in the soon to be defunct pizzeria they'd once unfortunately endorsed together; he sipped his soda from the tall blue plastic cup and licked his lips, adding, "hopefully it's not just to kill me or something."

"Please, if I wanted to kill you I'd have done it a long time ago," Beatrice said, "no, I just...I was  told about the funds I'd be getting from the sale of this place last week, and I figured we should discuss that, considering we both had stake in it. Did you get the same offer?"

"I did, yes," Liam said.

"We need to put some aside, you know that," Beatrice said, "but aside from her, I don't want the cash. Do you?"

"What, like, do I want your share? Of course not," Liam said, "why would you even-"

"Because you seemed to like money enough."

"You're so fucking high and mighty, you know that? You're the epitome of the art student cliche. Thinking you're so above it all, that what you make will somehow save the world or save one other person. I'm not gonna deny art has great value, but you created a childrens educational show, Beatrice, you didn't make a goddamned statue that'll be respected for eons to come, alright? You helped kids like themselves and maybe learn to be friends with others. You're not Rodin."

"I never said I was," Beatrice said, fire burning inside her, "but you're the one who told me we could make something special from this, and then turned around and sold whatever was special out for some cheap kiddy pizza place! How can you sit there and tell me that you believe in art when you can't even defend what you did! You don't believe in art, not for the sake of art, no, you believe in it as a commodity, like everyone else, and god help me if I ever find out she's anything like you. It'd make me sick."

"Well then I guess it's good we'll never have to meet her, isn't it?" Liam asked, standing up and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?! Don't walk away when we're fighting!" Beatrice said, standing up and grabbing Liam's arm, turning him back around to face her. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm too tired to do this anymore with you," he said quietly, "it's been years of this now. At first it was...I don't know...oddly enlightening to combat one another with differing viewpoints, because sometimes one of us could get the other to see their points, but...but now it's exhausting. You exhaust me, Bea. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry if I hurt your art. I'm sorry I'll never be the person you thought I was. But, you know, I don't think you're the person you thought you were either, so, maybe we're both liars."

And as Beatrice finished telling Michelle this story, Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew Liam and Bea had a really shaky past, fraught with infighting and somewhat unresolved anger, but to hear the words he had said to her come out of Bea's own mouth...it made Michelle sad. Beatrice leaned on the counter and wiped her eyes, trying not to cry. After a moment, she took a long deep breath.

"He wasn't wrong," she finally said, "I'm not the person I thought I was either. But that's the thing, when you're young and idealistic, you don't think you'll ever be anyone else, and you'll argue that point to death with anyone willing to listen. I still believe in the value of art beyond its income bracket, but..."

Michelle waited, curious to hear what Bea might say. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes.

"...but it's stupid for me to keep fighting a losing battle when everyone else wants me to lose it," she said quietly.

"I don't want you to lose it," Michelle said, leaning forward and holding Bea's hand on the counter, adding, "you're my hero, and I think you're right, but I think we can find a way to make merchandise that doesn't feel cheap and shallow and empty. I think we can work together and make something you'd be just as proud of as you are of your show."

Beatrice lifted her head and her eyes caught Michelle's. She laughed a little.

"I'm glad I remind you of your mother, but in a positive way," Bea said, "You're like the daughter I never had."

Michelle felt touched by this sentiment, and smiled back. If only she knew.

                                                                                                           ***

Eliza was seated at her workshop desk in The Hole, sewing something when the door opened. She turned around and glanced at Michelle, coming into the room. Michelle approached the table and stood beside it, waiting for Eliza to finish. When she did, she pulled her goggles back up onto her forehead and looked up at Michelle.

"What're you doing?" Michelle asked.

"Doll prototypes," Eliza said, "pattern work, stuff like that. Why'd you come in?"

"I don't know. Just been having a bad few days, what with my health and then Bea's nervousness over marketing. Guess I just needed somewhere where I could, like, not be bothered by anything for a bit. Nobody comes to The Hole, and so I know I won't be bothered out here."

"Well, pull up a seat," Eliza said, as Michelle did just that, dragging a chair over to Eliza's and sitting down; Eliza added, "glad I could be of service to help you hide from the world. Sorry I'm not a more interesting person."

"Oh, don't take it that way, please, I like that you're you. I like that I can just hang around you and you won't ask me a million questions. You won't badger me about my health like Keagan or the show like Beatrice. You just, ya know, let me be, and that's what I need," Michelle said. Eliza blushed.

"Well," Eliza said, starting to sew again, pulling her goggles back down over her eyes, "if that's all you need, then so be it. My hole is your hole...that came out wrong, sorry."

Michelle cackled, then rested her head on Eliza's shoulder and shut her eyes, making Eliza smile. For just a little while, she could appreciate the solitude that The Hole gave them, and the sincerity of Eliza's friendship. For just a little while she could rest easy in knowing that for at least an hour or so, nobody would bother her about work, nobody would argue with her about art, nobody would insist commerce was more important, and she didn't have to worry about her health. She could just simply be.

"So how's the doll coming?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, exhaling.

"Well, a childrens entertainment empire wasn't built in a day," she said, the both of them laughing.

                                                                                                            ***

That evening, after Leslie had fallen asleep, Beatrice got back up and she walked out into the living room. She knelt down in front of a short bookshelf and she pulled a large photo album off it, sliding it into her lap as she sat on the floor. She opened it up and she looked inside, skimming through pages filled with memories of her time spent in the city, producing the original show with Liam. Photos of herself and Liam writing new material, on set shoots, a photo of a much younger Eliza working on puppetry, a photo of Liam and Marvin goofing around backstage, and then...that one photo, the one that always got to her.

It was Beatrice and Liam standing together on a balcony in someones apartment. She wasn't sure who shot the picture, she just knew someone had taken it and left it on the roll of film in the disposable camera Bea eventually took in to be processed the following week. It was just starting to get dark, the days last rays of light in the sky, and she and Liam were holding hands.

Beatrice felt some tears well up in her eyes, and she let them roll down her face. They had something so perfect, something so pure, and all the years they'd lost simply because of an argument. She regretted it now more than ever. She couldn't let this happen again. She had to protect Beatrice, certainly, but she couldn't continue to be as stubborn, because she might lose others by doing so the way she'd almost lost him. She could remember that night with such crystal clarity, the smell of the air, the taste of the wine, and of course, the night that proceeded the next few days, when she became fully aware that she wasn't, in fact, into men, just as Liam came to discover he very much was. Sometimes, as it turns out, two queer people of opposite sexes need to screw one another to discover they don't want what heterosexuals have, and she was grateful to have had Liam for that moment.

Even if, a few weeks after that, it changed their lives forever.

"I don't know how to feel," Beatrice said, sitting in her mothers kitchen while her mother made them some tea; Bea continued, "I don't...I should feel happy, you know, grateful? All I ever wanted was for others to love Beatrice the way I did, and for her to bring them joy the way she did for me, but now that that's happening...I don't know. It feels like they're trying to take something away from me."

Her mother, Gloria, turned away from the kettle as she waited for it to heat up and she opened up a pack of cookies, biting into one.

"It's only understandable you'd feel that way, considering Beatrice was a real dog. I think you need to tell them that, otherwise they'll never understand this attachment to what they assume is a fictional character. Be upfront about it."

"...they made a doll, and they gave it to this little girl," Bea said, and that caught her mothers attention.

"They made a doll??" she asked, "Wow, you've really made it, Amelia."

"...no, you don't...you don't understand," Bea said, "you don't know what I saw."

                                                                                             3 DAYS EARLIER

Beatrice, Michelle and Eliza were in Bea's car, though nobody but Beatrice knew why. She'd gotten them take out breakfast from McDonalds and she'd even offered to get them lunch and dinner too if they weren't done come days end, but she wouldn't tell them why she'd invited them on this little ride along. After a while of just sitting outside of a house on a normal everyday suburban street, the smell of breakfast sandwiches filling the car, Michelle finally had had enough and looked at Bea.

"What are we doing?" she asked, "Shouldn't we be working?"

"Technically this is work related," Bea said, "I need to see it. I need to witness it firsthand."

"Witness what?" Michelle asked, but before Bea could even respond, the front door opened, and the couple from the meeting walked out with their little girl who was clutching the doll to her chest as tightly as she could. Michelle couldn't believe it. They were stalking a child for marketing purposes? This was sick. Eliza reached forward and held out a hashbrown in a paper sleeve to Michelle.

"You want this one?" she asked, and Michelle smiled warmly, appreciating having her there as she graciously accepted the hashbrown and bit into it. They waited until the family was in the car, and then they followed it down the street.

"Why are we doing this?" Michelle asked.

"Because I need to see her react to it," Bea said, "I need to know that it's good for her, that she loves it the way I love it. I need to know that putting this doll out won't cheapen Beatrice Beagle."

Michelle didn't even bother arguing. She knew she had no leg to stand on after all, so she simply ate her hashbrown and enjoyed the ride. After a short drive, they car pulled over at a school, and the mother got out and helped the little girl out and walked with her into the school. After a minute or two, she re-emerged, re-entered the car and it drove away again. Bea parked outside of the school and waited.

"Cool, so now we're just watching a public school?" Michelle asked, "Nothin' creepy about that at all."

Beatrice smirked as she picked up her coffee and took a sip.

"I wanna sign off, I know it's the right thing to do, and I know it would help us tremendously. Liam said it himself. We need to bring in money outside of subscriptions. The show's not cheap, despite looking that way. There's costumes to be made, props to be built, puppets to be created, and everyone deserves equal pay for their work, and the only way to do that is to sell stuff. I wanna sell this doll, but...I need to know it's worth it first."

Michelle got out of the car and walked away for a bit, just trying to wrap her head around Bea's obsession. After a moment, Eliza joined her. As the two walked away from the car a bit, Michelle rubbed her arms, shivering. It was still somewhat cold outside this morning. Eliza took her jacket off and put it on Michelle, who blushed at the gesture.

"She's weird," Eliza said, "but I'm weird, and you like weird. I get what she means. These things we create are very personal to us, and we wanna make sure they're personal to others too, you know?"

"I get that, I do, this is just..." Michelle said, turning to face her, "...ugh...this is just really uncomfortable. I'm all for being here for Beatrice. Hell, neither of us would be here if it wasn't for the other. But..."

"Just let her do her thing, ya know? Let her get it out," Eliza said, "Then she'll write it off, and everything will be good."

Michelle nodded, sighing. Eliza was right. She couldn't deny it. Beatrice was an important facet of herself, and she couldn't just let them make a doll of it without seeing firsthand what the kid might act like with it. Beatrice wasn't just a character, it was a literal part of herself. Michelle respected that. Hell, it was part of what drove her to find Bea in the first place. Michelle looked at the car and thought about all of this. They did need the money. She'd stick it out. She looked back at Eliza, who smiled at her.

"Your jacket's warm," she said.

"I'm glad you like it," Eliza said.

"Aren't you cold?"

"I don't get cold," Eliza said, "I'm weird like that."

Together they walked back to the car and got back in. After settling back into their seats, Michelle sipped her iced coffee and leaned back in her chair, feeling Eliza play with her hair from behind. She blushed. She liked the attention and the friendship Eliza gave her, so she often let her do whatever she wanted. Michelle glanced at Bea, who was nervously chewing her nails.

"You okay there cowboy?" she asked.

"...I want children to be happy. I was a happy child. Contrary to popular belief, and preexisting notions within pop culture, great art doesn't have to be borne out of great sorrow. I had a wonderful childhood. I love my parents, and they love me. I was successful. I did what I wanted for a living. I wanted to share that joy with other children. I knew there were kids out there, kids like you Michelle, who maybe weren't happy. Who didn't have great lives or good parents. Who maybe needed something more. Something to be there for them."

Michelle teared up, nodding slowly.

"...but it has to be more than a commercial oddity. It has to be more than just a tax write off. It has to be more than an economic cow. It has to actually mean something. I'm not against merchandising as much these days, so long as that merchandising is tasteful and respected and means something. I don't wanna overdo it, sure, but why can't there be a doll, you know? Beatrice exists on the screen, why can't she exist in the hands of a little girl? She existed in my hands."

Michelle furrowed her brow and reached out, touching Bea's arm as Bea wiped her eyes.

"She was my dog. She was my real dog. Now I want her to be everyones dog. I want everyone to love her the way I did, the way I do, and I want her to be there for them the way she was for me," Bea said, "this isn't merchandise. This is a gift. I wanna give the kids a gift of love. So even in the darkest nights when they're the most scared, they know they have something with them that loves them, because they hear it every day on the television."

Michelle didn't want to push the issue anymore, so she simply acknowledge it and kept quiet. After a few minutes of silence, Eliza piped up from the backseat.

"When I make a puppet," she said, "I think about what aspects of myself I want to put into it, because it's easier to draw from real life than create something from thin air. It's weird to put an aspect of myself into, say, a flower pot puppet, but it helps. It helps sort out how you feel about yourself, too."

"I guess since I don't make things I have a hard time understanding," Michelle said, "but I'll take your words for it."

"But you DO make things, you made an entire set in your basement," Beatrice said, reaching over and touching her hand, "and hell, that's the biggest fan response I've ever gotten, so that says something."

Michelle laughed and nodded. She had almost forgotten about the basement set, it'd been so long ago. God, everything felt so long ago now. How had it all come to this?

                                                                                                              ***

"Sounds like you'd already made up your mind," Gloria said, pouring herself and Beatrice cups of tea and walking to the table with them, "so why the need for the spying?"

"We weren't spying. We were doing recon. It's totally different," Bea said as her mother set the teacup down in front of her, the both of them chuckling slightly as she added, "and I just...I had to see it myself, first hand. It's one thing for her folks to tell me how she reacted, but it's another to see it with my own eyes."

Bea lifted her teacup to her lips and took a long sip as her mother opened up the package of cookies further and pulled some out, placing them on the table in between them. Bea took one and ate it, chewing, then after a few minutes of snacking, she finally sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"I guess I just needed to know whether or not the company was using people to lie to me to get what they wanted," she said, "after all, Liam did the same thing. I guess once you've been betrayed by someone you trust so deeply, it makes it hard to trust anyone at all, especially those in the corporate world."

Gloria finished her own cookie, then cleared her throat.

"Yes, but...he's obviously done a good job of earning your forgiveness," she said.

"Right, because he actually knows how much he hurt me. But companies, corporations, they don't care. They just see me as a way to line their bottom dollar. I am nothing more than a machine that churns out a product for them, hence the hesitation," Beatrice said, "so I think I have every right to be suspicious."

"So what happened then?"

A moment. A long pause. Beatrice sighed and a smile played on her lips.

"...the best thing in the world, honestly," she said.

                                                                                                            ***

It'd been 3 hours, and still they sat parked there outside of the school. Michelle checked her watch and sighed. She didn't really have anything else to do today, and yet she felt like she could be using this time more constructively than she was. Michelle finally tossed her hair back and pulled it into a bushy bundle, handing it back to Eliza who started to braid it. Michelle looked at Bea, who was tapping her nails on the steering wheel.

"You know, Liam's gonna start to wonder where we are," she said.

"So? Not like he's my husband," Bea said, "I'm allowed to do things without him knowing."

"I'm just saying maybe we should go back to the studio for a bit, or call in or something," Michelle said, "give someone some idea of what it is we're doing, even though what it is we're doing is kinda creepy and now that I've said it out loud I don't know that I want anyone to know about it, which only furthers the creepiness altogether."

Beatrice laughed and adjusted her rearview mirror.

"We won't stay much longer, okay? I promise. I just need to-"

Everything stopped. Beatrice was staring dead ahead out the windshield, and Michelle followed her gaze towards the schoolyard, where the kids had just been let out for recess. Beatrice undid her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, telling the girls to stay here until she got back.

"This is ridiculous," Michelle muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, but you'll have nice braids when I'm done," Eliza said, making Michelle smile. Thank god for Eliza, she thought. Beatrice strolled across the lawn, and approached the wooden fence that surrounded the schoolyard, her eyes scanning the groups of kids until she found the one she was looking for. Ashley Harding was sitting on a wooden bench, eating apple slices and cheese, holding Bea to her chest as she snacked. Beatrice approached cautiously and knelt down.

"Hello," she said, making Ashley turn around; she continued, smiling, "Do you know who I am?"

"...you're Beatrice Beagle," the girl said, "I recognize your voice."

"That's right," Bea said, smiling warmly at her, "I like your doll."

"I got it for my birthday!" Ashley replied, holding it out to Bea, who took it from her and examined it; Ashley continued, "it's my favorite doll. It's so soft and it makes me feel safe during bed."

"You're not surprised I'm not a real dog?" Bea asked.

"I'm not stupid," Ashley said, making Bea laugh as she added, "I know it's a costume! I know what costumes are! Did you...did you make the doll? Did you let me have it?"

Bea hesitated for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, your mom and dad just love you so much that they found a way to get you a doll nobody else can have yet," Bea said, "I mean, sure they couldn't be made without me, but they're the ones who got it for you. I am happy you have it though, especially if it makes you feel safe and loved."

"Do you have any kids?" Ashley asked as Bea handed her doll back, and Bea glanced over her shoulder back towards the car, seeing Eliza braid Michelle's hair, and she smiled.

"Yeah," she said, "yeah I do."

                                                                                                     ***

"Well, it sounds like everything went better than expected," Gloria said, "sounds like you'll have a popular toy in stores soon enough. Can't see what the problem is."

"I didn't say there was a problem, except for maybe myself," Bea responded, "the problem is me. I'm the issue. I hold everything up because of this attachment to Beatrice, and wanting to share her but also wanting to keep her to myself. It's an odd dichotomy to have."

"That's how mothers are," Gloria said, making Bea smile a little and give a short nod; she added, "She may be fictional, but she was based on a real dog, and you were like her mother. It's only understandable you'd be protective. Nothing weird about that at all. Kinda like how your father and I are protective of you."

Bea understood, and she couldn't argue. Then again, she didn't know the half of how protective her folks were of her. Replacing her dog when it died, moving her to the country, keeping her somewhat sheltered. They had done so much in the name of keeping her safe, and she didn't even know any of it. But that's the way it should be, really. When you've done something right, nobody will know you did it at all. Parents are often the best at it, if they try hard enough, and Beatrice's tried harder than most.

                                                                                                       ***

Beatrice was lying on the couch as Leslie scooped their food from their take out containers onto plates and brought them into the living room, setting them on the coffee table. She motioned for Bea to scoot, so she sat up and sighed heavily.

"Rough day the coal mines?" Leslie asked.

"They're gonna make the dolls. I told Liam today it was okay," Bea said.

"Oh yeah?" Leslie asked, opening her beer bottle and taking a swig, then wiping her mouth on her sweater sleeve, "and what made you make that decision?"

Bea shrugged.

"Just seemed like the right thing to do," she replied.

Ashley Harding had her 6th birthday today.

She had her friends from school, her mom made a cake, and they all played the standard party games, but when it came time to finally unwrap her presents, there was one among them she couldn't have expected. Oh sure, she was given the usual type of gifts one would expect at a 6 year old girls party; easy to read chapter books, dolls, those sorts of things. Even some cute clothing from her aunt. But when her parents gave her what they called 'the big one', she couldn't in a million years have expected what was inside, and only when she'd finally opened the box and only once had the squealing subsided, did she pull out the Beatrice doll. It was soft, it was floppy, and it looked exactly like the Beatrice she'd seen on TV every morning for the past year. Ashley Harding squeezed it to her chest for the rest of the day, swearing to never let it come to harm.

The same couldn't be said, unfortunately, for the real Beatrice.

                                                                                                           ***

"Go home, you're sick," Liam said, standing in the bathroom at the office as Beatrice threw up in a stall.

"I'm not sick, I have food poisoning, also this is the ladies room," she said from inside the stall.

"We have to go look at the prototypes today, are you sure this isn't just an excuse to get out of your responsibility?" he asked.

"Right, because I'm an enormous shirker," Beatrice responded, making him chuckle as she added, "I deliberately went out and got food poisoning in order to avoid seeing these dolls they're making."

After a moment or two, she finally flushed the toilet and exited the stall. Beatrice stood there, looking at Liam. His hair was greying, thinning a bit. He was wearing a turtleneck, slacks and he was letting his facial hair come in again. He looked nice. Beatrice smiled at him, as she walked to the counter, turned on the faucets and began washing her hands.

"I'm...not pleased about it either, for what it's worth," he finally said, "but...they aren't wrong. We need to make money outside of general content delivery, and advertising, as Stephanie said to me, 'is like a wedding ring for the product'."

Beatrice turned the faucet off and stared at Liam for a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What the FUCK does that mean?" she asked.

"I can honestly say I have no idea, but she said it with such deep conviction that I can't argue with her," Liam replied, "either way, you won't be alone, alright? I'll be there, Michelle and Eliza are gonna come by and see it afterwards, then we'll all have a little roundtable discussion with Leslie and Steph and see how it shakes out, okay? But the worst thing you can do is simply not engage. This isn't like last time, Bea," Liam said, approaching her and putting his hand on her shoulder, "I promise, this isn't like before. I'm doing this for you. Not for me."

Beatrice smiled, still wary, but knew Liam really was on her side. She sighed and nodded.

"Alright, let's go...watch products get married, I guess?" she asked, making him laugh.

                                                                                                    ***

Eliza was chewing her nails nervously. Lately she'd been having the same recurring dream, one that bothered her, but perhaps not for the reasons one would expect it to. Standing in the hallway of the toy firm, waiting for the others, she couldn't help but remember it. How it woke her up each time, her chest tight with terror, but also...joy? It was difficult to explain, not that she was interested in even attempting to explain it.

"Heya," Michelle said, coming down the hall and breaking Eliza's concentration. Eliza turned and, without hesitation, flung her arms around Michelle, who laughed and happily hugged her back, adding, "it's good to see you too! You're here early."

"I had nothing else to do," Eliza said, shrugging, brushing her bangs from her eyes, "what's that?" she asked, pointing at a device attached to Michelle's arm.

"Oh, uh, it's my mobile BiPAP," she said, smiling as she glanced at the machine strapped to her arm.

"What the heck is that?"

"It's a type of ventilator, you know, to help me breath," Michelle said, "Just in case I need it. My doctor said I should keep it on my person just on the offchance I suddenly need to use it. I've been straining to breath properly lately for some reason, so, it's just a precationary thing."

"That sounds scary," Eliza said, making Michelle shrug.

"I don't know, when you live with something long enough you almost forget it's even a thing anymore," she said, "It becomes second nature. I'm not saying that that makes it okay or normal or whatever, I'm just saying that I'm used to it, I guess. It's not weird to me anymore, like it was when I was a kid."

The two women turned and started heading down the hall, to the toy development lab.

"I think I know what you mean," Eliza said, "after I had my accident when I was a kid, on the playground, I always felt different, but now as an adult, I guess different is my normal. I guess I understand what you're saying in that sense then. ...do you know when they're supposed to get here? I don't think we're supposed to see this first."

Michelle shrugged and looked behind them down the hall. Eliza had a point. This was Beatrice's toy, modeled off Beatrice herself. She really should be the first one through the door. And yet she wasn't here, and neither one knew when she might be. Michelle sighed and shook her head.

"Come on, let's just go inside the room," she said, taking Eliza by the hand and leading her in, "We'll wait for her there. She'll show up. She always does."

Michelle opened the door and let Eliza go first, then followed her inside, only to be surprised by the man and woman sitting together on one end of the table, and a group of two men and one woman sitting together on the other end. The group of three were clearly workers, they were in suits, so that didn't phase Michelle, but it was the other couple that threw her off. Who were these two? Why were they here? Michelle pulled out a chair for Eliza, who thanked her and sat down, before seating herself.

"Where is-" the woman in the suit started, but just then the door opened once more and Beatrice and Liam entered.

"Sorry, I've been throwing up all morning," Bea said.

"She's getting quite good at it," Liam added, making everyone chuckle uncomfortably as they walked past the table to sit down. Beatrice patted Michelle on the shoulder and then kissed Eliza on the top of the head before taking her seat, Liam beside her.

"So," Beatrice said, "...what am I looking at?"

"Beatrice, this is Bryan and Lindsay Harding. Their daughter Ashley had her sixth birthday this past week, and she was given one of the prototypes as a gift," the woman in the suit said, "We selected a few folks to be given prototypes to see the childs reaction, and I think you're better off hearing those results from the people who endured it first hand, honestly."

Beatrice looked across the table, from the woman in the suit to Bryan and Lindsay, and shrugged.

"Um, our daughter loves your show, and loves you," Bryan said, leaning forward, cupping his hands on the table, "so we were given the doll and we wrapped it and everything, and I gotta tell ya, the look on her face and the scream she made when she opened it...I'm surprised our windows didn't shatter, honestly. She has taken it with her everywhere since getting it, and she won't not sleep without it and it just...god it brings her so much comfort."

"That's all very nice, that's what Beatrice is meant to do," Bea said, "my issue, more than anything, is just how much merchandising can take away from her specialness. If every kid in the country has a Beatrice doll, then she isn't special to anyone, is she? She's special to everyone. That takes away that unique bond one can form that feels personal."

"Um, if I may," Lindsay said, pushing her hair back behind her ears and sniffling, "...uh...our daughter has been in and out of the hospital for the last few months, first enduring a battery of tests, then enduring treatment, and no childhood should be like that. We couldn't be there all the time, we both have to work, and she was scared. But now she's not scared. Now she has you."

Michelle felt her heart break. Now she could identify with this situation personally. She glanced down at Bea, who was nodding solemnly.

"I don't...I'm not trying to guilt trip you, or anything, please don't think that, I'm just saying that I think a child can still have that special bond even if she's everywhere. I don't disagree that merchandising cheapens art. I'm an art major. I went to art school. I'm a painter, I get it. When you start seeing something everywhere you get tired of seeing it anywhere. But we're talking about something that helps children. That brightens up their lives. That brings them...god...the biggest comfort they could need in the worst possible times. Isn't that worth a bit of cheapening?"

Beatrice leaned back and folded her arms, sighing. She looked at Liam, and grimaced. Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew what Beatrice meant to her, more than anyone else, and he knew how hard this must be to hear.

"On one hand, you're right," Bea said, "you are, I won't deny that. She is special for everyone. She should be for everyone. On the other hand...she's mine. She's me. It feels like prostituting myself, to put it bluntly, if that makes sense."

"If I can ask," Eliza asked, surprisingly everyone with her sudden self inclusion, "would it make you feel better if I made the doll and the toy company merely distributed it?"

The room went quiet. Bea looked at Eliza, one eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for more explanation.

"Well," Eliza said, adjusting her glasses, "um, I make all the puppets for the show, so why wouldn't I be able to make a doll, you know? And this way it'd be closer to you, in terms of who's producing it. Would that make a difference at all?"

Bea looked away, glancing across the table again at the couple, then sighed and lowered her head.

"That might be okay, yes," she said softly, before standing up and, touching Michelle's shoulder again, whispered, "let's go get some coffee."

                                                                                                             ***

"She was just trying to help," Michelle said as she and Bea sat at a table by a window in a small cafe downtown. Michelle was chewing on a bear claw while Bea sipped from her coffee cup. Bea set her cup down and, tapping her nails on it, looked out the window, exhaling.

"I know, I'm not mad at her," Bea said, "...but everyone thinks I'm being difficult. I'm not being difficult. I'm being particular. There's a difference. You know what it's like to have an attachment to Beatrice, you were that little girl one time. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it before anyone else."

Michelle felt honored. She'd become so close to Bea that she was now being outright asked for her input.

"Well," Michelle said, chewing her pastry and swallowing, then leaning back in her chair, "I...I guess I understand where her folks are coming from, but even though we both lived in the hospital for some time in our childhoods, our lives are still drastically different. My parents weren't there for me. This kid seems to have a dedicated support base. All I had was you. I don't mean that in the way it sounds-"

"I know," Bea said, chuckling, "I understand."

"-it's just that...because you were all I had, I'm far more attached than any other kid might be, but I recognize my situation was specific," Michelle said, "and, if it hadn't been for my weird attachment, then maybe we wouldn't even be sitting here right now, and she wouldn't have that same kind of attachment that's helping her. Weird how interconnected everything in the world is. One little thing creates all these ripples that effect things so much later down the line."

Bea leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, sighing. She looked back out the window and watched a family waiting to cross the street, two adults and two little boys. She finally exhaled, then looked back at Michelle, who was taking another bite of her bear claw and chewing.

"I wanted the world to love her as I did," Bea sad softly, "I wanted the world to appreciate her as I was able to. Her companionship should be experienced by everyone. That's the thing. At first I...I just wanted to put on a one woman show in small local theatres around the city, using it as a way to discharge my grief and my pain, but why shouldn't others be able to use her in ways that benefit them too? You were able to, and as you said, look at where we are now."

"Letting Eliza make the doll might be the best move," Michelle said.

"I don't disagree with that, it definitely is more comfortable for me having her do it," Bea said, "...I guess we'll move ahead and see what works and what doesn't. We need to make more money than just whatever subscriptions to the service bring in in order to cover the cost of production after all, and merchandise is like a wedding ring for the product."

After a small moment, Michelle furrowed her brow.

"The hell does that mean?" she asked.

"I don't know, it's something Stephanie told Liam," Bea said, shrugging.

"God that's stupid."

"Well at least we're all on the same page in regards to that," Bea added.

                                                                                                           ***

Keagan was standing at the stove, stirring a soup in a big pot while Lexi sat the kitchen table, flipping slowly through a magazine. She sighed and looked up, glancing out the window at the driveway. She then looked back at Keagan and tapped her nails on the table absentmindedly.

"What would you think about getting a better apartment?" she finally asked.

"I dunno, I've gotten kinda used to this place," Keagan said, "It's not much but it's ours, you know?"

"Sure, sure," Lexi said, "but we could get something not much different but just somewhat nicer. A bit more room, maybe. I don't know, I'm just throwing out ideas. We make pretty good money, Michelle makes more than both of us considering she works directly with Bea. We could really afford to live in a higher class bracket."

"I don't really care either way, so long as we're together," Keagan said, making Lexi blush. Michelle entered the kitchen and sighed, looking at both of them before sitting down at the table and running her hands through her hair.

"How were things today?" Keagan asked.

"...weird," Michelle replied.

"How about your breathing? You doing okay?" Lexi asked, "We could get you better equipment if you'd like."

"Naw, for as little as I have to use this thing, I think I'll stick with it," Michelle said, smiling warmly, "but thanks for the offer."

Lexi shrugged, then stood up and, taking her magazine with her, exited the kitchen and headed for the living room. Michelle looked at Keagan, who tapped her stirring wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and placed it on the counter. She then walked over to the table and sat down across from Michelle.

"What's eating her?" Michelle asked.

"Ah, she's being weird about money, don't mind her," Keagan said, waving it off, "so," she continued, "what happened? Was she interested in doing the doll, or?"

There was a long pause, and then Michelle nodded.

"...I don't necessarily like what your silence insinuates," Keagan said.

"It comes with some caveats, but I think it'll work itself out," Michelle said, yawning, "I think I need to go to sleep."

"You don't want any soup? I'm making soup."

"Save me some, I'll have it when I wake up," Michelle said, leaning in and hugging Keagan before getting up and heading to her bedroom down the hall. In a way, she completely understood and stood by Beatrice's arguments. Beatrice was special to both of them for very different reasons, and she felt like giving that specialness to others would hurt her own attachments to it. But...but maybe it's what the world really needed. Little girls shouldn't have to be scared and alone. They should have the comfort that even just a stuffed dog can bring them. Lying down on her bed after getting into her pajamas, attaching her cannula's into her nostrils and shutting her eyes, all she could think about was how scared she herself had been as a child, and how comforting Beatrice had been for her. Why shouldn't someone else be granted that some sort of comfort?

Michelle shut her eyes and exhaled slowly, thinking about Eliza, and about what she might make the doll look like. Maybe tomorrow she'd stop by The Hole and check it out. She was curious about the doll, but she also just liked spending time with her, and if anyone else had a curious attachment to Beatrice, it was Eliza. She of all people would be the only other one capable of understanding.

Michelle was grateful to have people who understood.

                                                                                                        ***

Ashley Harding snuggled up in bed with her Beatrice doll as her mother read her a bedtime story and her father watched from the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, smiling at the sight. He had expected Beatrice to be weird - hell the toy people had outright warned him of it - but he hadn't expected her to be as weird about the situation as she had been, and yet in a way he couldn't help but admire her willingness to defend her artistic integrity. That took guts, and wasn't something many people had these days. The ability, the gall if you will, to put their works worth over the worth of money.

After Ashley was asleep, Lindsay came out and joined Bryan in the hallway. The two stood there together in the silence for a moment, until she finally looked at her feet and shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. Bryan reached out and touched her shoulder, massaging it gently.

"...what if she doesn't get better?" Lindsay asked quietly, her voice shaking, and Bryan shook his head.

"We don't think about that. I know it's an actuality we may have to inevitably face, but right now we don't think about that," he whispered, "right now all that matters is that she feels loved and comfortable and that she has something to make her happy, like the doll."

"She loves it so much," Lindsay said, glancing back into the room at the bed Ashley was cuddled up in with the Bea doll.

"Of course she does," Bryan chuckled, "haven't you read the reviews? Everyone loves Beatrice Beagle."

She smirked, and, hand in hand, they headed down the hallway and into their own bedroom. Tomorrow was another day they had to face. But tonight?

Tonight they had a watch dog.

"Where to even begin," Natasha said, pacing back and forth, chewing on her lip, "I guess...I guess the beginning, right? All stories start with a beginning, and life is no different. I don't mean my beginning, either, I mean the beginning of this show. Back when I was originally on public access, I had no idea what it was I was doing. I just knew I wanted to help people have the confidence to make decisions themselves without second guessing, doubting or questioning it. Unfortunately, far too many people listened to me, instead of listening to themselves, and unfortunately the person I should've been paying attention to most, my daughter, was the person who got pushed to the sidelines."

She sighed and leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair.

"I guess I just thought she was strong enough to be okay without me all the time," Nat continued, "I guess I just sort of thought that, yeah, she's got developmental delays, but she's better than me in every way so if I can make it, why can't she? It never once occurred to me that she might've needed me in a bigger capacity than I expected, and I was so caught up in my career - especially post marriage - to even think to ask her. But I also never ask myself what it was I really wanted out of all this."

She pulled the magazine from the table and looked at it before holding it up in front of her phones camera.

"They called me role model of the year," Nat said, tapping the front cover which bore her picture, "...me, a role model, someone who can't even keep her own family, much less herself, together. Doesn't exactly sound like a person one should be emulating or admiring. And role model to who, exactly? The public? Okay. But not to the person who needed me to be a role model. My daughter. I don't think I deserve this. I mean, awards are hacky as it is, but this one really irked me."

Nat pulled a package of cigarettes from her coat pocket, lit one up and took a long drag before looking back at the camera and scoffing.

"And don't act like you don't have a vice, it's hard to quit the one thing that gives you relief in times of duress," she said, "We all have it, whether we openly acknowledge it or not. I'm just saying, don't shame me for smoking...it's the least worst thing I've done this summer."

                                                                                         ***

"You're seeing this, right?" Jay asked, sitting at home on his laptop, his phone to his ear.

"I am definitely seeing it," Corrine replied, sitting beside Ashley on the couch as they watched, dumbfounded.

"Do you recognize where that is?" he asked, "Cause I can't for the life of me place it."

"Dude, I know her even less than you do, so," Corrine said, "maybe we should just let her get it out of her system. Maybe once she's done she'll come back and everything will be okay. It hasn't exactly been the best summer for anyone."

"And what if she doesn't come back," Jay asked, leaning back in his chair, "What if she specifically went somewhere no one could find her, so that we wouldn't be able to stop her if she wanted to do something to herself?"

No answer. After a long moment, Jay sighed and shook his head. He knew Nat would probably never hurt herself, but he couldn't be sure. Still, all he could do right now was what they were doing. Watch the feed. The comments were beginning to pour into the livestream chat, and after all was said and done, damage control would be easier than trying to find her outright.

                                                                                               ***

"We never realize who the most important people to us are until it's too late," Natasha said, "Until, you know, they're either gone or about to be gone. In fact, shit, they don't even have to be the most important people to us. They can be ANY people to us. We always just assume we'll have just one more day, just one more chance to talk to them, just one more year to fix ourselves, but truth is we're not guaranteed anything. We weren't even guaranteed existence. Our births are outright accidents. I don't mean that in the sense that your parents didn't want you, I mean it in the sense that who you are could've been an entirely different person. You might not've been the sperm that made it, if you know what I mean. So the mere fact that we're even here is an act of rebellion in and of itself, because that wasn't even guaranteed."

Natasha dragged over a small, old semi broken table and sat on it, crossing her legs as she did, pulling her hair back into a messy ponytail.

"...I wanted to have a kid. I really did. I wanted to have a child. I made that decision long before I was even an adult. I knew that I always wanted to have a kid. But when you're given a child like mine..." she took a long sigh and scratched her forehead, as if she was trying to find a way to say this nicely, "...you are given a whole other set of issues that come along with the standard set of child rearing. That isn't to say I'm unhappy. I cannot imagine my life without my daughter, and the fact that I fell apart once she moved out proves that I don't see a life without her. But it's easy to take someones presence for granted when they're always there. I'm not saying dealing with the school system has been great, because it hasn't, quite frankly, but I wouldn't change a thing about her. Hell, she's braver than I'll ever be, and no matter what a doctor might say about her, she's smarter than I'll ever be too."

Nat wiped her eyes on her sleeve and shivered a little as she took another drag off her cigarette and tapped the ash onto the floor below on the side of the table.

"...I'm what broke up my marriage." Natasha finally said after a pause, and to hear the words come out of her mouth, it made her sick; she went on, "for a long time I wanted to blame my husband, but it wasn't his fault. I mean, okay, it's partially his fault, but no failure is entirely on one person, especially when it comes to something like this. Some relationships do fail entirely because one person is putting in all the effort and the other isn't, sure, but not every relationship is like that. It's a very 50/5o situation. I focused on my career, on helping people who weren't the people in my family, in my life, that I should've been more dedicated towards, and as a result he felt ignored, and I was so involved with myself, my ego, that I couldn't even bother to ask if he was happy. I can't blame my sister, either, she thought she was going to die. She didn't know she'd survive and unwittingly helped along the further dissolvement an already dissolving family unit. It was me. It was mostly me, and I've been trying to ignore that fact for so long, and I did a pretty good job until this summer when my daughter left too, and suddenly I was facing down the stark realization that maybe I AM the problem."

She took a long breath, then wiped her eyes again and took another long drag off her cigarette before putting it out entirely.

"...and I'm so sorry, Violet. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't a role model. I'm sorry for everything. I get now how alone you felt, because I feel it myself. You had to leave to make me understand. For any parents watching this, hug your children, if they want it, and ask them how they're doing, don't just assume you know. Assumptions lead to broken bonds."

Nat stood up and walked up to the phone, reaching out and biting her lip again, as if she was waiting to say one last thing. She had no way of knowing that everyone she knew - Jay, Corrine, Ashley, Noreen, Violet, Sharla - and of course the people on the site as well who were just her fans, were waiting with baited breath to hear how she finished.

"...i'm a bad mother," she finally said softly, "but you're a great daughter. Ask your father where we lived. He'll know where to go."

And the livestream died.

                                                                                          ***

Violet and her father sat in his car on the way out to Natasha, with no radio, no air conditioning, just total and complete silence. After a bit, Violet finally cleared her throat and glanced at her father, who carefully glanced back.

"...i didn't mean to hurt her," she said.

"Sometimes your mother has to be hurt to realize the damage she's done," Stephen replied, "what I mean by that, and please let me explain because it sounds bad on the surface, is that your mother is the kind of person who intends well, but doesn't recognize she's doing something wrong until it's too late. Sometimes she has to be put in her place for that perspective to shift. I didn't mean to hurt her either. These things just happen."

"...i think i wanna go home," Violet whispered, and Stephen smiled as he reached over and touched his daughters hand gently.

"You can go home, nobody's keeping you from being with her," he said softly, "believe me, I think you got your point across."

Violet laughed a little. Surprise surprise, she thought, all these years her mother had tried to teach others something, and in the end it wound up being her own daughter who taught her the most important lesson of all. Natasha was seated on the porch outside when they pulled up and parked. Violet flung the door open and ran up to her mom, throwing her arms around her and squeezing tight. Natasha was full on crying, she couldn't help it. She squeezed Violet against her body and whispered in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, it'll be different from now on," she said quietly.

"I missed you, mom," Violet replied.

"I missed you too, pumpkin," Nat said, kissing her on the forehead, "oh my god my life was not a life without you."

Stephen approached the house, hands in his coat pockets as he looked up at the place and grimaced.

"Boy, this place has seen better days," he said.

"Where IS this?" Violet asked.

"This was the very first place we lived before we got the place in town," Nat said, turning around and facing the building again, "it belonged to your fathers uncle. He left it to us when he died of cancer, and it was alright for a well but eventually we felt like you should be raised closed to the city and we didn't like all the upkeep that came along with it."

"Tried to sell it, but never had any buyers," Stephen said, "a shame, could've been great property."

"I like it," Violet said, "but I like it like it is now. Broken, but still here. Like us."

Nat laughed and hugged her again, kissing the side of her head.

"Let's go home, please, I'm starving," Nat said.

"You guys wanna get pizza? I'm buying," Stephen said, and the girls took that offer.

Each entered their respective vehicles, Stephen in his and Violet with her mother in hers, and pulled away from the house. As they headed back to the city, Natasha was so happy to have her daughter back she couldn't even begin to comprehend the messages the website was becoming inundated with. E-mails from mothers and daughters alike, from families broken apart or still together, from parents with dead children and children with dead parents, all commending Natasha for her bravery, and Violet for being just as brave if not braver than her mother for putting herself first for once and demanding change. She'd deal with it in a few days, when the dust had settled, and for the moment is was Jay's problem. She didn't know this livestream would change her career, she just knew that she had Violet back in her arms, and that was all that really mattered.

Her family was broken. But it was her family. And she loved it just as much.

                                                                                             ***

                                                                            14 YEARS EARLIER

"I wanna be on TV," Nat said, sitting outside with Stephen, smoking a joint between them; "Something where I can help people, like a sexier Mr. Rogers," she added.

"Please, there's no one sexier than Mr. Rogers," Stephen remarked, making her snort.

"You're right, it's true! That modesty, such a turn on," she said, making him laugh as well. She took another hit than handed the joint back to him as she sipped her drink and looked up at the stars. They were sitting on a friends apartment roof during a party, escaping the noise and the crowd for a moment.

"Besides, Mr. Rogers wasn't on cable, and that's where the big bucks are," Stephen said, taking a long drag.

"It's not about money, man, it's about, like, making sure others are okay too, you know?" Nat asked, "that's why you go to public access, because that's where the people who are most vulnerable can find you. The ones who need the most help."

"You sure you want people to have access to you, publicly?" Stephen asked, and Nat thought for a moment.

"...yeah," she said, nodding, "Yeah I do. At least for a while. We'll see how I feel in twenty years."

"Remind me to ask you how you feel in twenty years then, Stephen asked, leaning in and kissing her, as she kissed him back, the fireworks exploding overhead, celebrating the new year that'd just arrived. She'd tell him she was pregnant tomorrow. Start the new year out right. Til then, the cells in her stomach would be her little secret. She knew he'd be delighted. She just figured tonight should be memorable as their last night as young, hip people instead of upcoming parents and all that that responsibility brings with it.

"For what it's worth," Stephen said, "I'd sleep with Mr. Rogers."

"Well I can't blame you, so would I," Nat replied, the both of them chuckling, "that'd be a very fine day in the neighborhood indeed."