#what about your fucking daughter. you've got some high hopes of having a daughter-in-law with the way he is anyway

[mishkakagehishka]

And i know when i return i'll either be yelled at or laughed off like little girl throws tantrum or whatever. But i'm genuinely getting real sick of the way i'm treated vs the way my brother is treated. And they don't even notice that shit. I tell my mom "you never take my side and defend me, when i caved and let you take me to get my eyebrows threaded, you said nothing when my brother said i 'finally look like a human being'" and surprise surprise she "doesn't remember that", he "doesn't remember that", but it cut soooo deep into me, i'll never forget it. Whatever tho.

[raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka]

House of the Dragon Ep. 5: We Light the Way, a Summary (Incorrect Quotes Edition)

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Rhea Royce: *goes off hunting in a horse*

Daemon: *appears out of nowhere*

Rhea: Ah, look who it is.

Daemon: *pokerface*

Rhea: So, you here to fuck a sheep?

Daemon: *approaches the horse*

Horse: Aw, hell naw

Rhea: *falls off the horse and breaks her bones*

Daemon: *stares at her* k bye.

Rhea: Craven!

Daemon: *grabs a rock* bitch, wtf did you say?!

. . . . .

Alicent: Daddy, wait. Please don't go.

Otto: the king wants me gone.

Alicent: But dad-

Otto: You've made your choice.

Alicent: Hey, you got yourself fired. All because you want Aegon to be heir.

Otto: Listen, if your hubby dies and your bff sits on the throne, bitches across the 7 kingdoms won't have it. And she'll kill your babies.

Alicent: No, she won't. She's my bff.

Otto: Can't believe you're still in denial.

Alicent: ...

Otto: Look, just prep Aegon to rule and everything will be fine.

Alicent: uh...sure?

Otto: k bye.

. . . . .

Laenor: *spars with his bf*

Viserys: *arrives at Driftmark*

Laenor: oh shit, it's the king. Be cool.

Laenor and Joffrey: *bows*

Lyonel, to Laenor: Where tf is your dad? He should be here.

Laenor: uh...

Laena: Welcome to High Tide!

Lyonel: wtf is this how you greet your king?

Laena: my dad just got back from travelling. He's in the hall waiting for you.

Lyonel: wtf-

Viserys: dude, chill. let's just get on with it.

. . . . .

Larys: A pretty flower shouldn’t be here.

Alicent: What?

Larys: *points to a flower bush* No, I mean this flower shouldn’t be here, but it is. Anyway, so sorry about your dad being fired.

Alicent: Your dad took his place so...

Larys: Yeah, but I heard-

Alicent: Ok, let’s just cut to the chase. Wtf do you want?

Larys: Well, I saw the maester give princess Rhae-Rhae some Plan B tea in her chambers the same day your dad was fired.

Alicent: Plan B tea?

Larys: I do hope she’s ok though *winky face*

Alicent: Of course, she’s ok. She off to Driftmark with her dad.

Larys: Oh, goody! She’s ok. Glad I was wrong.

Alicent: *questions everything she knows*

. . . . .

Laena: *leads the king to the hall of nine*

Laena, pulling Rhaenyra aside: Come on, Couz. Meetings are so boring, Let’s go to the kitchen and eat.

. . . . .

Corlys: S’up, Viserys. Miss me?

Viserys: *coughs*

Corlys: Dude, you ok? Wanna sit down?

Viserys: *literally coughing* I’m fine.

Rhaenys: *storms in* Hi cousin!

Viserys: *looks ready to faint* Hey, princess.

Rhaenys: You look terrible. You ok?

Viserys: Yeah, yeah, I’m good.

Corlys: So, Lyonel, you got promoted? Congrats, bro.

Lyonel: *blushing* Oh, stop it you.

Corlys: Nah, Otto is a cunt. That bitch should’ve seen it coming. Btw, I’m sorry about your sis-in-law.

Viserys: What?

Corlys: Daemon’s wife is dead.

Rhaenys: Hunting accident. What a waste.

Viserys: *thoughts* wtf am I supposed to do with this info?

Viserys: Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. I think your son should marry by daughter.

Corlys and Rhaenys: ...it’s a deal!

. . . . .

Rhaenyra: We both don’t wanna get married.

Laenor: Couz, you and I are cool. So, it’s ok, I guess.

Rhaenyra: Bitch, please. I know.

Laenor: Know what?

Rhaenyra: That you’re gay.

Laenor: ...

Rhaenyra: Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell anyone.

Laenor: ...

Rhaenyra: Our dads want this to happen, but...

Laenor: What are you saying?

Rhaenyra: I’m saying we produce an heir and then after, we can fuck whomever we want, that alright?

Laenor: omfg, that’s a great idea! It’s a deal.

. . . . .

Corlys: Where’s Laenor?

Rhaenys: He’s hanging out with Rhae-Rhae.

Corlys: Getting to know each other? Nice.

Rhaenys: Babe, they grew up together. They already know each other. But that’s not the main tea.

Corlys: What do you mean?

Rhaenys: You know our son’s gay, right?

Corlys: Babe, it’s just a phase.

. . . . .

Joffrey: So she knows?

Laenor: Yep.

Joffrey: And she’s ok with it?

Laenor: We have no choice.

Joffrey: Huh. Then you’ll need a sworn sword.

Laenor: That’s where you come in, babe.

Joffrey: But who do you think her boy toy is?

Laenor: Idk, honestly.

. . . . .

Criston: Marry me and let’s run away together.

Rhaenyra: What?

Criston: I said, marry-

Rhaenyra: I heard you the first time. Again, what?

Criston: Well, I-

Rhaenyra: I’m the f*cking heir to the iron throne! Why would I wanna do that?

Criston: …

Rhaenyra: But it’s ok. Laenor’s gay so we can still…you know. *Wink-wink*

Criston: So I’m your whore?

Rhaenyra: Well, if you put it that way-

Criston: Wtf *walks out*

Rhaenyra: No, wait-

. . . . .

Alicent: So, Ser Criston, you’re Rhae-Rhae’s sworn sword, right?

Criston: Yes.

Alicent: When her uncle came back, I heard the princess-

Criston: ALRIGHT! I’LL TELL YOU. IT WAS ME. I DID IT. WE DID IT. THERE IT’S OUT! I’M SO SORRY, QUEEN ALI. IF YOU’RE GOING TO PUNISH ME, JUST GIVE ME A MERCIFUL DEATH.

Alicent: Wtf

Alicent: That bitch lied to me.

. . . . .

Jason: So, you have made a great match for princess Rhae-Rhae, I see.

Rhaenyra: Thanks, Ser Jason. And I know, he’s a much better match than you.

Jason: *applies milk of the poppy to burned area*

Viserys and Rhaenyra: *Mental high-fives*

. . . . .

Velaryons: *knows how to make a grand entrance*

Crowd: *applauds*

. . . . .

Criston: *sees the Laenor*

Criston: *thoughts* She’s marrying this gay mofo instead of me? Wtf

. . . . .

Joffrey: *bows to the king and princess*

Rhaenyra, to Laenor: Omfg that’s your bf, right?

. . . . .

Daemon: *arrives uninvited*

Daemon: WHAT’S UP, BITCHES! I’M BAAACK!

Crowd: *gasps*

Rhaenyra: Yay, uncle’s back!

Viserys: WTF

. . . . .

Alicent: *competes with the Velaryons in making a grand entrance*

Larys: Ooh, she wearing green. You know what this means.

Harwin Strong: What?

Larys: Wtf bro? Like the beacon of the hightower.

Harwin: …

Larys: When Oldtown calls its bad bitches to war, you know what color it glows?

Harwin: Green?

Larys: Good, you’re catching on.

. . . . .

Rhaenyra and Laenor: *dances together*

Criston and Joffrey: *being salty af*

. . . . .

Gerold Royce: In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes.

Daemon: I’m sorry, who tf are you?

Gerold: I’m your dead wife’s cousin.

Daemon: Oh, right. Such a terrible thing. She’s dead.

Daemon: Sad, I know. Anyway-

Gerold: It ain’t an accident and you know it.

Daemon: Ooh, you confessing to your crimes?

Gerold: No, bitch, I’m accusing you.

Lyonel: *thoughts* Tf did I just hear?

Viserys: *thoughts* Omfg Daemon killed his wife.

Daemon: Really? Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe we could talk about my inheritance?

Gerold: Inheritance?

Daemon: Dude, we have no kids. That means Runestone is mine because when you’re married, everything is conjugal.

Gerold: Wtf

Daemon: That’s right, I’ll go the eyrie after my niece’s wedding to discuss it. See ya soon.

. . . . .

Joffrey: I have some tea for you.

Laenor: What?

Joffrey: So I figured out who Rhae-Rhae’s boy toy is.

Laenor: Who is it?

Joffrey: it’s Crispy Coleslaw over there. He’s been salty the entire time. Also, she has good taste.

. . . . .

Daemon: *flirts with Laena*

Laena: *flirts back*

Rhaenyra: *get jealous and dances harder*

. . . . .

Joffrey: Hi

Criston: I’m on watch. Wtf do you want?

Joffrey: Let’s get something straight. I know you’re tapping the princess.

Criston: *sweating nervously* Wtf are you talking about?

Joffrey: Look dude, I like Laenor, you like Rhae-Rhae. We should make pinky-swears to protect them and their..secrets. If no one spills the tea, we’ll all be fine.

Criston: *internally screaming*

. . . . .

Laenor: *affectionately hugs Joffrey in public*

Corlys: Tf is this kid doing?

Rhaenys: What did I tell you?

. . . . .

Daemon: *pulls Rhaenyra into the dancing crowd*

Viserys: Wtf daemon! Right in front of my f*cking salad?

Also, Viserys: *continues eating while aggressively staring*

. . . . .

Daemon: So, is this what you want?

Rhaenyra: Tf do you care what I want?

Daemon: Laenor’s ok, I guess. But this isn’t for you, Rhae-Rhae.

Rhaenyra: It’s just like you said, it’s political, nothing more.

Daemon: Btw, my wife’s dead.

Rhaenyra: Really? Why don’t you take me then?

Daemon: What?

Rhaenyra: Is this not what you want? I’m not married yet. You have a chance.

Rhaenyra: Take me to Dragonstone and let’s get married. You game?

Daemon: *grabs Rhae-Rhae’s neck*

Alicent: Wtf am I seeing?

Viserys: *stands in anger* Daemon, you son of a bitch!

Daemon: *kisses Rhaenyra in the middle of the court*

. . . . .

*Fight breaks out in the middle of dancing*

Viserys: Wtf is going on?

Rhaenyra: Laenor, it’s your bf!

Laenor: What?

Laenor: *runs to Joffrey’s aid and attacks Crispy Coleslaw*

Criston: *kicks Laenor aside* Stand back, bitch!

Viserys: Where tf is Rhaenyra?

Lyonel: Harwin, get the princess.

Harwin: Yes, dad. *grabs Rhae-Rhae and carries her like a sack of potatoes*

Criston: *aggressively stabs Joffrey to death in front of everyone*

Joffrey: *Lies dead in the pool of blood*

Laenor: *sees Joffrey’s body and cries like a drama queen*

. . . . .

Laenor and Rhaenyra: *gets married despite the bloody feast*

Laenor: *sad because his bf died*

Viserys: *faints*

. . . . .

Criston: *decides to end his life*

Alicent: Hey, wtf are you doing? Don’t do it!

. . . . . . . . . . . .

I was bored so I did this. 🤣 I'll probably do this with the other episodes too. So excited for the next episode. Gonna miss Milly Alcock and Emily Carey and kudos to them for playing such amazing and complex characters.

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Spoilers: Law & Order: Conviction (2006), Lead, Ripped, Venom, Fault, Informed, Infiltrated, Philadelphia, Florida, Screwed, Paternity, Inconceivable, Undercover, PTSD, Perverted

Trigger warnings: alcohol, references to death, casual sex, murder, pregnancy, childlessness, adoption, PTSD, nightmares, dissociation

Evocations: XIX

If there is only one thing to know, it is this: The woman who exited Witness Protection in 2006 was not the woman who had once been the sharpest Special Victims Unit ADA in New York.

The death of Valez and the extradition of Connors that had permitted her freedom from anonymity also left Alexandra with a life bitten ragged around the edges. Her relationship with her father was never the same; as grateful as he was that his daughter was alive and well, the knowledge that Darcie had gone to her grave thinking Alex was dead was a deep scar to bear.

Everywhere she looked, there was a life she had begun building and then abandoned like a child grown bored of a toy. In Wisconsin, there had been Greg, in her second placement, another man left behind like Alex was some mythical creature they outgrew as they slumbered.

Only men, however - never another woman. It was an edict that had written itself beneath Alex's skin, without deliberation or protest.

She returned to Manhattan without much thought as to whether it was the best idea. It was where she had started her career, so logically it was where she had a professional reputation; not many strings had to be pulled to get herself up and running again. Bureau Chief Cabot had a fine ring to it, even if she did have to supervise a group of newbies chomping at the proverbial bit.

But make no mistake - it was as far from SVU as Alex could get. The soft, hopeful blonde that had dreamed of a life with Olivia Benson, who had grown up privileged and hungry for everything she could get from the world was no more. The Alexandra who resettled in Manhattan was buttoned-up, distrustful, and in it for the win rather than the moral high ground.

The new Alexandra was a woman who used sex to satisfy her need for contact and not much more; who chose her relationships for ease of placement, not depth. When she got lonely she had flings, and when one of those flings turned into an engagement, Alex shrugged and kept up appearances.

She had been Bureau Chief a little over a year when the phone calls started coming. The number she didn't recognize, but the voice on the message had turned her insides into a hot, riotous mix of desire and anxiety.

"Uh hi . . . Alex. It's Li - Olivia. I'd heard you've been back, so I wanted to call and see if you . . . how things are going. Call me back . . . if you want, y'know. You can use this number. Bye."

Olivia's voice on that first message was hesitant, nervous, fumbling. Alex heard all of the unspoken questions holding space between the carefully chosen words: How long have you been avoiding me? Are you okay? Have you forgotten me? Alex let the message sit for a week before deleting it in a moment of weakness, locked in her office drinking bourbon and letting her fingers dance over the phone receiver in entertainment of the idea of calling Liv back.

The second message appeared about two weeks after that.

"Alex," it began, and the put-on confidence made the blonde wonder if Olivia was drinking that time, herself. "Please just give me a call and let me know you're okay. I'm not looking to impose myself on your life."

As cold as it seemed . . . as it probably was, Alexandra still didn't pick up the phone. The illusionary distance that was still between herself and Liv was the only barrier that held firm her new persona. The Alex who didn't want to feel, didn't want to get too close to anything - not people, jobs or cases.

Next it was Elliot who called. Alex had wondered if they were still sleeping together as she listened to Elliot's low voice skirt the boundary of anger and pleading. Had Olivia asked him to call, or had he called on his own after a couple months of watching Liv gaze hungrily at the phone?

Either way, Alex still wasn't swayed. Her career as Bureau Chief ADA plodded forward, and the only time she spoke with Olivia was in her dreams. Another year passed that way, with the calls coming less and less often. Alexandra ended her engagement along the way - an act of mercy, she told herself.

Then another year, until at last she had been out of Witness Protection for three. She couldn't have known that the next time the phone would ring, it would be Jack McCoy. He, too, was asking her to walk directly back into Olivia Benson's orbit - just not for the same reasons.

.

.

On the morning that Alex had left her for a second time, Olivia rose and for just the briefest moment thought that maybe things would be easier. She was quick to realize that, like a slip in quitting any addiction that consumes you, giving her up a second time would be even harder.

Liv put her heart into the work, and bit by bit, the year started to pass.

Then, on a cool evening in October, Olivia opened up her apartment door to find Elliot on the other side, eyes red-rimmed and temples pounding. Just hours before, he had attacked a man for abusing their son. She had no idea where El had disappeared to after that.

Liv hadn't yet had the need to seek out the weight and intensity of Elliot's body since her night with Alex. It had been at least seven months since they had slept together - but she secretly doubted it would ever make a difference. They fit together like two halves of a whole when it came to seeking out this sort of comfort. Soon, they were once again sleeping together as a means to dull the sharp edges of their pain.

The first year that Alexandra was back in Manhattan was such a whirlwind for Olivia that she couldn't have contacted her even if she had been aware of the ADA's presence. Right on the heels of discovering Finn's son had a half-brother that was a murderer, there was the Gitano case - the aftershocks of which were felt long into 2007.

"What about me?" she had murmured to Elliot, but it wasn't their falling into bed together she thought of - it was bigger than that.

She had already lost the love of her life twice over. Elliot was the only solid, steady thing left - the person she could trust, talk to or fuck easily, in equal measure. He kept Olivia anchored in a life where everything else seemed unmoored. If the threat was for that, too, to be taken away then Olivia would do it herself, and first: self-punishment as self-control.

In Oregon, sneaking around in the Hartnells' house, Liv wondered if Alex'd had as much trouble staying within the lines of her new life, back in Wisconsin. Perhaps Olivia was destined only for a singular life, no matter where else events lead her, because that singular life was right where she landed back in the city in 2007.

Right before she took off to Philadelphia, seeking out the brother that was no more than a DNA fingerprint, Liv had finally picked up the phone to call Alex - hoping, in part, that Alex would try to talk her out of it.

The phone never rang.

Philadelphia was a disaster.

Olivia's brother, a fugitive and maybe a rapist, was gone. She was drinking more frequently again, and rage-fucking her partner at every turn. Elliot's concern got him calling after the aloof blonde next, but she remained unmoved.

Summer began to bleed into Fall. Finn's nephew got away with murder, Liv's brother was innocent after all, and, after taking more than two years to sign his divorce papers, Elliot found himself back home with Kathy.

Not prime parent material.

The phrase went around and around in her head after the meeting with the adoption agency. After Olivia first absorbed the news that Kathy was pregnant, she had moved quickly from surprise, to confusion, to jealousy.

Two and a half years, she had fucked Elliot relentlessly, letting him fill her with abandon, no fear of consequence. Not once had they used so much as a condom, and yet Liv hadn't even had a period late enough to raise questions. One night, and Kathy had caught pregnant like it was a common cold.

Elliot Stabler Junior's birth was as inopportune as his conception. His mother lay in the hazy veil between living and dying, while Olivia clutched his tiny body between her own and a foil blanket. When the dust settled, Liv took stock of things - Alex's not calling, Elliot's readymade family, Simon's drama - and decided that it was time for her to build her own family.

But the dream had been short lived. As the agency had put it, she was not prime parent material.

"Any way you want to do it, I'll support you," Elliot had told her, but what could she say?

How could she tell him that she wished his accidental pregnancy had been hers? She would not invite him back into her bed while he was at home. So she forced herself to smother everything that Eli's birth had stirred in her, and turned back to the work to escape the pressing weight of her loneliness.

Perhaps, she told herself afterward, it had been for the best, as she spent the better part of 2008 struggling with PTSD that nobody knew existed. All through Summer and Fall, Olivia had soaked her sheets again and again with the nightmares that replayed Lowell Harris's face. She suffered the flashbacks, the dissociation, alone into November, when still just her therapy group knew.

That was, until she nearly blew Dominic Pruitt's head off. It was the alarming culmination of nine months that had seemed more full than usual of baby and pregnancy cases.

"I want you to take some personal time off," Cragen told her, and Liv listened - not because of the threat of noting her jacket, but because he was the closest she'd ever known to a father.

The elderly gentleman who met Olivia on the sidewalk in front of his tidy bungalow gave her exactly the look she expected. Grinning, she lowered her sunglasses at him.

"Thank you for meeting with me! She's gorgeous!"

'She' was a pristine black Mustang that sat at the curb looking like a misplaced relic out of a greaser's fantasy.

The owner shook hands with her politely, still eyeing her as though he was being played a fool. "That she is! Took better care of her than my wife these last 20 years." He sniffed and chortled, trailing off as he remembered Liv was also a woman.

But Olivia wasn't listening - already pacing the perimeter of the stationary car, eyes twinkling and her heart pounding, in a good way for once. Careful not to touch anything, she came as close as she dared, eyeing the windshield, the tires, lights, interior. Clean, shiny, perfectly intact - the Mustang was a dream; Liv nearly salivated at the perfection of it.

"You wanna take a look at th'engine?" the man broke into her appraisal.

"Can I?" Liv breathed, excited, and it seemed to settle the old man some.

He popped the hood and allowed her to gaze her fill. Like the rest of the vehicle, the engine was practically spit-shined to gleaming.

"Incredible," Liv praised.

"Mm. Lois says I gotta let'ter go, and accept the fact that I look like a perfect fool driving it nowadays."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Nawp," he shook his head, rhyming the word with 'top,' "nawp, she's right - I just don't like admittin' it. So, if you like her, she's yours."

Olivia was struck with a sudden pang of guilt. "Are you sure you don't want to leave it to a grandchild instead?"

The man raised a furry eyebrow at the brunette's sudden reluctance. "Got no grandchildren to speak of, so . . . likely not," he shrugged at last.

Liv nodded, understanding better than he might've realized. She didn't have the wife she had thought she would, or a child she had imagined would complete the picture. What she did have was enough cash in her savings to purchase a house in the suburbs outright, and a craving to get away.

"Then I'd love to take care of her," she told him with a smile.

"C'mon inside then, and I'll sign the pinks. Don't mind Lois," he added, "she'll no doubt want to make you eat somethin' . . . " He kept chatting as he headed up the walk, and Olivia could feel her pulse fluttering in anticipatory delight as she followed.

Fifteen minutes later, when Liv touched the convertible for the first time, it felt like grabbing a live wire. She dropped into the driver's seat with the pink slip in one hand, the feel of the leather almost indecently slick.

The man stood grinning at her from the curb, then tossed her the keys in a high arc that Liv caught easily. "Where're you gonna take her?" he asked, and she knew he meant more than just where she lived.

The engine purred to life like a cat rising from a satisfying nap, and Liv slid her sunglasses back into place. "Somewhere nice and warm," she smiled. "What's her name?"

The man blushed like she had just unexpectedly flirted with him. "Oh. Well, uh - " he rubbed the back of his neck shyly, "you should call her whatever you want."

"Forty-four years is a long time to have a name. She deserves to keep it," Liv insisted.

He straightened and pushed back his shoulders. "I used to call her Miz Dolly," he confessed. "After Missus Parton."

Olivia patted the dash. "She'll be in good hands," she told him. "Come on, Dolly." She pulled away from the curb and was on her way, giving the old man one last honk as she headed out of the neighborhood.

All that was on her mind then was open road and places far from Manhattan Winter. She couldn't have known, then, that in just three months Alex would be making another appearance in her life.

-----------------------------------------------

You can read more about Law & Order: Conviction here if you are curious about how I worked canon into my timeline! - M

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

There's Just Something About The Neighbors

Requested AU--if Leonardo's father had been alive during the story.

***

Flora Haywood liked her new neighbors.

The last ones had been a pain, acting as though the fact that they had moved into a middle-class neighborhood gave them special privileges. They stayed up and partied til the dawn, laughing and hollering until she couldn't sleep any longer. When they moved out, it was a enormous relief. They hoped the newer neighbors were quieter.

They were.

It was a married couple and the husband's father. They moved in quietly one day, not a peep. She stopped by to take some cookies to her new neighbors and the wife thanked her wanly but never invited her inside. She was a pale little thing with long, straight brown hair. She kept tugging her sleeves over the bruises on her wrists ("got them while moving boxes"). 

Flora never saw them outside much. Occasionally the father or husband she would see walking to work, or the wife would be doing yardwork, but other than that, they kept themselves away from the other neighbors. The husband was a handsome blond man who always tipped his hat to her when he saw her on the street. Flora wasn't sure what his job was--she thought he was employed by his father in his business, although she never did find out what business it was. The son had mentioned it was something to do with clothing, possible a factory or high-quality tailor store. 

The only time she had seen the husband's father was when he turned up on her doorstep to inform her that her lawn was becoming too overgrown, and told her to mow it. Didn't ask. Told. That one meeting was enough for her, and she would be glad if she never had to see him again. 

She was surprised to see that apparently the couple had children, as she had never seen them outside. At the grocery store she had run into the wife, sporting a fresh bruise on her cheek and a split lip, and more concerningly, a baby bump and a two-year-old. The child had a chubby round face and thick black hair--recessive genes?

When Flora greeted the wife, she looked panicked and refused to answer any questions about her child. She left the store soon after. From then on, whenever the wife saw Flora outside her home, she ducked inside.

Flora's musings about the neighbors were pushed to the back of her mind when her daughter Caroline came back from college, reeking of pot and dressed like a beatnik. She was taking a semester off to work and raise money for a trip to California. She took odd jobs babysitting around the neighborhood, even for the Borgheses, which did not last long.

"That family is fucking creepy," Caroline told her mother. "Mr. Borghese's father is always staring at me. I'm pretty sure he wants to fuck me. And I think someone is beating those kids. They always have bloody noses and the husband won't let me give them baths; I think they're bruised. Someone should call the cops on them."

Flora was tempted. A couple times, when the sounds of an argument or children crying wafted over to her side of the street, she nearly did. But then she thought of the dark cars that occasionally would be parked in their driveway at night. Of the shady men who were always in and out of their house. And their Italian last name. And she thought better of it.

***

One day when Flora went out to get the mail the wife was sitting on the doorstep crying. One of her younger children, a little blonde girl who looked all of three, was trying to comfort her, but kept looking lost and crying as well. Flora went across the street. "Are you all right, Mrs. Borghese? What's the matter?"

Mrs. Borghese looked thinner than she ever had. Her eyes were holes in her face as she looked up at Flora. "My baby's dead."

"What?" Flora was shocked. "What happened?"

"He... I just... I went in and...his body..." she was talking wildly, seeming desperate to tell her but unwilling to admit to something.

The husband came outside and ushered her in, then picked up his daughter. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Haywood," he said coolly. "My wife has been dealing with a lot over the past few days. We've just had a family tragedy."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can--"

"No, no. But thank you. We just need to deal with this as it comes." He entered the house again and closed the door after him. Flora craned her neck to try and see through the window in the door, but like most things in the Borghese family's life, it was covered tightly by a curtain.

***

Caroline was due for her trip to California, and was waiting outside for her friends to pick her up. Every time she looked over at the Borghese's house across the street she got a little more agitated. "I never saw no funeral for that kid."

"They probably held one privately. They're a private family."

"Too private. They're hiding something. It's fishy that half of those kids got black hair. Either she's screwing around on him or she's getting some on the side from dad-in-law."

Flora was horrified. "Caroline!"

"I'm not saying it was of her own will. That woman looks like a beaten dog half the time. The way the father in law treated her was weird, too. Always shouting at her and giving her orders. And her husband would just stand by and look on. Something fucked up is going on in that household! PROMISE me you'll call the police after we leave? Those poor kids don't deserve to live like that."

"I will," promised Flora, having no intention of doing so.

As she watched her daughter leave, speeding off in a dented Buick with her hippie friends, she looked across the street at the Borghese's house again. The father-in-law was on the porch, watching her. She wasn't close enough to discern his features, but his posture suggested something ominous, and she went inside quickly. The Borgheses were not neighbors you wanted angry.

***

Pippy, her Staffordshire terrier, had taken off across the street in pursuit of a squirrel. Flora was tromping around in her neighbor's backyards, yelling his name. She heard distant crying and snatches of conversation, and followed it out of curosity. After brushing aside a bush, she came to a tall wooden fence--the Borghese's garden, heavily fortified just like everything else about their house. She peered through a slat.

She had never seen their garden before--it was clean and well-kept, just like every other middle class garden. Neatly trimmed lawn, and a white porch swing hanging between two trees. From her vantage point, she was behind the porch swing, looking at the backs of Mr. and Mrs. Borghese as they say side by side on the swing.

The faint sobs that drifted through the air were punctuated with his gentle, soothing remarks. 

"Calm down, dolcezza. I'll kiss you, there. I'll make it all better..."

"Get off me. It needs to stop. You need to do something. You've done nothing in this marriage! You've been no help! You men, all you want is a warm hole to stick it in."

"That not true. I love you."

"If you really loved me you'd do something about this! He'll want to do it with me when you're in the room! And when the children are in the room! How can you let this happen? You call yourself a husband and a father?"

"Patience, we're talking about my father. My father. You are asking the impossible of me. It would be easier to flee to the moon than to go against my father."

"I'll kill myself! I'll kill myself and take every last one of our children with me! I can't live like this!"

"Patience--"

"I will never forgive you for what you did to my parents," she said, and her voice suddenly became icy. "But if you want the slightest, smallest glimmer of my gratitude--if you want me to give you the smallest modicum of respect as my husband and father of my children--the ones which are yours, anyway--"

Flora could not believe her ears. Her knees were hurting from crouching, and her lungs were screaming for air from holding her breath. The details--the unfurling tapestry of horror in front of her very eyes--were so unbelieveable she wondered if she were dreaming. Her daughter had been right. Caroline had been right all along. There was something very wrong with the Borgheses.

"There is nothing I can do. Patience, there is nothing. You're not the only victim here, Patience. How do you think it feels to me, having to watch this happen to you and the children? Do you know the last time I stood up to him? I was eight. Do you know what he did to me? He stomped my head into the floor until blood squirted from my nose. There is nothing I can do." He paused, and his voice became quieter. "Unless..."

The silence that followed was as tense as a bowstring, and Mrs. Borghese finally said, "No. What you're suggesting--it could go wrong. It WILL. He'll know. He'll know--"

The plank Flora had been leaning on shifted, the fence post moaning. The two whipped around, their conversation ceasing, and the minute before Flora turned away, she saw a huge, purpling bruise on the side of her face. Flora acted quickly, hurrying away into the treeline. When she was out of sight she let out a shaky sigh, leaning against a tree. Her legs were shaking, her heart pumping. She suddenly felt a sickening sense of danger. She was not supposed to hear that. 

***

Pippy came back home the next week, muddy and tail wagging, and resumed chasing Mickey, her gray tabby. Flora breathed a sigh of relief. She had barely ventured out of her house since that day, save for groceries, and refused to even look in the direction of the Borghese house. She agonized over whether to call the police. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that Silvio Borghese would find out--and what he would do to her, and, god forbid, Caroline if he did. The sickening knowledge of what was going on in that house made her want to retch. Every time she caught a glance of the children in the yard she wanted to rush over and rescue them. 

That day, the only member of the Borghese house outside was one of the daughters, a young girl with coke-bottle glasses and her thick black hair in pigtails. She was riding her trike down the sidewalk, glancing back at her house every few pedals. She never went past the perimeter of the house, and when she reached the end, turned and pedaled back to the other end. She was so preoccupied with not going past the invisible line that when she craned her neck back to look at the house she lost control and crashed to the ground.

Maternal instincts activating, Flora rushed out and over to the child, picking her up and cradling her. "Oh, my god! You poor thing, are you hurt? Come on, let me look at you."

***

The girl was nervous at being in Flora's home, she could tell. She sat ramrod-straight, her knees pulled together as Flora rummaged around in her bathroom cabinet looking for cotton and rubbing alcohol. 

As soon as Flora applied it, the girl's face went ashen. Tears streamed down her face and her jaw wobbled, but she didn't utter a peel.

It was very odd to Flora, who knew children cried at the smallest things. And this was a deep wound, too--she had skinned her knee. "You can cry, honey. It's okay."

The girl's words escaped in a shaky whisper. "Nonno hates it when we cry."

She said nothing else, and when Flora sent her home with a bandaged knee, the girl went up to the front door, dawdled a bit, looked back, and then finally, reluctantly, pulled the door open and was immediately yanked inside.

***

It had been a few years since the Borghese family moved in across the street. Their children were mostly old enough to go to school, and every day they slogged their way down the sidewalk to Catholic School in their little uniforms, the older ones holding the hands of the younger ones. She never saw them with friends from school or the neighborhood. The Borghese children kept to themselves. They were polite to Flora when they saw her, and spoke mostly in Italian amongst themselves. The only trouble she'd ever had with them was with the oldest son, a hulking child with blue eyes and two front teeth missing. She had found him torturing Pippy while he was tied up in her front yard. He had been beyond the fence, holding a sharp stick and trying to poke his eyes out. Flora had yelled at him, and he had smiled blankly at her with his gap-toothed grin, then turned and trudged back to his house. 

Mrs. Borghese was pregnant again. She was always pregnant. Flora had no idea what the household must have been like with so many children crammed in a medium-sized home, but she rarely heard any racket from the children. There was always an eerie silence from the other side of the street.

Only the sounds of an occasional argument between adults, which were few--at least until now--would sometimes pierce the silence. And it was becoming more common. She could discern the shrill, high voice of the wife, and then the booming, thunderous voice of the father-in-law. Sometimes she even heard one of the children, either crying or adding their voices to the fray. 

One evening when she was pruning her water lilies the wife came to her yard, wringing her hands and asking if she could borrow some peroxide and bandages. Her whole manner was nervy, and she kept stuttering. She wore a yellow gingham dress, but the apron was smudged with dirty fingerprints and the skirt had been ripped and badly mended.

Flora took her inside immediately. As she bent down to rifle through her products under the sink, Mrs. Borghese closed the curtains over the kitchen. As soon as the door had snapped shut, her manner had become more panicked. Mrs. Borghese turned to Flora. 

"Can you do something for me? Please?"

The woman looked so young. Battered and tired, but young. 

"Of course, honey."

"Can you drive me to a hotel? Just, any hotel. I need to--I just--please?"

"Alone? What about your husband? Will you be taking your children?"

She looked stressed. "No. Not them. None of them. I need to be alone. I need to get out of--"

Her rantings were cut short by a soft knock on the door. "Pazienza? What are you doing here? Please come home."

"No!" She cried. She was shaking. "I will not. Leonardo, go away. Leave me be. I won't go back to that house--and that man. You can't make me!"

"Che ne sarà dai bambini?" his voice had softened into barely legible Italian. "Li lascerete in pace?"

Mrs. Borghese fell silent. Her face held a rapidly crumbling resolve. Flora met her gaze and shook her head firmly. Mrs. Borghese's eyes hardened. "This thing has to end. Leonardo, for the good of our children, too. Call--call the police, call Sawyer, hell, you can call the federal fucking authorities if you want to go that route! But I'm not coming back, Leonardo! Not if you drag me kicking and screaming! None of you care about me, how I feel, if I'm tired, and the children, god, the children..."

"Pazienza," he said quietly. "Allora faremo."

She was quiet again. Her face was turned away from Flora, but her shoulders were stiff. On the nape of her neck, half-covered by her hair, Flora saw a thick white scar indented with looked like teeth prints. "Che succederà se falliamo?" She whispered.

"Non lo faremo. Lo faremo insieme. Lo faremo stasera. Stasera. Vieni fuori, dolcezza."

Whatever he said made her reach her breaking point, and she slowly reached out to unlatch the door. Mr. Borghese was standing outside, hair slicked from rain and his suit damp. His face was gentle, but froze minutely when he saw Flora. He probably had hoped she hadn't been listening in. He offered Flora a vague apology and led his wife back across the street, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The streetlamp light glinted coldly off his golden curls.

Flora lay awake in bed, waiting for the argument to begin, the shouting between father-in-law and daughter-in-law. But she heard nothing. It was a quiet night in the sleepy suburb of Dearborne Heights. 

***

Flora was awoken by the scream of an ambulance. Fearing the worst, she threw off her covers and ran out onto the doorstep. 

There were police cars and an ambulance outside the Borghese house. Other neighbors were milling around--police cars were a rare sight in Dearborne Heights.

A policeman went over to push back against the nosy neighbors. "What happened?" Said Flora. "Was someone hurt? Did something happen to the children?"

"Reported suicide. Keep back, keep back."

Her worry broke when she saw the Borghese family huddled near the house, talking to another officer. Mr. Borghese looked calm as he gave his statement, but Mrs. Borghese looked shaken, clutching her many children close to her. Most of the children were crying, some of them looked to be in shock. But some of them had a carefully schooled look on their face similiar to their father's.

Eventually the family separated and got into police cars, and the crowd dispersed, as did the police cars themselves. Flora went back inside, her mind whirring. The whole situation seemed like a dream. The death, the couple, the conversation she had overheard--nothing added up.

Actually, she thought, everything DID add up. Just to a different answer.

***

The next morning Flora heard a knock at her door. She debated whether to answer it, hand hovering near the doorknob, until another, more irate knock sounded at the door.

Flora opened it hesitantly, and a man wearing a broad fedora barged in. He was dressed in a black suit; dark-haired, with wire-rimmed glasses that glinted coldly as he eyed her. "Flora Haywood?"

Flora nodded.

"Mind if I sit down?" He punctuated his words by pulling out a chair from her kitchen table and sitting down anyway. "I'm sure you've heard about the... unfortunate incident at 34 Knight Street, just across from you."

"...Yes... it was Mr. Borghese, Senior, am I correct?"

"I'm afraid so. Silvio Borghese. Single gunshot to the temple, self-inflicted. Horrible, horrible. I understand you knew the Borgheses personally."

"They're my neighbors, but I don't know them well."

His voice was as cold as his eyes. "So if, for example, someone from the police stopped by, and asked you some questions, what would you tell them?"

"Wh-what kind of questions?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Whether you heard anything that night. Whether there had been any... discord in the Borghese household as of late. Simple things, routine things the police tend to ask."

She felt a chill come down her back. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Mr. Borghese, junior. Leonardo." He smiled and got up, perusing her keepsakes neatly lined up on the mantlespiece. To her horror, he picked up a photo of Caroline. "Your granddaughter?"

She swallowed a lump. "Daughter."

"Lovely woman. She looks about the age of my wife. Truly in the prime of her life. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her."

Flora would have done anything he had asked of her in that moment. "I don't know anything about the Borghese family. I heard nothing last night. I don't know a thing. The family keeps to themselves."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "And that's what you'll tell the police?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I'll tell the police! I don't know anything! Please, I have laundry to do. I can't sit around and talk all day!"

He smiled as he left, a smug secret smile that told her he had accomplished exactly he had come to accomplish. She locked the door, latched the windows, and immediately called Caroline. She sounded woozy on the other end and the sounds of partying were in the background, but she was safe. Flora cautioned her to be careful, and Caroline agreed in that sure-mom-I-promise tone that teenagers took when they had no intention of listening to their parents. After wrangling more promises out of her to call every day, Flora hung up and spent the rest of the day peering out the window, watching every car parked on the sidewalk and every passerby.

***

The police never came, thank god, and Flora assumed the whole situation was over and done for when the large Borghese family, sans the grandfather, moved back into their tan suburban house across from her.

It was as if a shadow had lifted from Knight Street. Within a week the high fence around their property had been knocked down. Flora saw Mr. Borghese building a treehouse with his sons in the large oak tree in their backyard. The Borghese children were out and about more, and they seemed to be making friends, for the first time, around the neighborhood. Mrs. Borghese saw Flora outside in the garden and smiled and waved, something she had never done before. She looked vibrant, healthy, with no bruises. She gave birth several months later to a baby girl, who she dropped off at Flora's sometimes to be babysat. Leonardo even held a block party, with his smiling, beautiful wife and their newborn the centerpiece.

In the blink of an eye it seemed that years had passed since then and the eldest son was going to high school. But Flora never lost that sense of unease. The neighbors were outwardly affluent, popular people...

But sometimes Mrs. Borghese would get a look on her face, and Flora knew what lurked under the surface was never far from bubbling over, and that the secrets Flora had touched on were too deep and numerous for her to understand.

Not that she had any desire to.

[freespiritdani]

"But I didn't mean for this to happen..." Part 2 of 2

NOTE: I teach AP English at a high school in the USA. When I began this class this semester, I gave my class an assignment to write a fan fiction essay based on their favorite story, movie, show, or game. All but one of my students are Choices fans and wrote accordingly, Two of them (my daughter and my daughter-in-law) decided to team up and write one 2-part story. They gave me permission to share it here. You've already read Part 1 (I hope), now...submitted for your approval, here is Part 2.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaitlyn stepped off the Gulfstream at a little tiny airport just outside Northbridge. Ryan Summers, actor and fellow Hartfeld alum, had let Kaitlyn borrow his jet and pilot when Zack called her and told her about finding Alex dead.

She had slept fitfully during the cross-country flight. Alexandra Day and Kaitlyn Liao had been best of friends from the moment they met on their first day at Hartfeld. They were also lovers for a short time during freshman year. The memories of all the good times they had together was all that was helping Kaitlyn keep it together right at the moment.

Zack was waiting on Kaitlyn when she entered the terminal building. He ran up to her and gave her a bear hug, then he began to cry.

"I'm sorry I called you last night, but I didn't know who else to call," Zack said. "I went over to check on her like you or I have always done ever since she started drinking....and....and...she was lying on the couch, eyes open....not...not breathing...and..." Zack started sobbing.

Kaitlyn had started crying by now. She patted Zack on the back and said, "Don't apologize, Zack. Somebody had to let me know."

"And, Bec--" Zack started, but stopped abruptly when Kaitlyn's phone went off. She pulled it out of her hip pocket and checked it. A puzzled look came across her face.

"What the.....an email from Alex???" Kaitlyn asked, confused. She clicked on it and read it. "Ohhhhhhh myyyyyy god..." she said under her breath. "Alex, you little fool..." She bowed her head and slumped down into a seat in the lobby.

"Are you all right?" Zack asked.

Kaitlyn reached her phone to Zack. "She sent this at seven last night and queued it so I wouldn't get it until this morning after it was too late to do anything about it."

Zack read the email, then plopped down in the chair beside Kaitlyn and sighed. "Well, dear Alexandra," he said with a tone of resignation in his voice, "you're in good company, girlfriend."

"Zack Zilberg, the is the most inconsiderate thing I have ever heard you...." Kaitlyn paused, then it dawned on her that Alex's suicide wasn't the only bad news. "Is there something else you need to tell me?" she asked slowly.

Zack bowed his head. "Yeah," Zack said quietly, "there is. It's what I started to tell you when Alex's suicide note email came in. Becca committed suicide last night, too. Jumped off the eighteenth floor of the Hyatt here last night."

Kaitlyn's mouth dropped open. "Why? Did she leave a note?" she asked.

"No need. Madison was with her when it happened," Zack answered, then he proceeded to tell Kaitlyn what Madison had told him about the events of the night before.

Kaitlyn looked toward the ceiling, then began to cry. Zack silently reached over and held her to comfort her, as much for his own benefit as it was for hers. After a few minutes of this, Kaitlyn composed herself and stood up.

"Zack," Kaitlyn whispered, "I need to see them. Will you take me to them?" Zack opened his mouth to object, but Kaitlyn quickly continued, "Please, I beg you....I have to see them...I gotta do this for my own peace of mind."

Zack rose from his seat. "Okay," he said, trying to smile at his friend, "let's go."

An hour later, Zack and Kaitlyn were standing in the mortuary lobby, looking at the board listing all the bodies there. Kaitlyn found what she was looking for:

ROOM 2: DAY, ALEXANDRA J.

And a little farther down:

ROOM 8: DAVENPORT, REBECCA L.

They walked down to Room 2 and looked in. Near the coffin containing Alex's body, Kaitlyn spied a blonde woman standing and looking somberly in the coffin. No, it can't be! she thought. It's not possible! Then she remembered the girl in psychology class that went to Braidwood Manor and what she found. Or is it possible?

"Zack....would you mind waiting in the lobby? I need to be alone right now..."

Zack replied shakily, "Frankly, I want to get out of here, period. After finding her last night, right now I...I...I can't...can't see her...her..."

Kaitlyn put her hand on his shoulder. "If you want to leave me here and go, that's okay," she told Zack. "I understand. I'll be okay, and once I'm done here, I'll go get some rest and meet you back at your house at four. Okay?"

Zack put his hand on Kaitlyn's and smiled weakly. "Okay. Thank you."

Kaitlyn watched Zack leave, then she turned and walked to where Alex's body lay. She gently stroked Alex's cheek. "She's so beautiful," Kaitlyn whispered, then said in a normal voice, "Why'd you do it?"

The blonde said plaintively, "I didn't mean to! I didn't mean for this to happen.... I didn't want her to die...I just wanted to make things right between us..."

Kaitlyn turned and faced the blonde. "I know you didn't want her to die," she said gently. "I want to know why you wanted you to die, Becca. Why did you take that dive off the balcony?"

"Because my...." Becca paused. "Wait a second... You know I'm here? You can hear me? Because you're the first person who's even acknowledged my presence since...since...I landed on the street...."

"Kinda surprised me to see and hear you too," Kaitlyn replied, chuckling. "Then I remembered Hannah and her girlfriend and took the chance I wasn't hallucinating. So, I still wanna know: why did you jump?"

"Because..." Becca hesitated, looked in Alex's coffin, then said, "Because she's now dead and I caused it. She drank herself to death because of me...I know it. She drank herself to death because I was a selfish bitch that let my pride get the better of me."

Kaitlyn asked, confused, "How do you figure that?"

"You remember the blowup and breakup after I got accepted to transfer to Hawg," Becca replied. "Well, after it all went down, I knew the way I went about it hurt her....I'd made her cry....I was afraid to chase after her because I didn't want to make her cry again....so I threw myself into my studies, got my J.D., worked my way up to become the youngest District Attorney in California history....there's even talk -- scratch that, there WAS talk -- of me running for Attorney General next year....but...Kaitlyn....all that success, all that that glory...was hollow. It didn't fill the void that Alex left in me when we split up. All that I have -- had -- achieved...meant and means nothing without her... As each day went by...that empty feeling kept getting bigger, kept gnawing at me....It got worse every time I saw her on TV being interviewed after each best-seller she wrote, because she looked so happy without me....Finally, I'd had enough. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to talk with her and try to make things right...you know the rest....so, yeah, I killed her. I didn't mean for her to die .."

Kaitlyn sighed. "You didn't kill her, Becca. She killed herself. She sent me a suicide note by email," she said.

Becca was puzzled. "If I wasn't what caused her to take her own life, what was?" she asked.

"Well, technically, you were," Kaitlyn answered, "but not in the way you think. It wasn't anything you'd done, but something she'd done. According to her note."

"But...she never did anything to me! She was nothing but good to me!"

A voice came from behind them. "Yes I did, Becs. I did something bad to you. Three times."

Kaitlyn and Becca spun around. "ALEX!!!" Becca cried out.

"The first time was when I acted like a spoiled brat and walked out on you during the law school blowup," Alex continued. "The second time was last night when I gave you hell and walked out on you a second time without giving you a chance to talk....I screwed us both over with that one...had I taken the time to talk and listen, we probably wouldn't be in this situation..."

Kaitlyn looked at Becca. "She got you there, Davenport," Kaitlyn said, then looked at Alex and continued, "but you said three times. That's only twice."

Alex chuckled slightly and said, "Considering that my corpse is in this room, and that Becca's is three doors down because I made the one in here a corpse, number three is kinda obvious, don't you think?"

Becca looked at Kaitlyn and said, "She got you there, Liao."

"Oh, shut up!" Kaitlyn shot back.

Alex walked over and looked at her own body lying in the coffin. "I wish I could take it back, Becca," she said, regret and remorse showing in her voice. "The woman I loved, the woman I longed for, the woman I wanted to hold in my arms again, the woman I wanted to come back to me and take me and make me her wife...came back to me wanting to make things right between us....and I fucked it all up, ruining any chance of that happening...I couldn't take it. My life was over because I couldn't go on another day without her...so I sent Kaitlyn a suicide note via email, grabbed two bottles of tequila, guzzled both down in two minutes flat and...next thing I know... I'm standing up, sober as I can be, looking down at my dead body....".

Alex looked at Becca. "I died needlessly by my own hand. And because I did, you took your own life, also needlessly," she said ruefully. "I killed us...I'm ultimately responsible for both our deaths. Our blood is on my hands...and I can't do anything to make up for it and make it right...and...." She looked at Becca with sorrow and regret in her eyes. "...I have to deal with that for all eternity....I can't take back what I've done...I've condemned us to...to this....and...now...I have to face the fact that..that I caused us to never be together, ever...I'm so sorry, Becca...I never meant for it to be like this...."

"Are....Are you saying you don't love me anymore? You don't want to be with me anymore?" Becca asked dejectedly.

"I love you very much, Becca! I never stopped!" Alex replied. "But... we're dead. All we are now is a pair of ghosts. That sorta puts a stop to being with each other, doesn't it?"

Kaitlyn interrupted. "Umm, Alex... If Eleanor being a ghost didn't stop her and Hanna from being in love and being together, why would it stop you two?"

Alex thought, then looked at Becca. "After all I've done, after all the damage I've caused,":Alex asked nervously, "can you ever find it in you to forgine me?"

"I forgave you a long time ago, my love," Becca said gently. "Can you forgive me?"

Alex put her arms around Becca and kissed her tenderly. "I already have."

Becca put her arms around Alex and returned the kiss passionately. "Will you stay with me and be my woman?"

Alex smiled and looked Becca in the eyes, a deep love replacing the pain and regret that had been there earlier. "I'm yours for all eternity, my love! For all eternity!"

Kaitlyn smiled. It wasn't the way she wished it was, but her friends were back together at last.