10. I don't know if I should stay or turn around and run; I know that I hurt you, things will never be the same

Notes: This was the first Scorpius/Rose thing I attempted. I'm still not 100% sure I like it (I was contemplating not having a happy ending, too) but it's certainly not the worst thing I've ever sent out into the ether. I sort of tried to do one of those one-scene-per-year stories (though I cheated and added a couple extra bits) but, uh, yeah. It was mostly just a first try at the next-gen kids. *shrug* Also, it could use a title.
Disclaimer: Characters mentioned are used without permission; they are owned by J.K. Rowling and are trademarks of Warner Brothers. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.


First Year

Nobody had been surprised when Rose Weasley was sorted into the Ravenclaw house. She was as bright as her mother and as stubborn as her father. Determined not to live her life in the shadow of her large family, she'd decided long before boarding the Hogwarts Express that she would not be in Gryffindor. From there, it had been a simple process of elimination.

Slytherin would have peeved her family, she knew, but that alone wasn't enough to knock it off the list. In the end, it was her lack of cunning and the fact that she was a completely rubbish liar that spurned her from the snake house. Hufflepuff was easier to cross off. Simply told, she knew the amount of teasing she would have to endure from her family if that was her house. It would be foolish to give them such an easy and permanent excuse.

Ravenclaw it was. The sorting hat barely had to touch her head before it agreed. The cleverness of her thinking was all it really took to sway the magical singing hat.

On the other hand, nearly everyone had been shocked with Albus Severus Potter was sorted into Ravenclaw. It wasn't that he wasn't clever—he was. And his aptitude for magic came almost straight from his father. But with his older brother in Gryffindor and both of his parents as honored graduates, everyone had expected the Potter legacy to continue in the lion's den.

The fact that James was a Gryffindor was the precise reason that Al didn't want to be in that house. He loved his brother, grudgingly, but he was something of a bully to Al. His silent chant of, Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, made the sorting hat's decision rather easy. (It still remembered his father's sorting, after all.) The fact that his cousin and best friend, Rose, was sorted into the same house was just an added bonus.

There wasn't much comment when Scorpius Malfoy was sorted into Ravenclaw. His parents had made it clear that they were more interested in him assisting in the resurrection of the so-called family name than plebeian things like house sorting. Though he figured they were relieved he was in neither Hufflepuff or Gryffindor—for vastly different reasons, of course.

Truthfully, Scorpius wasn't surprised, either. He didn't have the constitution to be a Slytherin, the bravery for Gryffindor or the good heart of a Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw was all that was left. It probably didn't hurt that he'd found his father's library more enticing than the Slytherin spawn his parents had tried to make his friends, either, though his self-deprecating attitude hardly considered that factor.

Rose elbowed Al pointedly when Malfoy was sorted into their house. "My dad told me to stay away from him," she whispered, brown eyes wide. Then she smirked. "Maybe we should make friends with him instead."

"Rose," Al chided. "You can't make friends with someone to anger your parents."

"Not anger!" she objected. "Just… rile." She nudged her cousin. "Things are always so much more interesting when there's a little drama in the Weasley house."

He shook his head but didn't comment further. A determined Rose was impossible to deter.

She stood up and made for the other end of the table where Scorpius was starting to tuck in. "Oi," she called with a smile and a wave. "I'm Rose Weasley." She offered her hand to him.

Giving her a funny look, he shook her hand once and released it. "Okay," he said, obviously a bit bewildered. "Scorpius Malfoy."

Despite his lukewarm reply, she pushed on. "Want to come eat with us?" Rose offered, gesturing toward where Al was pointedly ignoring her.

There was a pause where he tried to discern if she was sincere or not. His father had warned him that the Weasley and Potter children might try to exact some sort of retribution against him due to his parentage—he just hadn't thought they'd do it on their first night! "Um, no, that's all right," Scorpius replied, choosing caution over politeness. "I'm fine here."

Rose, whose temper was not unlike her father's, was decidedly put out. "Hmmph!" Hands on her hips, she was like a tiny, red-haired version of her mother. "My father was right about you," she declared, wagging a finger at him. "Rude little ferret spawn!" Then she spun around and stalked back to where Albus was sitting, fuming all the way.

Pausing in his shoveling of food into mouth, Al pat her on the shoulder. "Come on, hurry up and eat. When we're done, we can visit Hagrid and Uncle Neville."

That thought cheered Rose up considerably, though she continued to mumble about blond gits who were bloody unfriendly wankers periodically.


Second Year

Quidditch tryouts were generally only for third years and up. That's why, when Scorpius Malfoy was announced as the new Ravenclaw seeker, Rose Weasley led the charge against him. She marched up to the sixth year captain and poked him sharply in the chest. "Oi, Musgrave, what're you playing at?"

The tall blonde boy, over a head taller than Rose, blinked down at her. "Can I help you, Weasley?" he asked in a tone that implied he'd rather she buggered off than continue the conversation.

"What did he do?" she spat, raising herself to her full height. "Get his daddy to buy him a spot on the team? The rest of us—" now she gestured toward where Al and several other first and second years were sitting, "weren't allowed to try out but somehow Scorpius Malfoy becomes the new seeker?"

Now Ralph Musgrave laughed, something that only served to enrage Rose further. "Look, Professor Flitwick called me into his office and suggested Scorpius for the position when he learned our try-outs had been for naught."

Rose sneered. "And why did he do that?"

"Because Madame Hooch told Headmistress McGonagall who told him about the incident during flying class last year," a new voice spoke up. It was Scorpius Malfoy himself.

The incident he was referring to involved her falling off her broom while goofing around with Albus. (She had, sadly, inherited her mother's flying skills, which was to say none.) It had been Scorpius who caught her by the robes, just above the ground. She had grudgingly thanked him after prodding from her cousin and sworn off brooms for life.

Her ears burned bright red at the humiliating memory and, "Oh," was all Rose could come up with. She looked up at the tall Musgrave again. "Well, it's still not fair." Then she stalked over Al and plopped down beside him, seething.

Al turned the page of the book he was reading. "Told you not to push it," he said with a sigh, eyes never leaving the page.

Rose blushed more furiously. "Shut up, Al."


Third Year

Rose Weasley, Karen Stafford and James Potter all raced down to the Quidditch pitch at the end of the Ravenclaw/Slytherin match. "Great job, Al!" Rose cried, throwing her arms around him.

James grinned proudly at his younger brother. "You were bloody brilliant, mate," he said, ruffling his hair. (Not that it made much of a difference—he followed his father and grandfather in having unflattenable hair.) "Not that it'll make much difference when you face my house…"

Pushing his brother away, he grinned. "You are so full of shite, James."

"Care to put your Quaffle where your mouth is?" the Gryffindor seeker asked, eyes bright behind his glasses.

Albus snorted. "You are a nutter," he commented with a long suffering sigh. There was a grin on his face, though, as the boys had bonded over their love of the game when Al was named the newest chaser on the Ravenclaw team.

James waved him off before sauntering over to his housemates.

It was then that Karen, a blonde muggle-born member of their house who Rose had become friendlier with that year, stepped forward. "It was an impressive display," she complimented diplomatically.

Furrowing his brows, Al cast a quick glance at Rose before replying. "Er, thank you, Karen."

Smothering a laugh, Rose thread her arm through Karen's and prepared to be off. Her bright eyes darkened perceptibly when Scorpius Malfoy came up beside Al to say something to his teammate and she stalled taking leave. Al listened intently, shooting Rose a look that clearly told her to be nice.

Pursing her lips, she finally acquiesced just before the pale boy left. "You were good as well, Malfoy," she offered quickly.

He paused, visibly surprised. "Thank you, Rose," he said, bowing his head slightly before heading off.

Shaking her head, she tugged on Karen's arm and they headed off. The blonde glanced back at Scorpius then looked at Rose. "He's a bit odd, isn't he?"

Rose laughed all the way back to their common room.


Fourth Year

"I can't believe it!" Rose cried, throwing herself onto a couch in the common room.

Albus didn't look up from where he was playing chess with Victor Carmichael, used to her antics by then. When she huffed loudly enough, he threw her a bone. "What happened now?"

Sitting up, she scowled at the lack of attention her best friend was paying her. "I'm second in Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said quietly. "I asked Professor Flitwick—I wanted to see if I was on track for my prefect badge. I'm first in all my classes except D-A-D-A."

"Okay, so?" Al prompted, taking Vic's Bishop violently.

"So?" Rose repeated. "So? So, I'm never second! I'm the smartest witch in our class! I can't be second!" She threw herself down against the couch again, moaning. "This is horrible."

Al rolled his eyes and mouthed a, "Be right back," to Vic. Standing, he crossed to Rose and pat her on the back. "First of all, this is not that big of a deal. You're still the smartest witch in our class, regardless of your standing in one class. Secondly, you could always study harder." Here, Rose glared at him. "Or you could ask the student ahead of you for help."

Now Rose avoided his gaze.

"What?" Al asked.

She mumbled something into a cushion.

Nudging her, he frowned. "What is it, Rose?" he pressed.

"It's Scorpius," she mumbled, pouting.

Al rolled his eyes. Of course it was. He thought she'd finally let go of those prejudices she'd made in her younger years. "What about him?"

She threw her hands up in defeat and sighed. "He's the top of our Defense Against the Dark Arts class!" she all but wailed. "I can't ask him for help."

That was about all Al could take. "Then settle for second best," he said with a shrug. "I'm going to finish my game now. If you want to whine more, find Karen or Lucy."

"You suck, Albus Severus," she grumbled, sitting up again and crossing her arms.

Al's smile was lopsided. "Yeah, but who else would put up with you, cuz?"

That was when Rose decided that the Potter family was not allowed to go on holiday to America again. What kind of word was ‘cuz'? Honestly.


Fifth Year

It took a lot for Rose Weasley to admit she needed help. It took even more for her to do it with someone she disliked so incredibly. But desperate times and all that. Unfortunately, his opening greeting saw that he didn't appreciate just what a sacrifice it was for her to come to him. "So you've finally swallowed your pride and come to ask me for help?"

She glared at the side of Scorpius Malfoy's head, crossing her arms defensively. "Hmmph, I see your oversized pride has finally grown in."

Scorpius's pale eyes flicked up to meet her darker ones. "You may be clever," he drawled, "but your delivery leaves something to be desired."

"Argh!" Rose cried, stamping her foot. Her famous Weasley temper was coming out, despite her attempts to quash it with her logical side. "You-you're infuriating."

He smirked. "Only to you, Weasley."

Taking a deep breath, she forced her anger down. "Yeah, yeah." Rose sighed. "Malfoy, would you please help me study for the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s?"

For some reason, it was hard not to squirm under his gaze. That only served to irritate her further. "What do I get out of it?" he asked casually.

"The pleasure of my company," she offered with a sickeningly sweet smile.

He gave her a once over, then shook his head. "Pass."

Rose rolled her eyes, ignoring the injury to her pride as best she could. "That was sarcasm, Malfoy," she pointed out condescendingly. He returned her gesture but said nothing. The urge to squirm grew again. "Fine, what do you want?" she asked.

There was a bit of a pause as he mulled it over. "Introduce me to Lucy Davies," Scorpius answered finally.

She blinked. Then she blinked again. "That's it?" Her tone was incredulous, as was her expression.

He nodded. "That's it."

"But you're popular—practically a shoo-in for Quidditch captain next year—and smart—why else would I ask you to help me?" Rose admitted grudgingly, ignoring his grin, "—and, well, you're good-looking for an albino." Here Scorpius scowled. "Why would you want me to introduce you? You don't need it…"

Shrugging, he looked back at his books. "That's none of your business," he replied stiffly. "Those are my terms. Do you accept them?"

Rose considered for a moment, swallowed her pride again, and nodded. "Yes, I do. You help me and I'll set you up with Lucy next Hogsmade trip." Suppressing a sigh, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "When do we start?"

"Thursdays after Quidditch practice, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom," Scorpius said easily.

"Classroom?" she repeated skeptically.

He shrugged. "We're both prefects," he pointed out. "I doubt we'll get in trouble for studying."

Despite herself, she found she had to agree. Besides, despite Al's practical nature, they did have a habit for finding themselves on the other side of the law. As far as rule breaking went, this was practically benign. "Fair enough. See you Thursday."

"See you then," Scorpius agreed.


Summer Between Fifth and Sixth Year

Scorpius—

Thank you so much for the help last year! I got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I know I couldn't have done it without you. Really, I'm quite indebted to you. Expect a large bag of sweets courtesy of me sometime in the near future.

If you're interested, I'd like to continue studying together. I was sorry to hear about you and Lucy—she's always been a bit of a tart. Just remember what I told you: popular, smart and good-looking. You'll find someone new. Someone better.

If you want something else in exchange for studying, let me know. If you like, I could tell you the secret of nicking food from the kitchen…

Your stubbornly reluctant friend,
Rose W.


Rose,

You know your achievements are your own. I played only a small role. However, I will happily accept your sweets as they include all of my favorites. Thank you kindly.

Lucy and I were a poor match from the start. I should've realized it sooner, but I was taken in by those innocent dark eyes. Once I finish licking my wounds, I'm certain you're correct. There are most assuredly girls I will be better suited to out there. As of now, though, I am happy to have the reprieve of summer.

I will take your assistance in Arithmacy in exchange for our continued study sessions in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I found myself floundering toward the end of the previous year. Though, I would not be opposed to learning the secret of entering the kitchen.

Your proudly awkward friend,
Scorpius M.


Sixth Year

"Lazlo Zambini? Really?" Albus shook his head at his best friend. "I thought you had better taste than that prat, Rose."

Rose made a face at him. "Said the boy who snogged my friend!" she shot back. "Don't think I didn't hear about you and Karen on the Quidditch pitch last month."

Al's cheeks colored and he scowled. "Damn James and his big fat mouth." Rose gave him a look that said that reply wasn't going to cut it and he ducked his head. "She really came into her own over the summer," he mumbled. "And, anyway, we're not talking about me."

"Agreed," Scorpius piped up from where he was sitting nearby. "My dad is good friends with Lazlo's dad and I hear he's busy ‘sowing his oats'—whatever that is."

Now Rose rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she said, hands on hips. "You two act like I've accepted an offer of marriage or something from the boy. All we're doing is going to Hogsmade together."

Al and Scorpius exchanged a look, then the former took his cousin's hand in his. "Rose, he's just using you. Can't you see—"

Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "What am I—new? Of course, he's just using me. And as all I want is a fling, that's just fine with me." She grinned at both boys, reaching to pinch their cheeks. "You two are so cute when you're overprotective."

Scorpius swatted her hand away, returning his attention to the potions essay that was due the next day. "You owe me a knut, Potter," he said as an afterthought.

Now Rose's dark eyes were flashing dangerously. "You bet on me?" she asked in a slow tone.

Both boys eyes widened perceptibly and began moving away from the irate red head. "If it's any consolation," Albus offered, hands up in an innocent gesture, "we hexed Flint for what he said about this development…"

It wasn't but, lucky for Al and Scorpius, the majority of her rage was taken out on revenge against the Slytherin seventh year once she heard just what he'd said. The two Ravenclaw boys were just glad to escape with the majority of their pride in tact.


Seventh Year

Rose threw down her book and get out an aggravated growl. "That's it, that's it! These damn N.E.W.T.s are trying to drive me insane!" She rubbed her eyes and slouched into the chair. "And I think they're succeeding…"

Al, who was sitting on a loveseat beside her with his girlfriend of over a year, Karen, gave her hand a comforting pat. "Don't worry," he said easily. "They're taking us all with you."

"Yeah," Lucy agreed from the other side of Karen with a sigh. "We'll all have brilliant company in St. Mungo's."

Standing up and stretching, Rose began collecting her books and parchment. "I should probably get back to the Head's Common Room before I really am committed," she told the others. "Same time tomorrow?"

Karen nodded, smiling at her friend. "Scorpius said he'd bring snacks, too," she said with thinly veiled excitement.

Absentmindedly, Rose frowned. Where was Scorpius, anyway? Al had muttered some excuse but she couldn't recall what he'd said now. She had a fleeting thought that he had snuck out to meet some chit but that thought was quickly quashed, if only to maintain her sanity. "He only knows that trick because I showed him," she tossed out, joining the conversation again with a small smile. "See you all tomorrow."

Her housemates called various good-byes as she headed out of the tower. She yawned as she wandered down the steps at a lazy pace, hitching her bag higher onto her shoulder. Another yawn had her colliding with a wall.

A wall that caught her with a grunt?

Looking up, she saw Scorpius peering down at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Better watch where you're going, Rose," he teased, helping her straighten again before releasing her. (Strangely, she felt cold when he did.) "Next time you might hit someone with worse reflexes."

"Lucky I ran into the Ravenclaw seeker then, isn't it?" she tossed back with a grin, shrugging off her odd feelings. "Speaking of—where have you been hiding yourself? Don't you know we have N.E.W.T.s to be studying for?"

He gave a dramatic gasp complete with over the top gesticulation. "You don't say! Well, damn, I wish I'd known sooner…"

Rose socked him in the shoulder none too gently. "I'm so pleased you're finally learning the finer points of sarcasm," she commented dryly, "but I never would've spent so much time teaching you if I'd known you'd use it against me."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Scorpius smiled genuinely. "I was down in the dungeons tutoring Callie Warrington in Potions."

For some reason, she felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her. "Oh." She forced a smile, though it was more of a quirk of her mouth, really. "What'd you get from her for that?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Nothing. Professor Hobskins asked me to, since I've got such an aptitude for it."

And because you like her, was Rose's irrational thought, not that she'd admit that. Or say it aloud. Instead, she smirked dangerously. "Figures. You never could deny a compliment to your vanity." There was a distinct undercurrent of anger in her tone, which took away from the teasing nature of their conversation.

Unamused, he frowned at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Rose?"

"Figure it out yourself," she shot back, voice raising just a hair. "I can't stand to be in this stairwell another moment—your ego is suffocating me!" Then she turned and raced off, ignoring his shouts echoing after her.

Furious tears raced down her cheeks and she had no idea why. Her dad had always claimed her mum was crazy but never before had Rose felt so completely out of control of her person. If this was growing up, she wanted no part of it. She had no idea why she felt this way; what it meant. No idea why she'd overreacted so totally and completely at someone she now considered a valued friend. None of it made sense.

It wasn't until she was back in the Head's common room, bawling her eyes out that the truth revealed itself. She fancied Scorpius Malfoy.

"Fuck."


Graduation

Despite Al's questions and prodding (especially after he and Karen broke up), Rose continued to make excuses about why she was so scarce their last months at Hogwarts. She claimed Head duties and studying—anything to avoid the Ravenclaw common room. Anything to avoid Scorpius.

She knew she should apologize—it wasn't his fault she'd gone off her rocker and had a minor meltdown at him—but her pride and humiliation was just great enough to keep that from happening. He didn't seem too keen on seeing her, either, so she figured it was mutually beneficial.

Soon enough, her time at Hogwarts came to a quiet, if anti-climatic, close.

To celebrate their achievement of matriculation, there was a lovely ceremony during which Rose tried desperately not to fall asleep. It wasn't that it was boring, really, she was just seated between two dreadfully dull people. It was moments like these that she longed for Al, Karen or Lucy's company. Even Scorpius would almost be welcome. Well, maybe not.

They received their magical diplomas, marching up one at a time so parents could take pictures and cry. Both of Rose's parents had glistening gazes as they watched her, though her mother was more outright in her emotion. It was all very lovely. Once it was all over, Rose put up with the dull conversation and generic congratulations for as long as she was able.

When her tolerance was reached, though, she made her brilliant escape. Racing from the magically altered Quidditch pitch, she took refuge by the greenhouse. She knew she should spend her time saying farewell to classmates and the like but it wasn't like the wizarding community was so overly large she'd really lose touch with those she cared about.

Feeling more exhausted than she remembered, Rose lay back in the prickly grass and gazed up at the clouds in the sky. The sun felt lovely on her face and she sighed contently, closing her eyes. They opened again when a shadow fell over her. There, towering above her in all his spiky pale blond glory, was none other than Scorpius himself.

Rose immediately sat up, ignoring the way her stomach dropped. "Hi," she said quietly, looking down at her hands.

Sitting beside her, Scorpius didn't reply at first. He glanced at her, then looked away. He repeated the process a few times. Finally, he settled for looking over her shoulder at the castle. "You should have never been nice to me at all," he commented casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

"What?" Rose spluttered, too surprised to remember to be mortified. She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Scorpius gave her the famously condescending Malfoy look. "If you'd never been nice," he explained slowly, "then I wouldn't have missed you when you went all lionel richie on me."

Temper rising, Rose glared ferociously at him. "I did not go lionel richie on you," she hissed angrily. "And you—you have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Then enlighten me, please," he retorted, arms crossed. "I think you owe me that much."

Rose felt herself deflate. "I-I can't," she stuttered, looking away from his icy gaze. She wanted to say more—to apologize but the words wouldn't come.

Jaw clenched, Scorpius shook his head. "That's not good enough, Rose. You may not be a Gryffindor but I'm not going to let you take the cowardly way out. You're better than that."

"I'm sorry," she whispered to her lap.

There was a long pause before he replied. "Fine. Consider this friendship dissolved." He started to rise but Rose latched onto his wrist. He growled in frustration. "Rose—"

She cut him off by placing a finger on his lips. Kneeling, she moved her hand to cup his cheek and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. It was warm and sweet and made her stomach flutter in a way it never had before.

When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. "Now do you understand?"

"No," Scorpius said, leaping to his feet. He began to pace furiously in front of her, running an agitated hand through his hair. "You-you can't just…" Suddenly he stopped and faced her, gesturing wildly between them. "That doesn't fix this."

Rose nodded solemnly. "I know." She should've never done it. She should've let him walk away, friendship be damned. But if she was going to lose him anyway, her gut had told her to just go for it. It would be too ironic otherwise. Unfortunately, now she just wanted to crawl in a hole and hide until the whole thing was forgotten.

He was pacing again, brows furrowed. "Did Albus tell you? I told him about my feelings in confidence!" He began to slow, fixing her with a serious look. "You can't just use people, Rose. You can't kiss me when you know it means more to me than you."

"What are you on about?" she asked incredulously. "I was trying to—" Well, hell, it wasn't like she was going to escape this with her dignity in tact. "I fancy you, you prat! Why do you think I reacted like a complete nutter when I found out you were tutoring Callie? Why do you think I couldn't muster up an apology? I was embarrassed! I knew you wouldn't feel the same. I knew it would ruin our friendship. And look at that—it did!" Rose wiped her eyes and tried to pull forth all her remaining stubbornness. "Ugh! I should have never—"

It was right about then that Scorpius cut her off with another kiss. This one was hot and urgent and caught her completely off guard. When he pulled away, she blinked up at him in surprise. "I've fancied you ever since the first time I saw you angry." He smiled. It was just a little bashful and completely lovely. "You're beautiful when you're angry."

Rose's cheeks were warm with flush, but she shot him a dubious expression. "Then why did you ask me to set you up with Lucy?"

"Well, I could hardly expect you to want to date me when you were so keen on hating me, could I?" he pointed out. "So I put those thoughts out of my mind."

Fair enough. "But what about when we became friends?" she pressed.

Scorpius had the good grace to look abashed. "Would you believe I didn't want to ruin our friendship, either?"

Now Rose laughed. It seemed like she hadn't smiled—really smiled in a long time. It felt lovely. "We really are quite the pair, aren't we?"

He took her hand in his and gave it a kiss. "Yes, we are." There was more in his words, though, than a simple agreement.

Needless to say, when Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy returned to the graduation celebratory chaos hand-in-hand, more than one parent blanched. Albus, however, grinned proudly at his friends. And Harry thanked Ginny for waiting to give him a daughter.

09. fallen angels at my feet; whispered voices at my ear

Notes: This story is a work-in-progress chapter thing. I was somewhat inspired by the style of a book called Catfish and Mandala where the story is told in three ways--the present narrative, memories from the past and stories about the protagonist's family he wasn't present for. With that in mind, this Untitled Ghost Story Thing is going to be told similarly. There will be present narrative, memories from the past and stories about how the ghosts the protagonist sees lived/died. This here is the first bit I wrote and pretty unedited. Also, I'm not sure I like that it's in second person present tense as the other two chapter types are in third person past tense (for now, anyway).


Past (1)

It's late and even though you told yourself you'd be asleep by eleven, that time's long since passed. You know you could punish yourself but having to be at work by eight in the morning will be punishment enough and you know it. You'll be lucky if you don't drag all day and, since you work with elementary school aged children, that means you're almost guaranteed to be wrecked by three.

None of that matters now, though. You're in the zone. And, even though it's just a hobby to you now, you know that someday this art thing could be a career. (Well, really, you dream that it will be, hope that it could be and think it probably won't be. But that's neither here nor there.) You've even sold a couple paintings in your time but that was back when you lived in the suburbs. Here in the city, things aren't quite the same.

The real problem with working late is how tired you get. There are dark circles under your eyes, which will still be present tomorrow, you're certain. You've been fighting yawns for the past half hour, but you love the subject of your latest work so much that stopping is simply inconceivable to you. You don't so much want to finish as need to. His passing hit you hard and this is the only way you know how to cope. (Though you'd give up every iota of your talent if you could have him back.)

Those are the thoughts that make your heart break all over again. There's still a part of you that doesn't believe it's true—that he's really gone. He wasn't just a grandfather to you, is the thing. He was the man who showed you what caring really looked like. Sure, he was flawed—who isn't?—but he was also good. Good in the way that you (and your aunt and grandmother) aren't. Good like your mom and younger brother.

He did things like volunteer with Planned Parenthood and work for pro-choice legislation. When you asked about it once, he was surprised. "Why wouldn't I?" he'd asked you. "I have a sister, a wife, two daughters and a granddaughter. Almost everyone I love the most is a woman. I want them to have the same rights and education as men." Those words touched you like you'd never been touched before. They comfort you when you think about your dream man, wherever he may be.

"Do they really?" You swear that you can hear him asking the question in your minds eye. "Angel, you never told me that…"

It's only when he says his nickname for you—Angel—that you realize it's not in your head. The grip on your paint brush and mug of cocoa tightens and, slowly, you turn in your swivel chair. You've braced yourself for whatever you may see but, still, the sight of your grandfather standing before you with a pensive expression is shocking enough to make you drop both the brush and mug. The ceramic shatters when it hits the floor but you barely notice. "Pop-pop?" you whisper, voice uncharacteristically timid as you reach toward the image in front of you.

"Jelly!" the loud voice from the master bedroom shocks you out of your reverie and you promptly fall off your chair. "It's after midnight, could you please keep it down! Some of us care if we do good work at our jobs."

From the heap of limbs that is your new position, you scowl but don't respond with the witty retort just begging to be hollered back. You might hate your roommate (with a violent burning passion) but he is the best friend of the sweetest ex-boyfriend you ever had. Moreover, he did let you stay your first few months rent free.

Suddenly, remembering your grandfather, your eyes snap back to where he stood. But he's not there any longer. You wonder if that anchovy and artichoke pizza was a mistake because surely you didn't actually see your deceased grandfather standing in the middle of the room. You decide you must still be reeling from the funeral and all the hectic family time you suffered the week before.

Sighing, you clean up the mess that is your ex-favorite mug and begin packing up your supplies. If nothing else, you know that it really is time you head to bed. Hallucinations and angry roommates aside, you don't want to break anymore of your favorite things. And you know how clumsy you get when you're tired. Still, there's a pang in your chest when you close your eyes because you can still see him standing there, smiling just a little as he looks down at you with love in his eyes.

When you finally fall asleep, you're crying and it isn't the first time that week. Deep down, you know it won't be the last, either.

08. and as the years go by; boys, our friendship will never die

Notes: So, I have to admit, I was pretty moved by the ads for Benton (and Carol's) return to ER. But I always really liked Carter and Chen's friendship, so I wrote a little something before that episode about what I thought it'd be like if she returned, too. Because it was prior to the episode's airing, there are a few canon mistakes (most notably, the location of Dr. Carter). However, since it's basically AU territory (though only slightly), I forgive myself. ;) It's not a romance, just a nice friendship fic about the ER family that I remember.
Disclaimer: Do not own ER. All rights are solely those of NBC or whoever owns/produces the show. Please do not sue.

then is heard no more

It's been the better side of five years since Jing-Mei Chen stepped through the doors of Chicago's County General hospital. It only figures that when she finally returns to the place she learned to be a doctor, she does it with the same brazen attitude she carried the first time she returned after a long absence.

Passing the threshold, she stalls momentarily. All the faces she doesn't recognize stun her—because it's so different but still the same, too. That's the emergency room, though; always changing, always in flux. And, with that thought, she picks up her pace again.

Spotting a familiar face, she marches straight to him. "Jerry," is her only greeting, face tight and serious. This isn't a time for pleasantries. She's on a mission—one that predicates everything, even politeness.

The affable admit attendant gapes at her for a moment, obviously surprised by her sudden appearance, before a familiar smile falls into place. "Dr. Chen, what brings you back to County?" he inquires in his typical friendly fashion.

She rolls her eyes. As if they both don't already know. "Jerry, where's Carter?"

His smile is instantly replaced by a worried expression, hidden partially by his ridiculous beard. "He's been given a room in the ICU."

With a nod, Jing-Mei is about to make the short walk upstairs but pauses. She has always been determined and headstrong but this—this isn't something she can just plow through, no matter how much she may want to. "How is he, Jerry?" she asks, concern leaking into her tone.

Jerry meets her gaze evenly and she doesn't miss the sadness in his eyes. "Unless he gets a kidney, he hasn't got long." He shrugs, shoulders hunched. "Maybe a few weeks if he's lucky."

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, she nods again. "Thanks, Jerry," she say, a ghost of a smile on her face. "And—it's good to see you." Because it is and she probably owes him the courtesy of saying so. She turns on her heal, then, and marches toward the elevators. She still has her mission, after all.

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

Cowardly, that's how Jing-Mei feels. She's been standing outside the room belonging to Dr. John Truman Carter III for a good ten minutes and is no closer to entering than when the nurse pointed it out to her upon her arrival.

It's ironic, she thinks. She spent the entire train ride from Cleveland psyching up for this moment and now that she's arrived, she's stuck in her head. Second-guessing herself and what she's even doing there. Because it's John. (She wouldn't have come for anyone else. Except for Greg and she really missed the boat with that one. But now isn't the time for thinking about that.)

The problem is, she still doesn't know what to say. He's always had such an easy way about him (not like her at all) and now… now they're different—older, maybe wiser if they're lucky—but what does that really mean? She has no idea. Just like with her internship at County, she's starting to realize that all the prepping the world isn't ever going to mean she's ready.

Biting her lip, she takes a deep breath and pushes her way into the room. John is there, of course, lying in the ridiculously white bed and looking paler than she ever remembers him being. Christ, he looks worse than when he was a med addicted junkie.

And just like that, reality crashes down around Jing-Mei. She doesn't move or speak, her eyes locked on his prone figure.

She didn't know how long she stands there before John's eyes flutter open. When they do, though, she can practically feel time starting again. Despite the obvious pain he's in, he smiles at her. "Deb," he says, knowing she hates the nickname and loves the familiarity, "long time no see."

"John," she replies, mouth dry and eyes drier, "it's been a while." She tries to smile but it's pained, and she knows it. There's a moment of (not entirely comfortable) silence between them as their eyes meet and she looks away first. Taking a breath, she dives right in. "You could've called." She looks at him again, hurt. "I would've come."

John's smiling, though. It's sort of bittersweet, she thinks, and she doesn't like that. It feels too much like he's resigned—like he's given up. "I know," he tells her and she believes him. "Got a long line of people who probably would've come if I called." And she knows who he means—Peter, Susan, Kerry, Abby and Anna to name a few. They weren't just co-workers here, they were a family.

Family. It still hurts her to think. Because it reminds her of all she lost—and all she gave up. She ignores those feelings and takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over the edges of tape holding a needle in place. "They would," she assures him. And she is sure. She's there, after all, and she's always considered herself tenaciously stubborn.

He nods, though she isn't sure if he's dismissing her or agreeing. "But after everything with Mark—" here, she winces a little, "I didn't want to put them through that again." He catches her eye and gives her hand a weak squeeze. "I don't want you to have to—"

"You're going to be fine, John," she interrupts, mostly because it feels like the right thing to say. She knows his prospects aren't quite end stage yet but they also aren't anything to be overly optimistic about, either. Still, he didn't survive everything he's survived over the years just to die now. He's got many more years ahead of him and far too much potential to be taken now. It's just fact—it has to be.

He doesn't respond to that. Instead, he pushes himself up on one elbow and gives her a full once over. His expression is shrewd and she knows what's coming next. "Deb, how'd you—?"

Again, she doesn't let him finish. "Does it really matter?" she asks him, eyebrows raising high with the question. She moves her hand from his grasp to his shoulder. "You were there for me more times than I can count," she continues, eyes glittering just a little with the memories; "let me be here for you this time." She can see he wants to object and she squeezes his shoulder. "Please, John. Let me do this."

This is important to her. Throughout her pregnancy and with her father, he was there. Her rock. Even when she quit, his memory kept her grounded. And, despite what she likes to believe about her abilities, she's never felt like she's fully reciprocated. But this time—this time, she's going to do her damnedest to hold strong. To be his rock for a change.

He deserves at least that much. He deserves the support of those who care about him.

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

Jing-Mei isn't the least bit surprised to see Peter Benton when she returns from one of her numerous coffee runs. She's never been particularly close to the surgeon, but she acutely remembers the way Peter handled himself when John was losing to his addiction. More than that, though, she remembers the way John looked at Peter that night. It's something that always stuck with her.

"Dr. Benton," she says, alerting him to her presence. Her voice is low so as not to wake John but it carries over the beeping of the various machines in the room. She can't think of how to continue, so she just leaves it there.

Peter has that arrogant amused expression on his face and it's enough to remind her what she hasn't missed about him. "Chen," he returns easily. "Thought you quit this place."

Nodding absently, she moves closer to John. Her eyes sometimes play tricks and she wants to be sure everything is as well as it can be. "I did. I'm here for John." Her gaze flicks over to Peter and she gives him a pointed look. "Just like you."

It's the truth and he doesn't argue with it. "Haleh call you, too?" he questions instead, obviously curious.

"Chuny, actually," she replies. She still isn't sure how the nurse knew where to find her (maybe Greg's brother?), but she doesn't care. She's just grateful she did.

Since her answer doesn't require a response, they lapse into silence. They're an unlikely pair but both have their attention trained on the sleeping Carter heir, so the oddness is lost on them.

After a spell, Peter stands and stretches. "Think I'll get some coffee," he comments off-handedly. "You need a refill?" She's almost surprised by the courtesy—almost but not quite. (Doctor's bedside manner and all that.)

His tone has her smiling a little. "No, thank you," she replies because 1) she still has half a cup left, 2) it tastes as stale and disgusting as when she worked there, and 3) if she has any more caffeine, she'll probably have to run laps around the hospital later. It's still a nice gesture, though, and she thinks more than his hair cut and her job title have changed.

Which, actually, worries her a little. What does this change mean for John? Could he be in more danger than she originally thought? She doesn't think so—she's still a doctor in her own right, after all, capable of reading his charts and diagnosing his symptoms—but there's always the chance…

No, no. She's not thinking that way. This is only temporary until John finds his donor. He's her rock and she still needs him, even if it's only to know that he's out there holding strong. She'll do it for the time being (she's always been good at picking up his slack), but she won't reconcile herself to having to hold up without him. Not yet.

Not ever if she has her way.

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

It's a full three days before Jing-Mei finally confronts Peter about his continued presence. It's not that she thinks he has any ulterior motives—quite the opposite, really—but John's condition is in steady (if slow) decline and she refuses to just stand by for any longer. That's not the way she's built. It's not how she operates. Period.

"What the hell are you doing here, Peter?" she asks him outside of John's room as he returns from a coffee refill.

He's obviously not expecting her ambush because he looks torn between confusion and irritation by it. "What are you talking about, Chen?" he responds brusquely, irritation clearly winning the battle.

She points toward the room, eyes angry slits. "You've been here for three days!" Her hands move to her hips. "When are you going to do something already?"

Now he looks more confused than frustrated. "Do?" he repeats, brows furrowed. "What, you think I'm just sitting on a kidney or something?"

Rolling her eyes, she growls a little in frustration. "Of course not," she snaps.

Peter crosses his arms, one brow raised in a way that again reminds her why she loathed being his intern. Arrogant ass. "Then what is it?"

There's a pregnant pause between them until she suddenly throws her hands up in the air. "I don't know!" she cries finally and her expression cracks. She holds her ground, though, refusing to be cowed. "But you have to fix him, Peter."

His face softens and he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. It's then that she realizes she's crying. "It doesn't work that way, Jing-Mei," he tells her, much calmer than he has any right to be. "You know that."

She shrugs off his hand and crosses her arms, trying to be angry again. Anger is safe. "I don't know that," she says, shaking her head a bit wildly. "Don't tell me I know that!"

"Jing-Mei…"

"Damn it, Peter, you save him!" she cries suddenly, interrupting whatever he'd been planning to say to placate her. She shoves his shoulder, her own shaking with repressed sobs. "You have to!"

His hands are on his head and he looks almost as distressed as she feels. "I don't know if I can!" he shouts back, a pained expression on his face.

She can tell it hurts him to admit it, but she doesn't care. "You have to, Peter," she pleads, visibly deflating. Her eyes are wide and filled with an innocence she doesn't normally possess. "I know you; that's what you do for him—what you've always done!"

There's an apology written all over his face but he doesn't say the words. (Not his style.) "He's not my student anymore, Jing-Mei," he says instead, voice tight with unexpressed emotions. He sighs, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "And there isn't anything anyone can do without a kidney."

"I know," she admits quietly, gaze dropping to the floor.

They're both silent, lost in thought, until she breaks it with a sniffle. A loud sniffle.

Eyes shining, she turns to him again. "I'm just… it's so…" She bites her lip, then the bullet. "I don't know what I'd do without him." And it's true. Because she needs him—period.

Peter pulls her into a hug, uncharacteristic but comforting. "Me either," he murmurs above her head.

A few tears leak out and she sniffles again, wiping her cheeks behind his back. "Yeah." They stay like that for longer than either will admit later.

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

If there's one thing people know about Jing-Mei, it's her dedication to the job. She's always tried for first (because second place is the first loser). And, even though she doesn't have anything to prove to anyone anymore (except herself, of course), she's still driven. So driven, in fact, that she's in line to be Chief of Medicine at her hospital.

It's not decided yet, though, and she knows it will be (in a way she does not want) if she stays in Chicago too much longer. She's torn between her loyalty to John and the aspirations she has in the life she's built for herself since leaving. In the end, it's really no contest. She sits beside John and knows she'll never begrudge him for her choice to stay until they find a kidney. (Because they will, damn it.)

But he's perceptive—always has been. And he doesn't miss the terse conversations she has about PTO and her career just outside his room. Eventually he confronts her and insists she go back home. She tries to convince him it's no big deal—that she wants to stay and he shouldn't be alone, anyway—but he won't hear it. He has rebuttals for all her arguments.

And suddenly she's in his room with her tiny suitcase and a train ticket back to her life, not sure what to say. Not good-bye—that's too final. "It's good to see you," is what she settles on eventually, kissing his cheek gently and giving his hand a squeeze. She smiles teasingly and adds, "Maybe next time you'll even get out of bed."

"I'll do my best," he promises and she believes him. He gives her a squeeze back and they share a smile.

Then she turns to Peter, giving him a quick (if awkward) hug. "Look after him," she instructs sternly, tossing a teasing look at John. She sobers quickly, meeting the surgeon's gaze. "And let me know…" she trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence. She can only think of negative ways to go from there and that's not the attitude she wants to leave with.

Peter places a hand on her shoulder and smiles. "I'll keep you updated."

Visibly relieved, Jing-Mei nods. "Thank you." She picks up her bag and shrugs. "I guess I better get going. I'll call you tonight, John, okay?" Partly to let him know she's arrived home safely and partly because she still feels horribly guilty for leaving.

He's smiling from his bed and raises a hand in a wave. "Sounds good." She's still lingering, though, so he makes a shooing motion. "Go on, Deb, or you'll miss you're train." She moves to the door but hesitates again. "I'll see you soon," he adds for assurance.

She smiles, then, and nods. "See you soon," she replies as she finally leaves the room. And, for the first time since she arrived, she believes it. It may not be a kidney but it's enough to get her home.