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Jeez chicks, learn to form an opinion. No but seriously, I love and find it hysterical that you fancy them both morons.

Thirty-Eight

ONE MONTH LATER

"Trampoline...write it down. If you forget, I'm gonna be mad!" Dylan warns, gripping the cordless phone with both hands.

Charly eyes her curiously as she steps into the apartment, dropping a quick kiss on her daughter's head only to be shoved off.

"Momma!"

"Jeez, what's up your butt Scarlett O'Hara?"

"I'm on the phone!"

"I can see that," Charly grins. "With who?"

Dylan huffs, an exaggerated pout framing her mouth. "I'm not DONE yet!"

"Alright, alright I'll be in the living room. You got ten minutes otherwise I'm starting the movie without you."

Dylan's gaze widens in shock. "I have to go!"

Charly laughs as Dylan finishes up the phone call, inherently aware enough of who she's talking to. The specifics of it she's not sure of. Then again, she figures it's probably better that way.

Life has, more or less, returned to normal. She's enrolled in the second summer session of classes at Hunter College, working the day shift at the bar, a place she realizes she probably should never have left. It's not ideal, but it's consistent and comfortable enough for the time being.

She's doing what she wants to do, trying to get her shit together, and mostly she's happy.

Mostly.

There's still the part of her that misses Justin. Late at night when she's curled up alone in bed and the temptation to hear his voice is almost overwhelming.

She doesn't call.

It's better this way, not having contact with him. Even if half the time Dylan's on the phone with him she wants to snatch it out of her hands and see how he's doing for herself.

She doesn't do that, either.

But she always wants to.

><><<br />
Justin clicks off the phone, tossing it onto his bed. He sighs, looking around at the mess in front of him, the pile of shoe boxes and scraps of paper, this stupid project he started months ago and is apparently never going to finish.

He should give up; should resign himself to the fact that he and Charly had their moment and it's passed, irrespective of whatever stupid romantic gesture he's able to conjure up.

She'll never go for it, he reasons.

Yet the dim optimist in him is eternally hopeful, sure that if he can somehow manage to finish this there's a possibility things might work out in his favor.

It's stupid, stupid logic, but it's all he's got left.

Trace bursts into the room, half convinced he's going to find a putrid corpse. He's half right--the room smells like shit.

"When the fuck you gonna get outta this house?"

"Soon," he mutters, scratching absently at his head. "I'm in the middle of something."

"Listen, I know she's gone and you're all miserable and shit but at some point you need to--" Trace cuts himself off, for the first time getting a good look at the room. "What the hell..."

"Yeah."

"This is what you've been doing?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Few months, maybe longer."

"And this is your solution?"

"I don't know, man!" Justin snaps, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "I just...I didn't think about it, I just fuckin' started it thinking I could finish before she left...and I didn't. And now I can't stop."

Trace leans against the door with a smirk. His best friend's ridiculous notions of romance is both an admirable and absurd quality; one he's mocked as much as he respects. This, however, is a whole new level of insanity and while he shouldn't enable it, he can't help himself.

"How many more you gotta do?"

"Like a hundred or so."

Trace squats down in front of him, grabbing a piece of construction paper. "Well c'mon then."

Justin sits back, surprised. "Seriously?"

"You're off your goddamn rocker, but carpe fuckin' diem, right?"

"Huh?"

Trace shoots him a bored glare. "Seize the day, motherfucker. Dead Poets Society, jesus, you really need to brush the hell up if you wanna keep that girl."

"I'll get on it," Justin grins, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, dude."

"Next time you ask me why I tell you, you got no business going near Google, remember this moment."

><><<br />
"So I'll pick her up tomorrow night after class?" Charly glances down at her planner, a new but apparently necessary addition to her rapidly growing schedule.

"All important and shit now, huh?" Drew teases, hoisting Dylan onto his shoulders.

"Daddy," she chastises, tugging on his hair. "She's got stuff to do."

"I know she does, baby."

"I want down now!"

He lowers her to the ground and she scurries off into her room, out of view.

"How you doin', Charlie Brown?"

Charly smiles at him, glad to have some semblance of normalcy. This is the closest she and Drew have ever been to normal, and it's nice.

There's a lot to work out in terms of logistics, but they've managed to find a nice balance of friendship and common interests regarding Dylan.

It's nice to have her kid back, this much she knows. Not having someone hovering behind her like she's some sort of criminal, being able to look in on Dylan when she's asleep. It fills her with a certain calm she's been lacking, and she's grateful for it.

She's also grateful that she and Drew have worked out their schedules so that Dylan gets, more or less, an equal amount of time to spend with both of them.

While some of it takes a bit of getting used to, not having her around every night, she knows it's the healthiest option for all of them.

And that maybe, once and for all, they've come out of this on the other side, more functional for it.

"I'm good," she assures.

Drew knows otherwise. She won't admit it, but there are a couple of tell-tale signs that the woman in front of him has always carried as long as she's been in his life.

And he's never been able to not call her on it.

"You're lookin' kinda bummed."

Charly shakes her head, hating that this many years later, Drew can still read her like a book. "I'm fine. End of Sound of Music fine, I promise."

He reaches forward, tugging on a strand of her hair. "You forget, babe, that once upon a time I knew ya better than anyone else."

"That was a long time ago."

"Yeah well you still got the same puppy eyes when you're miserable."

"You're a real pain in the ass. Just wanted to throw that out there."

"Why don't you call him?"

"Him who?" she feigns obliviousness.

Drew clucks his tongue, fumbling with the cigarette behind his ear. "We really gonna play it this way?"

"Listen, we're done. It's done, and it was a clean break. If I call him, all it's gonna do is make everything messy, Twelfth Night style."

"Except you're not dressing in drag."

Charly laughs despite herself, throwing her arms around him. Whatever it is, however dysfunctional their family dynamic was, is, and will probably forever be, Drew is someone who gets her on a fundamental level. And as much as she fought the idea initially, she's glad to have him back in her life.


"Stop worrying about me, Drew."

"Never gonna happen," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Call him, it'll be good for you."

"I love how all of a sudden you fancy yourself Yoda."

"Part of my charm."

Charly smacks his arm, pulling away from him. "I gotta go. Make sure not to let her on any motorcycles otherwise I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Noted."

><><<br />
Charly wipes down the beer taps, watching as the last of her customers disappears for the night, breathing a sigh of relief. She has about half an hour until the guy on the night shift starts, and she's already exhausted.

The bell to the bar door chimes, signaling another customer.

"Sorry, Burt Reynolds, my shift's almost up so you're gonna have to wait a few to get another drink," she says, not looking up.

Refilling the bottles of vodka, she stops halfway through when a voice she would recognize anywhere stops her.

"Too bad, I wanted to have a shot of Patron with you."

She turns, unable to keep the smile from her face as Justin slides onto the barstool in front of her.

"You've got impeccable fucking timing, I'll give you that."

Justin cocks his head to the side with a sly grin. "I try."

"What're you doing here?"

"You want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that, you fucking brat."

"Good. So how about that shot?"

Charly retrieves the bottle of liquor and two shot glasses, pouring diligently. She sucks in a breath, quelling the weird nausea in her stomach that springs up anytime he's nearby.

It's a strange feeling even now; one she hasn't felt since she was with Drew but comes up anytime Justin's nearby.

She lifts her glass, clinking it with his, a silent toast as he meets her gaze. Tossing the drink back, she winces as it burns, the liquid traveling down her chest.

"I missed you," Justin says softly, sincere, all the things she wants to hear sitting across from her, not her imagination.

"Seriously, what're you doing here?"

He shrugs, reaching across the counter to take her hand. "So, you're off soon?"

"In ten."

"You remember the first time I came in here?"

Charly sets her hands on her hips, the mischief in his eyes not at all lost on her. "Vaguely."

"Oh just vaguely, huh?"

"Well, a lot's happened since then you know."

"Such as?"

"Met a hugely famous guy who happens to be very charmed by me."

"Is that right?"

"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm nearing Grace Kelly level," she teases, playing with his fingers.

"Grace Kelly wasn't such a fucking klutz."

"Like you would know."

Justin laughs as she releases her grip on him, traveling around the bar to meet him on his side. She bends down to kiss him, disregarding whatever proper rules she's supposed to abide by.

"So who's this famous dude?"

Charly slaps his shoulders, playful, like she's forgotten something. "Oh, right! So he finds me totally charming, right? There's a distinct possibility he's gonna come find me."

"And then?"

"Well, puked on his shoes and haven't heard from him since."

He stares at her, mildly confused.

"I'm talking about Bono, what'd you think?"

"Oh you're so cute," he presses his lips against hers, hands settling on his hips. "You got some time after this?"

"Dylan's with Drew tonight, so yeah," she nods.

"Good. Can you come with me? I got something I wanna show you."

Charly grins, bright and stupid before she settles into his arms, that small part of her that's felt like it was missing all of a sudden fulfilled.

"I think I can manage that."

alright, this is it, people. again, massive thank yous for putting up with me through this dysfunctional mess of a story and loving these characters as much as i do. i love you all for it dearly. and there's a bribe in the end notes for all your lovely reviews.

Thirty-Nine: buckets of rain

Charly takes Justin's hand, stepping out of the car, confusion lighting up her features at the sight in front of her.

"Riverdale? You wanted to show me Riverdale?" she smirks as he tugs her forward, fingers threaded with hers. "I've seen it before, for the record."

Justin leads her up the driveway, the two-story mansion isolated on a hill, lights from the windows illuminating the front yard.

"Listen, quippy, just keep your trap shut til' we get inside, okay?" he orders playfully.

He lets go of her, punching in a code to the lock box on the door and retrieving a set of keys.

"Oh yeah, good. This is good, it's been a while since I got arrested for breaking and entering."

"When did you--"

"Nevermind that, Danny Ocean, what are we doing?"

Justin opens the door, leading her into the foyer. Charly takes a look around at the empty house, beautiful and spacious and completely devoid of any signs of life.

"C'mon," he urges her forward, past the living room and the den, through the kitchen and down a darkened corridor.

"Whose house is this? You're gonna get us--" He stops, pushing her against the wall and quieting her with a kiss.

"Would you kindly shut the hell up for two seconds, woman? I'm getting there."

Justin pushes open the door to another room and Charly's mouth hangs open, at a loss for words. The whole thing is set up as a home movie theater, the likes of which she assumes people with enough money can afford but hasn't ever seen in person.

And from floor to ceiling, it's lined with shoeboxes, more than she can possibly count.

"What did you do..." she breathes, her fingers trailing over a few of them. "How did you..."

Justin shoves his hands in his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. "You gonna open 'em or give me bug eyes all night?"

Charly grins at him, giddy excitement filling her as she lifts the top off one. At this point, it wouldn't matter if they were filled with rocks, the fact that he's here and he went to the trouble of doing this...whatever this is, is enough.

She removes a carefully architected piece of origami paper out from a box, her nose scrunching up and he can't help but laugh at her expression, so utterly dumbfounded as she peers into the box and finds more of the same thing.

For a few moments he just hangs back, watching her disassemble what it's taken him months to build, enjoying every second with it.

"I think I'm having a Marilyn moment," she finally says, glancing around at the mess she's made. "Don't get me wrong this is all very sweet but...I don't get it?"

"They're paper cranes," he supplies.

"I get THAT. You made all of these?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Justin shuffles his feet awkwardly as she makes her way back to him, sliding her fingers through his belt loops as she waits for the explanation.

"I uh," he clears his throat. "I read this thing...online when you were in L.A. and after the uh--"

"Angry car sex?" she smiles, watching him duck his head shamefully. "Okay, right, I'm with you."

"Anyway, so there's this Japanese tradition where if you if you fold a thousand paper cranes you get a wish, or you give it to someone you love or...well there were a lot of versions of the story, but basically, there's the one about how it can be like, a matchmaking thing for thirteen year old girls. You fold a thousand, give it to the boy you love and fuck, this is so lame. This was a way better idea in my head and none of it's coming out right."

"A thousand?"

"Yeah."

"You folded a thousand of these?" she asks, incredulous.

"Yeah. Well, Trace helped with the last hundred, but yeah."

Charly releases a breath, surveying the theater, the boxes that are still unopened, each of them housing what it's taken him a painstaking amount of time to create. Her stomach drops, floored at the notion that he would do all of this just for her.

"You know that part in Say Anything where John Cusack's standing outside her window like a crazy person with the boom box and Peter Gabriel's blaring through the speakers?"

Justin nods. "What about it?"

"I don't know something about this moment just reminded me of that," she shakes her head, regaining her composure before a thought occurs to her. "So wait, you're the thirteen year old girl?" Charly smirks up at him, earning a glare. "What? You said it, not me."

"I'm glad you find my humiliation so hysterical," he pouts. "Do you know how long and how much paper cut hell is involved in those things?" Cause let me tell you--"

"Justin," she interrupts.

"What?"

"Thank you. It's by far and away the sweetest, most psychotic thing a boy has ever done for me."

Standing on her toes, she kisses him, his lips a familiar comfort, the nauseous drop in her stomach, things she realizes she doesn't want to miss again.

Justin pulls back first, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "That's not everything,"

"Of course it isn't."

"There's the issue of the house."

"And trespassing on public property."

"No...I bought it. The house, it's mine. And yours, if you want."

Charly searches his eyes, some clue that this is an elaborate joke. If it is, nothing in his face is indicative of it. "Come again?"

"I bought the house Charly cause..." he trails off with a helpless shrug. "Because I wanted to, because I'm done. You're it."

He feels her tense up in his arms, the panic flashing across her features. "You bought a house in Riverdale for me?"

"For you. And Dylan. And me," Justin pauses, hurrying to add, "If you want. If not, that's fine. Either way I'm not goin' anywhere til' you make me."

"Right. Okay. Well. Fantastic. This is um...okay," Charly curls a hand around the corner of his shirt. "If I tell you I need to sleep on it--"

"Take your time," he drops a kiss on her forehead.

She smiles weakly, his disappointment evident enough to make her feel guilty.

><><

"So let's recap," Lauren walks briskly alongside Charly and Dylan, waving her arms animatedly as she goes. "One, he spends more time than anybody on the planet should making animals out of paper."

"Yes."

"Said animals have some big romantic grand scheme meaning."

"Yes."

"Then he tells you he's bought you a house."

"Uh huh."

"Asks you to move in."

"Right."

"So, to summarize: there's a beautiful man who's completely and totally enamored with you, adores the shit out of D and wants nothing to do with any other woman, ever according to him--"

"He didn't say that!"

"Whatever, that's what he meant. And you said...I'm gonna think about it?" Lauren raises an eyebrow, hoisting Dylan up over her waist. "Your Momma's a big dummy, you know that?"

Dylan grins cheekily, shaking her head at Charly. "I know. Shoulda said yes, Momma!"

"Thanks for the heads up, shithead. If I'd known you were a little co-conspirator in all of this, I'd have sold you on the black market a lot sooner." Charly wags a finger in her daughter's face as they weave their way through the streets in search of the restaurant. "Ugh, we're late."

"What else is new?" Lauren rolls her eyes.

"Momma, all I said was IF you said yes that I want a trampoline. That's all!"

"Uh huh, I don't believe you at all."

"Charly, focus!" Lauren snaps a finger in her face. "What're you gonna do?"

"I haven't decided yet!" Charly sighs, exhausted of thinking about it.

For the past two days, she's weighed every pro and con in her head and the columns keep balancing each other out, making it a pain in the ass to settle on a choice. She's happy to have Justin here on a slightly more permanent basis, but moving in with him requires a certain amount of adjustment and a huge leap of faith, neither of which she's sure she's prepared for yet.

"Goddamnit. Willy Wonka's giving me the friggin' keys to the factory and I'm like meh, don't know how I feel about chocolate can you gimme a few?"

"Well you'd better figure it out quick because he's gonna smell the avoidance dance on you as soon as we get to the restaurant."

><><

"So I'll see you next week for dinner, your ass better be on time, pretty girl," Trace hugs Charly tightly, looking back and forth between her and Justin. "Keep this fucker in check, he's your problem now."

Charly laughs. "Bye, Trace."

They leave the restaurant, Lauren and Dylan walking a few feet ahead. Justin's been uncharacteristically quiet tonight; not that she can blame him.

She still hasn't brought up his proposal or given him a straight answer, and the more she thinks about it, the more she understands it has nothing to do with any hesitation on her part regarding him.

It's a fear that manifests itself because she's scared that somehow, if she moves in, uproots herself and Dylan to be with him that everything they've gotten through to get where they are will somehow come undone.

And while the logical part of her knows this sounds ridiculous, it's still there, a real, palpable fear that won't go away.

Justin ambles along a few feet ahead of her and Charly stops, her gaze landing on a nearby tree. A wild-eyed squirrel stares back at her, its nose twitching as it cradles some unidentifiable nut in its grasp.

It lasts hardly a moment and then it's gone, the squirrel scurrying up the tree and out of view.

But it's enough.

"Justin!" Charly calls out, sprinting to catch up with him.

Justin cranes his neck as she jogs up, yanking him back by the elbow. "You okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry.

"I have stuff, y'know. A lot of stuff, not just the fun emotional baggage but the physical kind too. I'm a packrat."

"Oh...kay?" he laughs, unsure as to where this is leading.

"And I clean, when I'm pissed or upset or whatever...I clean, it's cathartic so I won't do well if you have like, a woman who comes to do that. I don't want a cleaning lady."

Now, he begins to understand. "Charly, are you saying yes?"

"That brat of mine will blare music at crazy hours of the morning and won't go to sleep til' crazy hours of the night and we eat a lot of crap food, and we like it. Also, how permanent is this move, for you? Cause you picked a house near her school, which, good on you for that, but you have a life and a career and oh! The career--"

"Charly--"

"I don't want her to have to deal with crazy guys taking pictures and stuff...I can deal, but--"

"We can figure that out and you know I wouldn't let--"

"I know you wouldn't I'm just throwing that out there."

Here they are, the middle of the street, talking over each other and bickering like a pair of certifiable loons and he can't stop the grin from taking over his features. "Charly--"

"And I snore. I know, I told you I didn't but I do. Cartoon style, the bed shakes and everything--"

"I've heard."

"There's a lot of stuff that we'd have to figure out, cause I don't want you paying for everything--"

"Okay, that's fine. All good points, baby, especially if you're saying yes," he draws his words out, hesitant. "Are you saying yes?"

Charly sets a hand on her hips, an eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth twitching in an attempt to suppress a smile and he knows this girl well enough to know that's an answer in and of itself.

He grabs her by the waist, her next words nearly muffled by his lips.

"Fine, but it's your funeral."

-END-


(Almost) all of the music used for chapter titles can be found here if you want it:

http://www.sendspace.com/file/4726mf