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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oooh, watcha doin'?" she asked.

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

"Could we be?"

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

                                                                                                           ***

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it pumpkin?" Wyatt asked.

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

"The airplane?" Rachel asked.

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

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

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

"That'll be 14.50," Peggy said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                       ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                            ***

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

"Um, someone is here to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow, that's eight whole steps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wyatt?" she asked softly.

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                          ***

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

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

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

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

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

So long as nobody else found the unit, he knew he'd be safe. But as Brighton's death had proved, nothing in life has guarantees.
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"What even is perpetual motion?" Rachel asked as she and Calvin walked down an aisle made up of tables at a local college. This was the yearly science fair for anyone in the community to be involved in, and it was something that, for a long time, Calvin himself had been a part of. Nowadays, he simply liked to walk along and look at all the various entries from people in the neighborhood or attending the college.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh...yes?" Calvin asked.

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

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

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

"Absolutely," Calvin said.

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

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

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

"We're not close," Calvin said.

                                                                                                            ***

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

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

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

"Well, I forgot," she said.

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

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

"That's mine!" Wyatt said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, after waffle wednesday-"

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

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

"Can you come?" Mona asked excitedly.

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

                                                                                                        ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                             ***

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

"What?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you suggesting-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                                                           ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John Tarnum was standing in front of the plexiglass, hands firmly pressed against it, as his eyes stared dead center on the little girl swaddled up in a bassinet among a dozen others. He smiled and exhaled, blinking, trying to remind himself to breath now and again. He backed away from the glass and felt someone tap him on the shoulder, which caught his attention. He turned, coming face to face with a nurse standing there, holding a clipboard, who merely smiled at him.


"Is she everything you thought she'd be?" the nurse asked.


"She's...perfect. Everything's perfect," John said, "uh, do I have to...?"


"Oh, right," the nurse said, handing him the clipboard and a pen, "these need to be filled out. And we need a name for her."


John looked back towards the nursery, then chewed his lip momentarily before he nodded and jotted a name down on the paper. He filled everything else out, then handed the clipboard back to the nurse, who smiled when she looked at it.


"That's lovely," she said, "Congratulations."


"Thank you," John said.


Now was the time to get his act together. Stop drinking. Stop partying. He and his girlfriend needed to finally grow up and be the adults that this little girl needed them to be. John made a promise to himself, and his new daughter, right then and there...no matter what, he'd always be there for her. And he never broke that promise.


                                                                                  ***


John was sitting at a picnic table in a park, watching his daughter try and chase the other kids but to no avail. Lauren seated herself next to John and handed him his coffee, which he thanked her for before sipping it. Lauren tossed her dark chocolate brown hair and sighed as she watched with John, before lowering her voice to a near whisper and leaning towards him.


"She looks miserable," Lauren said.


"Of course she looks miserable," he said, "all she wants to do is run with the other kids and she can't even do that. These fucking crutches make it hard for her to play with anyone."


"....what do we do?"


"How the hell should I know?" John asked, shrugging, "we just...we love her and tell her that none of this matters and all that matters is how much we love her, I guess?"


Lauren smiled briefly before wiping at her eyes, feeling John rubbing her back.


"...i feel so guilty," she whispered, almost crying, "like...i did this to her."


"You had no way of knowing that what you were taking would endanger her in the womb," John replied, "these things just happen. She's great, disabled or not, it doesn't matter. And you didn't do this to her. This wasn't your fault. We were young and stupid, we had no way of knowing."


Lauren nodded, taking in his words, but never once acknowledging them. No matter what John might tell her, she'd never buy it. As her eyes wandered back up to watch their daughter, finally sitting in a sandbox with some other girls and playing with dolls, she felt like maybe John was right in the sense that things would be fine. They adored their daughter, and no matter what, that was all that really mattered. Lauren leaned over and buried her face in John's neck, making him blush as he stroked her hair and simply watched his daughter play.


Just a few short years ago, when John was in his early twenties, he never could've pictured being what his father had once called a "family man". He never pictured being married, and especially never pictured having a child, a daughter especially, and now...god, now he didn't know how he'd ever lived without them. Without this lifestyle. He didn't realize just how badly he needed this level of stability, and how his wife and daughter probably saved him from drinking himself to death. He was grateful for that, definitely, but he was even more grateful simply for being given a chance to love them to begin with.


Sure, his daughter couldn't walk without crutches, but he didn't give two shits about that. He'd defend her to the death, and if anything, this only made her even cooler, because she wasn't like everyone else.


Just like her mother.


                                                                                 ***


"What is it, what is it?!" she shouted excitedly, tearing at the gift wrapping as John and Lauren watched around the table, laughing at her unbridled joy. Finally she wrenched the gift from its packaging and screamed again, squeezing it to her chest, thanking them repeatedly.


"I hope that's what you wanted, cause I'm no good at picking this stuff out," John said.


"It is! It is! Thank you!" she said loudly, so unbelievably happy.


"I'm glad," John said, pushing forward on the table towards her another package, adding, "we got you some accessories and clothes and stuff to go with it. Hopefully you like this stuff, but if not, we can always return it for something else."


It was their daughters 11th birthday, and it was spent at home, except for dinner, when they went to her favorite pizza place. That night, after Lauren had passed out on the couch watching an old western on TV, John walked to his daughters bedroom and saw her lying in bed, brushing her dolls hair. He entered and sat on the side of the bed, watching her.


"...you have a good birthday?" he asked.


"Mhm," she said, nodding, "I just...I wish I had friends who'd come."


"I know honey, I'm sorry," John said.


"You and mom are my best friends, and that's cool, cause you guys are cool, but I wish I had friends my age too. They all just look at me weird cause of my crutches," she said, "sometimes it feels like everyone at school is making fun of me at the same time, like I'm some big secret joke they all share."


John felt his heart tear a little bit, but he reached out and stroked her cheek gently, making her smile.


"Happy birthday honey," he said softly, leaning in and kissing her between the eyes. She laid down and snuggled up under the blankets, so he could tuck her in. She squeezed her doll to her chest and as he exited, he stopped when she called after him and looked back at her, finger on the lightswitch.


"I love you dad," she said.


"Love you too kiddo," he said.


With that, he flicked the light out and shut the door, leaving it only open a smidgeon so the hallway light could creep in, knowing she was still somewhat scared of the dark. John walked back to the living room and woke Lauren up, then helped her get to the bedroom. Once they were both in bed, she laid her head on his chest and, still half asleep, muttered, "she's so me."


"What do you mean?" John asked.


"nobody ever came to my birthdays either," Lauren said, but before she could further elaborate, she too passed out.


                                                                                ***


Lauren Knopf met John Tarnum when they were in their early twenties. She was a guest at a party he worked at, and she found his clown persona both hilarious and ripe for razzing, which she definitely took advantage of. After the party, she wrote her number down on his hand, and said they should go drinking sometime. Soon enough, they were. In fact, their drinking got so out of hand that he often invited her to the parties he'd work, and have her bring a cooler with her so they could drink when they had a chance.


But Lauren went further than drinking, doing things John would never be interested in, and it worried him. She was careful. She was never careless, but still, her behavior worried him. That was why, when she told him she was pregnant, he was secretly thrilled, because if nothing else, this would curb her drug usage. Unfortunately for John, the opposite wound up being true. Not only did she continue to do whatever she wanted - albeit on a somewhat lower scale - but also became addicted to the pain medication the hospital had given her for her pregnancy. However, once their daughter was born, John sat with her in the hospital room and told her they had to stop, and, much to his surprise, she agreed.


Perhaps it's the actual act of having a child now, or perhaps it was simply her realizing she couldn't go on like this, but whatever the reasoning, Lauren agreed to quit. John helped her into a program, and even attended with her now and then for support, and eventually she not only wasn't using drugs, but she wasn't even drinking anymore, something John never thought he'd see her give up.


That's why, when he came home from work one night to find Lauren and their daughter missing, along with her car, he was perplexed. The only thing he could find missing - aside from the car and his family - was a bottle of pain pills. John debated calling the police, but eventually relented and in fact did phone them up. When they found her, however, he wish he'd never asked for help. The thing about the police finding your family, and not finding them on your own, is that they often won't let you see the aftermath, and John needed to see the aftermath. The car had plowed into the side of a building downtown, an old abandoned tool store, and when John pulled up and ran towards the accident, the cops held him back, and no matter how much he screamed and kicked and cried, they wouldn't let him closer.


For hours he sat in a hospital waiting room, trying to figure out what he would do if...if....god he couldn't even finish that thought.


After a while, a female cop approached and handed him a ziplock bag with a piece of paper inside it, saying she thought he should have it. She didn't give her name, or any other reasoning, before she left as abruptly as she'd arrived. John opened the bag and pulled the paper out, reading it, his insides tearing themselves apart.


"I love you so much. But I hate myself. I hate myself, and by extension, I hate her, because she IS me, John. That's why I'm doing this. Removing us from the world. I'm so sorry, but I'm an awful person, and I don't deserve to be here. I'm so sorry to take her away from you. I'm so so sorry that I couldn't be what you needed me to be. Just like I could never be what my parents needed me to be. I love you. Please don't hate me. Love, Lauren."


And John didn't hate her. When they finally came out and told him Lauren was gone, he doubled over on the floor and screamed. Two nurses helped console him, but he was damn near inconsolable. Other people in the waiting room watched, the looks of sheer, abject sadness on their faces at seeing this man fall apart in public. And still, he didn't hate her. He understood how she felt, why she felt the way she felt, he'd never hate her for her problems. Her problems were what he fell in love with. He loved how imperfect she was.


He just wished he had told her that more often.


                                                                               ***


John, sitting in the diner that morning with Lilian and Alexis, sipped his coffee and spooned scrambled eggs into his mouth.


"All I'm saying is that, even if, by some act of god, I was hired by some rich family for their kids party, I'd find some way to get myself involved with that family. I'd fuck the dad or...I don't know, find some way to become part of that family. I don't want a sugar daddy. I want a sugar family," Alexis said, making John chuckle.


"Well, I think you're looking at this all wrong. Clearly, the thing to do would be to parlay it into working for every other rich family as well. Make it so that you're the best, and thus, only performer worth hiring. Endear yourself to the local rich population, and then soon enough they invite you to their country club."


"Great, yeah, I can't wait to be racist and wear poodle skirts," Alexis said, making John laugh loudly now.


"I just meant that, by that point, you'll have become such a fixture within the community, someone will meet you, fall for you and marry you, and boom, now you're rich, and all without being a homewrecker," Lilian said, cutting her pancakes into pieces.


"But I wanna be a homewrecker!" Alexis said, "that's the dream!"


John wiped his mouth on his napkin, finished his coffee and sighed.


"Well," he said, pulling his jacket on, "engaging as this discussion is, I have something to do."


"You working today?" Lilian asked.


"Kind of," John said, standing up from the booth and wishing them a good day before leaving. He walked to the parking lot, got into his car and drove to his trailer, where he changed into his clown costume and then drove towards the hospital. He parked in their lot, entered through the back entrance, and was greeted by everyone who worked there. They'd come to know him over the years, and were always happy to see his Stinko persona. He walked down the halls, stopping in a few rooms for sick kids and old people, brightening their day, before finally stopping at a room on the 4th floor.


He walked into the room and the woman lying in the bed looked up from her book and squealed in joy at seeing him. John walked in, honking his nose at her, making her giggle. John sat down on the bed as she sat up and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. John, almost on the verge of tears, patted her on the back and squeezed her back, never wanting to let her go again.


"Daddy," she whispered.


"I'm here cupcake," he said, "I'm here."


His daughter had somehow survived the collision, but now she not only was on crutches, but she had suffered fairly severe brain damage as a result of her mothers decision. John didn't care though. She was alive. She was here. She was what he had left, and he loved her to the ends of the earth.


"How are you feeling today?" he asked, looking her in the eyes.


"I'm okay," she managed to say, slurring her speech, "read to me?"


She handed him the picture book she'd been looking at, and he smiled and nodded, taking the book from her. He loved reading to her, and he'd never pass up the opportunity. He opened the book and noticed the inscription on the inside, the one she'd written herself when she was only 7 years old, her words forever scribbled in that little girl handwriting.


                                                     "This book belongs to: Star Tarnum."


Sure, it was a sort of hippy name, but he didn't care. She didn't care. Lauren hadn't cared. She was their star. And now, to John, she was his northern star, always guiding him back home, back to her. He'd experienced immense loss, and from that, he'd learned to be truly funny, because nothing makes you realize the absurdity of life like intense grief. But more than anything else, he was simply thrilled she was still here, in any way, shape or form.


Life was kinda funny that way.

Published on
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.
Published on
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.
Published on

"I can't remember the last time I even went on a date," Lilian said, standing in her bathroom, applying makeup while she talked on the phone to Alexis; she continued, "and I mean, like, an honest to god actual date. Not one of those random hookups I did at parties sometimes with someones uncle or something. I mean like a real date with someone I genuinely like."


"Well," Alex replied, "at least you'll be able to fall back on the excuse of being rusty. Besides, it's not like you have to impress her. She's already smitten with you."


"...are you eating?" Lilian asked.


"I'm lying on the couch eating an entire gallon of Cookies and Cream ice cream," Alexis said, "why?"


"Did you even try and eat dinner?"


"This IS dinner, thank you," Alexis replied, making Lilian chuckle.


Lilian put her makeup away and headed back into her bedroom to get dressed. At the moment she was just wearing her underwear, so she started rooting around in her closet to find something both suitable and comfortable. She wanted to look good, but she didn't want to sacrifice sensibility for fashions sake. Lilian sighed and sat on the end of her bed, staring at her closet and shaking her head.


"I hate my closet," she said.


"Why? Something live in it?" Alexis asked.


"I mean I hate my wardrobe, like, what I have to wear," Lilian said, "I really am in the need of new clothes. I've had these same outfits for the last decade. I haven't bought anything new in ages. I think being in beauty pageants really ruined any interest I might've had in looking good."


Suddenly, a knock at the door, and Lilian's eyes widened.


"Shit! She's early!" she said, "I have to go!"


She hung up the phone and quickly grabbed a pair of tight jeans and a crop top with a small jacket to go over it from her closet, then threw it all on. Another knock at the door, and Lilian ran into her bathroom again, grabbed her hairbrush and then rushed back into the living room, brushing her hair as she answered the door. Miranda was standing there, in a long black floral print dress and a big sunhat. She smiled at Lilian, who stood aside to let her into her apartment.


"Sorry, I was in the bathroom," Lilian said, continuing to brush her hair as Miranda entered.


"Nice place," Miranda said, turning around in the room before landing their sights back on Lilian herself, and adding, "you don't look too bad yourself."


"Hah! Well, thanks so much for the backhanded compliment," Lilian said, stepping forward and putting their hands on Miranda's hips before leaning up and kissing them. After it broke, Miranda said she had made some plans for them, and they should get going. Lilian agreed, and together they exited the apartment for the night, but Lilian already knew she would be bringing Miranda back home later.


                                                                                 ***


"You guys gotta find a way to co-exist, man," John said, sitting in the diner with Tyler, as they both ate; John took a sip of his coffee and added after a sigh, "like, if you guys can't be friends, you sure as hell can't be co-owners of a business or even co-workers for that matter. This isn't the same as a typical business, you know? This is something you all actively decided to build together, so you HAVE to find a way to get along."


"It's not me," Tyler said, sipping his soup from his spoon, "I love everyone who works with us. It's Vera. Vera and Alexis specifically. You saw it at the park, it's rough. And we're all worried for Alex, honestly. She's got a lot of problems, and we're all very concerned one day she's going to do something she can't undo."


"That's her decision then," John said, shrugging, "I mean, it's noble to worry, but in the end, she's going to do what she's going to do."


Just then they noticed Rina and Maddie standing by the table. Tyler raised an eyebrow, confused by their sudden appearance, while John merely continued drinking his coffee and then put his cigarette out.


"What are you doing here?" Tyler asked.


"She wanted to see Lilian, but she doesn't appear to be here," Rina said, pushing her way into the booth, sitting next to Tyler as Maddie sat beside John; Rina added, after taking a spoon and having some of Tyler's soup, "she says it's very important and she needs help."


"What could be so important that you'd come find us at this time of night?" Tyler asked.


"...I think my mom is killing my dad," Maddie said, "the other day, I tried to drink something she'd made for him, and he told me it was poisoned, and that's why he wasn't eating or drinking anything she was making for him. He hasn't been getting better, probably because she's poisoning him and because he's too scared to eat or drink anything she makes. I don't know what to do or who to talk to about it though."


"...that's...that's a LOT," Tyler said, "oof, jeez. Do you have any proof outside of your dads words?"


"No," Maddie said, shaking her head slowly, "that's what stinks. I don't have any real proof. I wanted to talk to Lilian."


"Well, she's not here," Tyler said, "Sorry. But I could call and leave her a message."


Tyler scooted past Rina, who followed him as she wanted to leave something on the message as well, so Lilian would take it more seriously. Maddie looked at John, then sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap.


"What if it's not true? What if she's not, and he's just saying that to make me hate her? They've fought so much..."


"Well," John said, "parents will do that, sure, but that doesn't make it right. Either way, the fact that you're worrying about it being fake instead of taking it at face value proves how intelligent you are for your age, because a lot of kids would just believe anything their folks tell them. But you've known them to be liars, fighters, and you're not going to just believe something because someone said it. That doesn't mean you shouldn't take it seriously, because it very well COULD be true, but still."


"...why are they doing this to eachother? To me? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't ask for them to be my parents," Maddie said, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears. John sighed and took a long sip from his coffee, then patted her on the shoulder and pulled her into his side, wherein she started crying against him.


"It's okay kiddo," he said, "you just cry, it's okay to cry. This is too heavy for someone your age to deal with, but you're very strong for dealing with it and I'm proud of you."


Watching from afar as Rina left her half of the message, Tyler couldn't help but be somewhat in awe of Johns sweet nature. He came off as so gruff, with an anger just below the surface, and yet here he was, being tender and comforting to a little girl. He was surprised by his ability to talk to kids. That was what everyone was missing, he thought. Anyone could perform at a kids party, but that doesn't mean just anyone could relate to a kid.


                                                                                    ***


"This place is beautiful," Lilian said, as she sat in an old vintage metal chair on a balcony of a small restaurant, overlooking the cityscape; she looked across the table at Miranda, who smiled at her as she drank from her glass of wine.


"It is, it's one of my favorite places," Miranda said, "it helps to get above everything and look down on it. That way, I've found, it doesn't seem so overwhelming. If you can pull yourself far enough away from something, I've found, then it helps make it look less intimidating. It's like being in an airplane, you know? Looking down on the world, like they're just ants."


"...you look so good," Lilian said, blushing, "Sorry, that...that might've been weird to say."


"No, I appreciate it! I put a lot of effort into this," Miranda said, chuckling, "I'm glad you think so! I don't think I've ever seen you with makeup on."


"I wear makeup to every party I work!" Lilian said.


"Really? Wow. Well, maybe I just didn't notice. Now that I'm, ya know, looking only at you, it's easier to spot I guess. I never noticed how long your eyelashes are either," Miranda said, "unless they're extensions. I don't know what to believe, considering you used to do beauty pageants."


"Everything about me is fake, it's true," Lilian said, the both of them laughing as she continued, "it's nice to be here with you. It's about time we did something like this, you know, something just the two of us. Something...nice. We've both been working so much, it's exhausting. I kinda want a vacation."


"If we both take our vacation at the same time, we could go somewhere together," Miranda said, "unless that's, ya know, moving too fast or whatever."


"Girl, I don't think there's even such a thing as moving too fast at this point in my life," Lilian said, as Miranda continued drinking her wine and the waiters brought their respective meals, setting the plates down on the table in front of them. Lilian didn't usually get to go out and do things just for herself, just for fun, and this was definitely a much needed reprieve from the typical night. She felt bad, thinking about Alexis being by herself all night, but that was how she wanted to spend her time. She shouldn't be judged for it, just like she shouldn't be judged for being out with Miranda, and how Miranda shouldn't be judged for who she was.


Lilian might've been brought up in a community surrounded by judgement, but she made a concerted effort to prove she was anything but judgemental.


                                                                                 ***


"What if turns out to be true?" Maddie asked, wiping her eyes on her striped sweater sleeve, "what...what if...what if she does kill him because I don't do anything? Or what if it's all fake and then I don't know who to trust anymore? Which would be worse?"


"Parents who pit their children against one another shouldn't have children in the first place," John said, "is there anything you can think of that might make you think your father might be telling the truth? Do you have a parent you think is more reliable and trustworthy?"


Maddie thought for a minute. Neither of her parents had ever really been there for her much beyond doing what was expected of them. Doing their parental duties; attending school meetings, feeding and housing her, partaking in holiday events, those sorts of things that are inescapable by society standards. Maddie tried to think about something her parents had actively done with her, any sort of activity they'd participated in together willingly...but she drew blanks. She looked at John and shook her head.


"...neither," she whispered, "they're both bad."


John sighed, finish his coffee and then took a bite of the sandwich he'd ordered before leaning back in the booth, then turning to face Maddie, folding his legs on the booth. She quickly turned and faced him in the same manner.


"When I was in my mid twenties, I met a woman. Her name was Lauren, and she was....she was just the best, you know? Just...the kind of person that, once you meet, it seems like you've known one another forever," he said.


"Kinda like Lilian and me," Maddie said.


"Sure," John said, smiling, "anyway, Lauren and I got serious, and we talked about having kids. In the end, we decided it was best not to, because we knew neither one of us was capable of dealing with what that lifestyle change brought. I'm proud of making such a decision for the sake of an unborn child, instead of just rushing in headfirst and bringing a kid into the world that I then couldn't take care of. That wouldn't be fair to me, but more importantly, it wouldn't be fair to them. Sometimes parents have kids because it's what's expected of, or because they really believe they're in love and it's what they want. Do you think your parents could really hurt one another, or you?"


Maddie chewed on her lip, and after a long moment, she shook her head.


"No," she said, "I don't think so. But I can't shake the question of what if I'm wrong?"


"Then you're wrong. But it's on them, sweetheart, not you," John said, "remember, no matter what they try and make you think or feel, you are a kid, and their lack of functioning is not your fault. You are not responsible for their happiness."


Rina and Tyler finally walked back to the table and Rina tapped Maddie on the shoulder, making her look back at Rina.


"We should get home," she said, "Your mom will be home from work anytime now."


Maddie nodded, and climbed out of the booth, waving goodbye to Tyler and John, then taking Rina's hand and, together, exiting the diner. Tyler slid back into the booth and continued eating his soup, which was somewhat cold now. After a minute, John lit up a new cigarette, and Tyler looked up from his bowl at him.


"You really have a way of dealing with kids," Tyler said, "so what happened to Lauren? You guys break up or?"


"Naw, we got married, had a kid," John said, surprising Tyler.


"But...but you just said-"


"I know what I said," John replied, interrupting Tyler, "but that's not the point. That truth is my truth. The lie is healthier for her to live with than what actually happened."


"...what...what did actually happen?" Tyler asked cautiously.


"Doesn't matter. Sometimes people just go away," John said, "Hey, can I get some more coffee over here please?"


                                                                                ***


Standing in the hallway, Lilian trying to unlock her apartment door as Miranda stood behind her, she couldn't shake the giddiness from her gut. After she finally heard the lock click and the door swung open, Lilian turned to face Miranda and exhaled slowly.


"I guess we should do this again," Miranda said, "whenever you're available, just let me know."


"You should really come inside," Lilian said, surprising Miranda.


"...uh, that's a little forward," she said, laughing.


"I know, I know that, and I should apologize for it but...okay look, I'm gonna level with you...for the past few years, the only people I've slept with have been weirdos and creeps I meet at the parties I work. Guys who ask me to keep the crown on, because it makes them feel like they're...well, I don't have to explain to you the implications. They're perverts, plain and simple. Sex has been so empty and meaningless for so long that I don't even remember what it's like to have it with someone you genuinely are attracted to."


"This is really up front," Miranda said, laughing, "I appreciate your bluntness."


"I know it's weird, and I know we've only known one another a while, and we've only gone out a few times seriously, but...I really like you. I like you in a way that I don't know that I've ever liked anyone, and that's scary to me, but it's also exhilarating. I spent so much of my life trying to please others with my beauty that I forgot I was allowed to find someone beautiful too, and you're so beautiful, and...god, please come in."


"First of all," Miranda said, chuckling as she looked at her feet and blushed, "I'd like you to know this is the most awkward and pathetic anyone has ever been to get into my pants, and secondly, I'd like you to know just how well it's working."


Lilian laughed, finally feeling the tension break, as she took Miranda's hand and slowly brought her into the apartment. The door shut behind them, and they didn't even bother turning the lights on. She dragged Miranda to her bedroom and pushed her on the bed, climbing on top of her and kissing her as much as she could everywhere she could. Miranda couldn't help but feel a little flattered, as she'd never experienced this level of adoration from anyone romantically. Miranda reached up and ran her hands through Lilian's hair as she fell on her back, Lilian fully on top of her.


"I can understand why you were in beauty pageants," Miranda said quietly, "but the beauty I see isn't the same beauty they saw."


"God you're such a sap," Lilian replied, both of them giggling nervously, until Lilian, her eyes watering with tears, quietly whispered, "I think I'm in love with you."


"I think I'm okay with that," Miranda remarked, kissing her back.


Come the following morning, when Lilian woke up next to Miranda, she couldn't believe what she'd done. She'd actually done something for herself for a change, and she didn't even feel all that selfish about it. But, even moreso than that, she couldn't help but appreciate the fact that, for the first time in years, she was in a bed with someone she actually wanted to be in bed with, and not just because she wanted some kind of release. Lilian pulled herself up to Miranda's side, and felt Miranda wrap her arms around her, and together they fell back asleep until the early afternoon.


Sometimes the hero a princess gets is never the one she expected.

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"I appreciate the drive," John said, clicking his seatbelt in as Lilian pulled away from the trailer and headed back to the front gates as he continued, saying, "especially, you know, after what you did to my car."


"Uh, pardon? You did that to my car," Lilian said.


"Well, we can agree to disagree," John said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and asked, "can I smoke in here?"


"I don't care."


John lit up his cigarette, rolled down his window and held it out so it wouldn't ash in the car seeing as Lilian's didn't have an ashtray built in. They sat in silence for a bit, then finally John turned and looked at her again as she pulled up to a red light.


"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked.


"...because we really need an adult," Lilian replied.


John couldn't argue with that.


                                                                                  ***


The company used to have a monthly get together, where everyone would come, not in costume, and would discuss business and their recent interactions with guests, and of course, company issues. Usually it was held at a nearby park, but since Vera and everyone else had essentially made a new company and left the old one in the dust, they couldn't hold it there anymore. Vera suggested they not only continue the tradition, but also move it to a very old park that nobody really went to anymore. This park was on the opposite side of town from the previous, so same distance just in a different direction, and was wild west themed. It was an unusual park, but considering these were unusual people involved in an unusual business, it all seemed to fit together quite nicely. Besides, Tyler, being a cowboy, really liked it.


Tyler and Vera had come together, while Alexis had been given a ride by Josh. Alexis and Josh were already there by the time Tyler and Vera arrived, and were surprised to find them hanging out on a defunct train car that had been used in an actual highway robbery back in the day.


"Better make sure you don't fall off," Vera said, "you could really hurt yourself. That shit's real metal."


"Yeah, thanks MOM," Alexis said, rolling her eyes, "I know that, and I like to live dangerously. It's not like it's moving."


"So," Vera said, looking from Alexis to Josh and smiling, "how are you liking working with us?"


"I gotta admit, it was a bit weird at first," Josh said, "uh, but I do like it. It's...I don't know, oddly comforting? Like, it's nice to be around kids, happy kids, and they're happy because the day is about them and you're there to make the day better so in a way you're making them happy. It's nice to have a life filled with joy instead of resentment."


"That's probably the most elegant way anyone's ever described what they do here," Vera said, "you should've heard her last evaluation response when asked how she liked working with us," she added, nodding at Alexis. Josh looked at Alexis, who was taking a bite out of an apple.


"I said 'it's cool as shit, dawg', which, in my defense, is a valid and accurate response," Alexis said, making Josh laugh, and even Vera chuckled before she turned away from them and checked her wristwatch, sighing. Tyler sidled up to her and touched her shoulder, his voice low.


"Everything okay?" he asked.


"I don't know where Lilian is," she said, "she should be here by now."


                                                                                  ***


"I can't believe you work for a company that does this," John said, "honestly, that's weird. I never worked for a company. There's no Clown Organization I go through or anything. I'm just a clown. I didn't have to get certified. It's just odd is all."


"Well we like to appear professional, we want the people who hire us to know that they don't have to worry about our behavior and that we are dependable and appropriate around their children," Lilian said as she turned a corner and began heading down another street towards a bridge, crossing into the other side of town.


"I just mean," John said, coughing and tapping his cigarette outside the window, "that I didn't choose this because it was some life calling. I chose it cause it was easy, and I'm lazy as shit. It's not like I told my mom and dad 'hey, when I grow up, I'm gonna be a clown!' because who honestly chooses that as a profession? Weirdos, that's who."


"But the weirdos are our kind of people," Lilian replied, making John chuckle.


"I guess, but I just wish I had a regular set of talents, you know? Carpentry, blacksmithing, baking, those kinds of things."


"What time period do you wanna live in, exactly?" Lilian asked, making him laugh loudly.


"You know what I mean!" he said, "Like, didn't you have any idea, when you were a little girl, what it was you wanted to do when you grew up?"


The car got quiet, as Lillian chewed on her cheek and sighed.


"Not really. My whole adolescence, to a point anyway, was governed by my mother and her obsession with beauty pageants, so I suppose I just accepted at face value whatever she said I would do. I guess I thought I'd be a model? I don't really know, honestly."


John nodded and scratched his forehead. He took another long drag from his cigarette, then ashed it again out the window and exhaled.


"What would you wanna do if you could? Like say tomorrow you could suddenly have any job you wanted without needing qualifications. What would you pick?" John asked, and Lilian smirked.


"This," she said calmly, "I'd choose this."


                                                                                 ***


Josh was sitting outside the park with headphones on, listening to music as they watched the lot, waiting for Lilian's car. When it finally pulled in, they watched Lilian and a man they didn't recognize get out and approach the park. The man waved politely at Josh before heading past them and right inside, while Lilian knelt down and pushed Josh's headphones back a bit so they could hear her.


"You're a bit late," they said.


"I know," she replied, before kissing them and adding, "but who cares. It's not like it's real work. It's just a company event. Is Vera mad?"


"Is Vera ever not mad?" Josh asked as they got up and, along with Lilian, headed inside the park; they continued, "I mean it, she has two modes: angry, and mildly less angry."


"She's got a lot on her plate, a lot to deal with," Lilian said, "especially when you factor in Alexis, who is a handful in and of herself. She's like having a perpetual 17 year old who never stops begging for rides to the mall. God love her but jesus can she be tough to wrangle."


"I was wondering," Josh said, "could I maybe get a replacement name tag?"


"Why? You lose yours?"


"No I...I think I'm gonna change my name," Josh said, making Lilian stop in her tracks. The two stood there, near the front of the park, staring at one another for a minute before Josh added, "you know, cause I...I'm just...I'm not that person that the world thought I was and maybe it'd be better if I started using a name I want that I feel better fits me."


"You'd have to ask Vera but I don't think she'd mind, she's pretty accommodating, any ideas on what you want?"


Josh hesitated, grimacing.


"I've thought about a few, but I haven't really settled on anything just yet," they said, "all I know is that the longer I keep going by the name my parents gave me, the name that doesn't represent who I look like now, the worse I'm gonna feel, and it might even likely present danger to me at some point, considering who I'm around. Nobody needs that nonsense."


Lilian approached them and took their hand in hers, smiling, as she continued to lead them further into the park.


"I think," she said, "whatever name you pick will be great. No matter what, nothing will be worse than Stinko."


Josh furrowed their brow, confused, but soon enough they'd understand.


                                                                                    ***


Maddie had taken to sitting by her fathers bedside ever since he'd come home from the hospital. They didn't talk. He slept most of the time anyway, so she'd read a book or do some homework or color. But she liked being near him. She liked that, even in the state he was in, he was actually home nevertheless. But she was worried...he didn't seem to be getting better. If anything, for what Maddie could tell, he seemed to be getting worse somehow. He was weaker, slower, less energized. She figured it might take a while for him to get back to his usual self, sure, but she didn't understand why no progress at all whatsoever was being made.


The bedroom door opened and her mother, Jessie, entered, carrying a tray of his lunch. Maddie looked up and the two smiled at one another as Jessie slowly crept into the room and set the tray on a nearby dresser, before sitting in a chair next to her daughter and looking at what she was doing.


"English?" she asked, and Maddie nodded; Jessie cleared her throat and said, "you know, if you need any help, I majored in english. It's what I'm best at. I would like to help you on your homework, but only if you really need it."


"Thanks mom, but I'm okay." Maddie said, before glancing towards her father and sighing, asking, "when is dad gonna get better?"


"It's gonna take a bit," Jessie said, sighing and looking at her husband, "he suffered a pretty nasty heart attack, and seeing as it's something that runs in his family, it's something he's going to have to be cautious about now, as are we in regards to helping him. But he should be back up and on his feet soon enough."


With that, Jessie stood up, patted her daughter on the shoulder, and headed back out of the room, leaving Maddie alone with her barely awake father. Maddie sighed and continued to do her homework, until she heard her father grumbling something. She looked back up and leaned forward, hoping to hear him speak. His lips moved, but his words...his words terrified her.


"please...stop her," he said softly.


                                                                                     ***


"I'm a professional," Alexis said sternly.


"A professional what, exactly? Fuck up?" Vera asked, hands on her hips as she and Alexis went at it verbally; she continued, "because I have had SO many complaints about you from various parties you've worked, it's not even funny. You've gone past being a morbid curiosity and into being an outright problem."


"Oh it's so fucking easy for you, isn't it, to judge from you ebony tower," Alexis said, "looking down on me because you don't have the problems I do, because you have family who loves you, because you're not forced to work parties and instead simply do the paperwork for overseeing the people who actually do this job. Look at you, all high and mighty, while I'm just high."


"Alright kids," John said, interjecting himself and pushing both Alexis and Vera down onto benches as he stood between them, "let's get one thing straight. Nothing breaks up a partnership faster than fighting, okay? But nothing also makes your connection to others you care deeply about stronger than fighting. There's a good and a bad way to go about this. Right now you're just spittin' words, and that's just going to get one another bitter and not wanna work together. BUT...if you can find constructive criticism in your harsh critiques, then perhaps we can make this happen. So, Vera, you worry about Alex being on drugs?"


"I don't work high," Alexis said flatly, "I'm not that big an asshole, jesus. Who cares what I do in my spare time?"


"She has a point," John said.


"It's not even about your drug habit," Vera said, "which, you're right, is entirely your business. It's about the fact that you don't behave properly at these events. So many times parents call me up afterwards, and even sometimes during, and tell me things that I cannot believe I'm hearing. Stuff like how you break the illusion of character by talking like a normal person instead of a pirate, or how you sometimes swear. We're supposed to be selling an immersive, family friendly experience."


"We're selling babysitting services and childrens entertainment, don't make it more than it is," Alexis said, looking away and folding her arms, "...that being said, I'll try not to swear, you are right, that isn't appropriate around kids. I guess it became so normalized because my parents swore around me all the time, but that doesn't mean it's okay for me to swear around other peoples children. I'll try and do better on that."


Vera smiled, and John nodded.


"See," he said, "see what happens when we talk firmly, but politely, instead of just screaming at one another? This is what communication and teamwork actually looks like. I've been doing this for 20 years, and let me tell you, in that time, I've rarely worked with others because I've found it impossible to meet with their ridiculous standards. But you all took this upon yourselves, started this business, hell, even left the old one from what Lil told me. That's...that's commitment to your craft, dedication to your work. This is something you decided to do together, so let's make it work for everyone involved, okay?"


Lilian and Josh were sitting a bit away, at another table, and listening to John. Josh finally looked at Lilian, who was just smiling like an idiot.


"Where'd you find this guy?" Josh asked.


"They ran into my car, but they also performed at my party when I was a little girl," she said, "...he's...oddly endearing, plus he's been doing this line of work for so long that I figured it might help to bring him in and get everyone on the same track, which he seems to be doing. I spent the last two weeks just trying to get him to agree to do this."


"Well, he seems pretty good at it," Josh said, "...what do you think about Miranda? I like that name."


Lilian smiled and leaned in, kissing them.


"I like it too," she whispered.


                                                                                ***


"Dad?" Maddie asked softly, prodding her father in his side, but he merely rolled over and groaned. What could he have meant by saying 'stop her'? Stop who? Her mother? Was her mother doing something to him? Impossible. Maddie knew her parents all too well, despite never getting to spend time with them. They were a lot of things, but they weren't killers. Maddie sighed and leaned back into her chair, licking her lips. Thirsty. She looked around and spotted a glass on the bedside table her father had been given, but hadn't drank from.


Maddie leaned forward, picked up the glass and looked at it. Still cold. It was carrot juice, something her father loved, and Maddie herself enjoyed. He wouldn't mind, after all, he hadn't drank from it. She lifted the glass to her lips when suddenly she felt it flung from her hands, the glass falling onto the carpeted floor, the carrot juice spilling everywhere. Maddie was in shock, not just at the action taken, but also at the fact that her father had somehow found the will to sit upright long enough to do this. He then collapsed onto his back and groaned. Maddie got up and looked over him in the bed.


"Dad?" she asked.


"Don't drink what she gives me," he whispered.


"...what? Why not?"


Her father grimaced, tears in his eyes, his lips quivering.


"Because it's poisoned," he said.

Published on
"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.
Published on
"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.
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About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.

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