"Already did. Twice today." He chortled and the group roared with laughter. His smile faded though, as the group laughed and he watched her carefully. Aimee was a sensitive one and he felt bad for making fun of her in front of everybody. But there was male pride to think of. And at the tender age of nineteen, he was full of pride.

Her jaw set as the group laughed. Of course they laughed, Randy was the coolest kid on the block. She glared at him, blaming him for their follower mindset. "Whatever," was all she had to say in response, though. "Look me up sometime if you reach twenty." Then she turned, shoulders hunched under her jacket, and scuffed away down the street, ignoring again the heckling from her 'friends'.

"Oooo!" the crowd responded to her as they watched her huff off. With his back to them, Randy watched, as well. His mouth set in a more serious line as he made the decision. "Aimers, wait!" Not turning to look at the brat pack of adolescents that he lead, Randy jogged towards her. "Hey, come on now. We do this all of the time. What gives?"

She didn't stop as he jogged after her, drawing in a deep breath to loosen her shoulders down to a more comfortable angle. "You just don't get it, do you?" she asked, shaking her head with a faintly bitter laugh. "You just waste your time, playing up to them, when you could be getting a job, making something better of yourself. Look at you! You go to Ro's school, but you don't study, you even pay attention! How can you ever expect to get a decent job if you can't even read your own name, let alone write it?"

"Photographic memory. Think about what I said to you earlier. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. It's a quote from that book that you're trying so hard to understand. The thing to remember about that putz is that he makes no sense half of the time." He shook his head as hands were stuffed into his pockets. "And I make enough. I take care of myself. Can you say the same, Aimers? Don't get high and mighty with me."

"Then don't you make fun of me," she snarled under her breath. Their group was following at a not so discreet distance, trying to overhear what was being said. "I know I'm not clever and I'm never going to be more than a babysitter, or a barmaid. But at least I'm trying."

Randy heard the kids behind them, and when she was done speaking, he tuned around and frowned at the group. "Take a hike! Can't you see a man's trying to score here? Get out of here! Go suck your thumbs somewhere else." The crowd, taken aback quickly dispersed. Then Randy tuned back around and caught up with her. "Not you, Aimers. You're going to be more than that some day. You've got potential."

She groaned on hearing his reason for wanting privacy as presented to their friends. Great, more hassle from Georgie and her bubble-headed posse. "If I've got potential, then you can't say you don't," she objected, glancing at him. "You should get a job, a proper job. You're better than some two-bit rent boy -" She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She'd done it again; implied that she knew more than he thought she did.

That did it. His temper flared and he grabbed her by her arms and pushed her into the brick wall behind her. "I am not a two bit rent boy." He grit his teeth and hissed at her through them. His eyes darted back and forth between hers. "You know nothing about me. Don't even pretend that you do, Princess," he spat the name at her and let her go. Stepping back, he shook his head and then turned to walk away.

Her head cracked back against the wall hard as she tensed, eyes wide as she stared at him in shock. "I didn't -" she tried to explain as he hissed at her. "I didn't mean it ... Randy, wait!" She grabbed his sleeve and refused to let go. "I didn't see much, I've never said anything to anyone. But I didn't like seeing you like that, you don't deserve it and there's no reason why you should let people do that to you!"

He scowled as he looked down at his arm, then back up at her. Jerking his arm free, he laughed scornfully. "What's it to you, I'm just an asshat, remember? Besides, I get paid plenty, so don't let it bother you none." He shook his head, decided that he'd said enough already and turned away from her.

"Yeah, you're better than everyone, aren't you?" she said bitterly to his back. "You're the great and wonderful cool kid on the street, the kid who knew who both his parents were and does what he likes. What should it matter to you if anybody gives a shit, least of all a girl who won't let you fuck her just to make you feel better?" She ground her teeth, and turned to walk in the opposite direction. Never mind it was the wrong way.

He stopped mid-stried and turned around. "Aimers?"

"What?" She spun about to glare at him again, fists clenched in her pockets.

"F**k you." He flipped her the bird with both hands before turning around and walking away. His pace was quick to get away from her, fists clenched tightly into his pockets.

"Sh*t." Aimee watched him stalk away, feeling the shame and anger well up again. She let out a keening growl of frustration, and kicked the wall hard. Sparks flew up from her steel toecaps. Letting out an angry sigh, she turned and slumped against the wall, propping her foot up as she fished in her pocket for her cigarettes. She lit a match, and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs as her head tipped back against the bricks before exhaling a cloud of blue-grey smoke into the cold air. "Sh*t buggering f**kwit pie."

As Randy spoke, Aimee forced herself not to look around, though a small smile appeared on her lips at Ro's response. Serve him right for trying to lie to the teacher.

"Yes, ma'am." Punctuated politeness with a heavy sigh and roll of his eyes. Something told him that Aimee would be all too pleased by this slight rebuke. He tore the corner of the paper in front of him, balled it up and stuck it into his mouth. Just as soon as Ro turned around, he arched his neck back and let the spitball fly towards Aimee.

Aimee stiffened as the little ball of paper struck her hair, pulling the hank of chestnut to eye height and grimacing at the spitball. Three guesses where that had come from. She flicked the paper out of her hair, and flipped Randy the bird, all without deigning to look at him. Ro, in her infinite wisdom, ignored this.

"Miss Mallard?" He rose his hand and sat back in his chair. "Aimee's got a bird on her shoulder. Might want to get that checked out." He snickered this time and placed both hands on the desk. If he was going to be uncomfortable and have to sit here, wasting his time, may as well have fun with it.

Before Ro could answer, Aimee piped up. "Ro? There's a really weird buzzing noise coming from the back of the class. Maybe you should spray it with oil until it shuts up." She offered the teacher a sweet smile.

Ro groaned, rolling her eyes. Things had been tense before with thias particular group, but now it seemed all out war had been declared. "Fine," she sighed. "Go home, guys, I'll see you tomorrow. Randy, Aimee, up here, please. Without injuring yourselves."

"The buzzing noise is the fly inside of your empty skull, dork." He grinned and when the class was released, he got up from the desk. Whilst ambling up to Ro's desk his hand swept over Aimee's desk and knocked whatever was on it askew. "Yes, Ro? How can I service.. er... be of service?" Leaning against the blackboard, he lifted his shirt and scratched his flat stomach. It was a typical, subtle way of testing waters with most clients. If they were interested, their eyes bugged out, if not, they walked on by.

Swearing at Randy in a hiss, Aimee lunged forward to save her ink-pot from smashing on the floor, packing her few things into the pockets of her huge leather jacket before rising to follow him to the front of the classroom. Her hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans as she stopped, displaying a thin line of skin between waistband and the hem of her shirt. However, she was not immune to Randy's practised invitation, her eyes widening for a moment as she stared at him, before dragging her gaze back to Ro with a blush.

"You can stop behaving like a twelve-year old, for a start," Ro pointed out, not even acknowledging Randy's lean against her blackboard. "Both of you. You're the eldest in this class, I expect you both to set a good example of behaviour to the others. And now you're openly insulting one another in the classroom. It has to stop."

He was a bit surprised by Aimee's response, and not at all by Ro's. His brow twitched curiously as his hand flattened on his skin. Thumb hooked the bottom of his shirt as he rubbed where he had scratched. "I think I can handle that. I can handle most anything." Smirking, he tore his gaze from Aimee and he smiled genuinely for Ro. "I can behave, except for one thing."

Aimee felt her blush darken as her gaze slid back to Randy, completely unprepared for the interest she felt towards him as he spoke. How was she supposed to know that blushing interest was more physical than anything else? Swallowing hard, she lifted her eyes to Ro. "Sorry, Ro," she apologised awkwardly. "I'll play nice if he does."

Glancing between them, Ro laughed a little, batting Randy's hand down from his belly. She knew what he was doing, even if Aimee didn't. "Well, I certainly hope your one condition doesn't have anything to do with not having to speak to Aimee, Randy, because I'd like you to tutor her."

His well thought out response to what he knew Ro's question was going to be was wiped from his mind at the thought of having to tutor Aimee. "No. I can't. I've got.. obligations outside of class." He wouldn't elaborate, but the flirtatious way he was standing and actions stopped dead.

"You've got to be kidding me," was Aimee's horrified response to Ro's words, her eyes flicking between Randy and Ro in shock. "Seriously, I can get better without him. We'd kill each other."

As she spoke, Randy searched the blackboard for something his mind could cling to. Anything other than the thought about his own pitiful life and how much better he had it than the others in Ro's charge. The words became a white blur on the black background. Finally, he put his hand through his hair and turned around to look at her. "Your secret is safe with me. I don't go blabbing people's secrets. I'm good at keeping secrets. I have kept a lot of secrets. I don't know what you want me to trust you with, Ro."

She looked up at him, making certain he could see there was no joking in her eyes. "I'd like to employ you," she said simply. "You have an academic ability that is far beyond anything I can continue to teach. Added to that, you have the respect of your class, and of the younger ones. But in order to see whether you have the patience to teach, you need to work with Aimee. If you can improve her reading without either of you attempting murder, then you're definitely the teacher I'm looking for."

Now that blew him away and he slowly sank into the chair beside her. "I, Ro ..." he was at a loss, for the first time in his life. His facade was stripped away and stark, utter confusion colored his face. "What? Me, teach? I don't know how."

"I think you do," Ro smiled gently. "Look, I'm not asking you to take on an entire class right away. I want to see if you can handle teaching, and Aimee needs the extra time. I'll pay you for that extra time, Randy, I'm not asking you to work for nothing."

He blew out a breath and slouched back. His right leg jut out before him and the right curled under the chair. "I don't know, Miss Millard. I just don't know. Aimee hates me. She wants me, but she hates me. I don't think I can do much to help her." He was floundering now and at a loss as to what to do.

She laughed quietly, twisting to look at him. "She doesn't hate you," she assured him. "You irritate the hell out of one another, certainly, but Aimee has a lot of respect for you. Once you get over this ... whatever you're arguing about ... things will settle down."

"Alright." He finally conceded, bringing his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes. "How much? How much are you going to pay me? And will I be fired if her reading level doesn't improve?" He thought about the most recent incidents with Aimee and sighed once again. If she didn't hate him before, she was going to completely despise him by the time he was done.

"Three gold a day," Ro answered promptly. "And if she doesn't improve, then I'll move you to working with one of the younger ones. But she does have a motive to up her ability, you know. Perhaps you'd like to tell her that she's been accepted into the roll call for the university next year." She smiled and patted his hand. "And there's a place for you, too, if you want it."

His eyes flew open and his hands fell from his face. It took him four days to equal the amount of pay she was offering for just one. He watched her, incredulously. His lower lip parted from its matched pair in surprise. And the surprises just kept coming. "Uni? Both of us?"

"Yes, if you want it," she nodded, rising to her feet to begin tidying away the debris of the day. "Aimee needs to quicken her reading so she doesn't feel left behind when she gets there. You, on the other hand, are more than capable of keeping up as you are. But I would feel happier if she didn't have to go alone." She gathered a load of papers into her arms. "I'm not asking you to make a decision right away. But let me know soon, alright?"

Her skinny legs moved fast to keep up with his pace as she took the book back, hugging it to her chest as she skipped along beside him. "Look, you don't have to tutor me," she suggested, thinking the reason for his walking so quickly was his wish to get as far away from her as possible. "We can just tell Ro that you tried, and I'm too stupid. That way everyone wins, right?"

He stopped suddenly and turned on her. "You are stupid, aren't you?" Shaking his head, he turned and continued on towards the market.

She stopped abruptly with him, and a look of indignant anger came over her face. "Screw you, Randy," she called after him, refusing to follow on after that. Out came the cigarettes and matches, she lit up, and sat down on a nearby wall. She wouldn't tell Ro, of course; but she wasn't going to put up with him if she didn't have to.

"Sit there and smoke, for all I care. I'm getting into Uni, with or without you. You want in, you come with me." He called this over his shoulder and kept walking.

"Uni?" Aimee shot bolt upright, staring after him. Pride be damned, he knew something she didn't. She went from a standing start to full run to catch up to him. "What do you mean, uni? You didn't say anything about applying!"

He smirked, could hear her running to catch up. "Give me a smoke." He didn't answer her questions, only continued to walk. His hand was held out, waiting for the pack and matches.

"Tell me what you're talking about," she countered, digging in her pocket to hand over the pack. She held her own lit cigarette out for him to light his. "When did you apply for uni, why didn't you tell the morons?"

With nimble fingers, he took a cigarette from the pack and then her lit cigarette to light the end of his. Handing both back to her, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "I didn't apply. Neither did you. Ro applied, for the both of us."

Aimee stared at him, forgetting to walk along for a moment. "Both of us?" She shook herself, skipping to catch up and retrieve her packet from his hand again. "You better not be joking with me, Randy, or I'll put this out in your eye." She waved her cigarette about, ash falling unheeded to the slush at their feet.

He stopped again and looked down at her. "Two things. One, I don't lie. Two, you need to stop trying to read beyond your level. It's why you're already hating it." He turned again and was almost to his destination in the market.

She nodded, not really listening, her mind still turning over the shocking surprise. "Yeah, but .. uni? Really?" Aimee let out a squeal of laughter, leaping up to hug Randy tightly with all four limbs as she triumphed happily. "Oh my god, that's so cool!"

Now he was forced to stop. His arms went wide and he blinked rapidly as she clung to him. "Uh, Aimers, getting in is easy. Staying in is the hard part." He slowly pat her on the back, then gently put her back to the ground. "Another rule. No touching the jacket."

She dropped down, not at all ashamed of her gleeful demonstration. "Oh, oh no, I get that, I do," she nodded, all eagerness and excitement. "I'll be good, I'll be really good, I'll do everything you and Ro tell me, I promise." She gave his jacket a look. "Why not?"

"You've got to do more than what we tell you to do, Aimers. You've got to believe it, live it, breathe it and understand it." He took a step away and held a door open for her to the comic book store. "It was my dad's."

She paused outside the store, taking a last drag on her cigarette before pinching off the end and putting the dogend into her pocket. "Okay, I won't touch the jacket," she agreed quietly, ducking in through the door and looking around the near-silent store in confused curiosity. "What are we doing here?"

"Mission accomplished." he whispered to himself and put one of the comcs back into it's bin. "Ok, well to finish that you're going to have to buy it." He snatched the comic book from her. "Are there any others you'd like to try?"

"But -" Her hands followed the comic as he snatched it away from her, lips almost pouting with disappointment. "Others?" Aimee blinked, blushing uncomfortably. "I don't have any money, Randy. Not to pay for things that we don't need."

"Consider it a gift then." He smiled and put her comic on top of his stack. "I earned a bit of cash today, so consider it a gift for getting into uni." He then pointed out a few other titles, mostly ones aimed at the younger children. It was a minor step back, but one that he knew she'd over come quickly.

She stared at him in something resembling shock. "A gift?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Who are you and what have you done with Randy?" she demanded then, hands retreating into her pockets. She didn't know what was going on, but she wasn't going to let him spend money on her, not when she knew he was as skint as she was.

"Listen, don't be surprised, okay? Ro's paying me to get you up to speed on reading. She gave me some money. So pick out a few more and get your ass in gear. I don't have all night." He turned then and went to the cashier to wait on her.

Aimee blinked, and frowned. Ro was paying him? Was she, Aimee, really that bad that Ro thought she needed to pay someone else to tutor her? It was a sobering thought, one that hurt a bit, but she had a feeling that arguing wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. Lowering her head, she half-heartedly picked out a couple more comics, and moved over to offer them to him.

He saw her hurt expression and sighed as he added hers to the stack of comics already on the counter. As they were being rung up, he turned to her. "Listen, it's not you. I wouldn't have helped if she hadn't offered the money. She sees potential in you, Aimers. Don't be mad at Ro, okay?"

"Okay." It was a little thing, that agreement, but coupled with a nod. "I'll pay you back, though." Somehow. The easiness was gone again, though, replaced with her usual awkwardness as she slid her hands back into her pockets, studying the steel-capped boots on her feet in silence.

"Don't worry about it. Remember what Ro taught us about economics? Every business has overhead. Buying your books is part of the overhead of my new teaching business." He smiled suddenly, liking that the idea had suddenly come up off of the top of his head. Why he was so eager to see her smile again was beyond even him, though. It just seemed... important.

Next Day ...

The next day turned out to be a Saturday and Randy had started early. It was a habit to be out of the house before dawn. Some of his best paying customers were the ones that wandered the alleyways in the dark. It had been a good morning as his pocket jangled with the coins that he'd earned on his knees. The sun had broke on a bright, winter's day. The air was crisp and the snow on the ground was crusted. Sitting inside of a shop, he sipped coffee and read one of his comics.

He was in a perfect position to see Aimee on her morning rounds, then. With a gaggle of small children walking around and behind her, she was walking back from the market with a meagre bagful of food, laughing at the antics of the group as they skipped and ran ahead of her. The reason for them being together was obvious, if you were paying attention. Every one of them had chestnut hair and chestnut eyes, and a mouth that seemed more suited to a frown than the smiles they all displayed. This was the family Aimee didn't talk about.

Indeed, the gaggle of children did catch Randy's eye and he sat up with a curious look upon his face. Surely she was too young to have that many children. He tried counting how many there were of her siblings, but kept losing track. They all moved so quickly and looked so much alike! He considered going out to greet her, but he knew how their exchanges went. And making her cry in front of her younger brothers and sisters simply was not a cool thing to do. So he sat there and watched. If they noticed him, then he'd make a move. Until then, he sipped his coffee.

"Hey, Ay!" That seemed to be the resounding call from the children, and it also seemed to make Aimee groan and laugh. One of the older ones, a boy around ten years old saw Randy watching them through the window, and pointed. "Hey, Ay, isn't that your boyfriend?" Aimee looked up and froze, her eyes wide with alarm. She grabbed her brother's arm and lowered it. "Don't point, Marc, it's rude," she told him, looking back to Randy and nodding with a faint smile. However, the damage was done. Soon the window in front of Randy was filled with little faces - seven, in all - peering in at him curiously.

The question was heard and his coffee was sputtered out across the table. Her answer had his eyes going wide. At least, the nod from her seemed to imply that she considered him her boyfriend. As the seven faces pressed against the glass, he glared at her over then in a "what the fuck is going on?" type of way. His arms folded over his chest and any thoughts of philanthropy had simply went out the window.

She handed the bag to Marc, scowling at her siblings, and slipped into the shop, spreading her hands peaceably. "Now, don't you get the wrong idea, they're not my kids," she began, before noticing the furious look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I"m not that stupid to think that you're old enough to have that many all at one time." He still glared at her and his arms were still folded over his chest. "And don't think because I was nice to you yesterday that I'm your fucking boyfriend."

"What the hell?" Aimee's jaw dropped as he snapped at her. "Get over yourself, you're not the be all and end all. I wouldn't date you if my life depended on it; I wouldn't date anyone, and at the bottom of that list is you!" She completely forgot what she'd been about to say, turning on her heel and stalking out of the shop, calling her brothers and sisters to follow her. And they did ... after pulling a few more gruesome faces at Randy through the window.

"I'm glad we're in agreement, then." He turned to look at the faces pressed to the window. As each of them turned from curious to anger at his short argument with their sister, he flipped them the bird. "Fuck off, snot noses." He grumbled and picked up his coffee to clean up the mess he'd made on the table.

Listening to her hissing and cursing reminded him of a cat in heat. He couldn't help but smirk and then actually laugh at the mental image. "You couldn't ignore me, even if you tried." he shrugged then and sat back down. His hand curled automatically around the coffee. "Can't pay me back for the books if I won't accept the money." He shrugged then and took a deep tug from the cup in his hand, finishing it off.

"Then I'll give it to Ro, she's paying you to spend time with me, isn't she?" she snapped back at him, and tugged the door open, shooing her brothers and sisters ahead of her down the street. The nerve of him! How dare he talk to her like that? The pace she set, however, was too fast for the little ones to keep up with, and she was forced to slow down, taking a deep breath to calm down and try to explain to them what was going on.

"Whatever." he shrugged and got up to toss the cup of coffee into the trash. Time to pull another trick. He left the shop and wandered not far behind her. Then he slipped into an alleyway and leaned casually against the wall. Leaning his head back and looking up at the sky, he idly scratched his stomach, just enough rigid flesh exposed to tease and tantalize.

"Ay, what's he doing?" Aimee looked up at one of her sisters, who was staring down the alley nearest them. "What's who doing, sweetie?" she asked curiously, moving to follow the girl's stare. Oh, how she wished she hadn't ... when she finally managed to drag her blushing gaze away, that is. Her hand lowered to turn the kids away from Randy. "Ignore him, he's just being silly."

The child's voice rang through the cold air and pierced through Randy's head. With them around, with Aimee around, he knew no more money would be made. Pushing off of the brick wall, he straightened his clothes and ambled not far behind the gaggle of kids. "Can't you move any faster? Pick one of them up so you're not in everybody's way. Jesus!"

Unbeknownst to Randy, Aimee was now fighting not to give into a new emotion that was flashing through her. It was something like despair, and sorrow, and fury all in one. Her face twisted, but she didn't say anything, bending to hike her youngest sister up into her arms and take the hand of the second youngest. "Come on," she said quietly to them, and the children, who by now knew when Aimee wasn't playing games, quieted almost immediately, hurrying to link hands and walk with her. "Let's get out of everyone's way."

Randy blew out a breath and let his anger seep away. Once the passel of brats was out of his way, he breezed by them and past Aimee. "Oral report. Start. Now."

"Go away." She didn't look at him, didn't really acknowledge him as he breezed past, guiding the little group down an alleyway towards their home.

"Alright. But don't ask for help at uni." He shrugged and continued on his way, deliberately not turning down the alleyway that she took. "Be content to be a waitress or somebody's whore to pay for their food and clothes."

A small voice spoke, loud enough for him to hear as the little group moved away down the alley. "Why does the nasty boy make you cry, Ay?" There wasn't an answer, though.

Blowing out a breath, he closed his eyes to that little voice. He'd made her cry. Scowling, his eyes opened and he turned the other direction. He ran as fast as he could to get as far away from them as possible. There was a strange sensation that burned inside of him. Never before had he cared what a callous or carefree word could do. Why was he suddenly feeling guilty now? Randy had to think. Disappearing into the market, he made quick work of buying the necessities for his own family. And why did he have to say that part about being somebody's whore. Now his conscience kicked in and he realized that he'd just been a pot calling out to a kettle. A kettle that could cry.

However, with the attention off the stage and on the group beating the crap out of Randy, the crowd took rough justice into their own hands, laying hands on the attackers and removing them forcibly from the area. Aimee's eyes narrowed to Randy's greeting, but she didn't pause in her performance, pushing him down onto the couch. Why not have a little fun before he completely destroyed her confidence again? She then proceeded to make him the envy of every guy there, straddling his lap with a dangerous smile as she sang to him, running her free hand through his hair. He wasn't going to get beat up again now, not unless someone had a death wish.

When the brawl was broken up, he sat up and straightened his sleeves with jerks of his arms. Suddenly Aimee was in his lap. He gave her a confused look and blinked rapidly. "The hell are you doing?" He didn't say it loud enough for the mic, but the simmering in his eyes should have given her a good clue that he wasn't happy with the current situation.

Trust me. That's what her eyes told him as she rose off him, and blew him a reluctant kiss for the benefit of the crowd. There were more than enough hands to help her back up onto the stage to complete the set, and a few of those hands clapped Randy on the back, jeering and laughing at the expression on his face. "Ain't often she takes a likin', yer in there, mate!"

As if he had a choice. He watched her get up and was jostled by the pats on the back. A slow, reluctant smile coming to his face. "Yeah, tapped it earlier." he didn't even realize what he was saying. He waved off the drunk, grinning and leering crowd. "Hey, does that get me a free beer?"

With the music over for the night, Aimee let the band wave her off for the night, slipping back down and into the crowd to seek out Randy. She found him towards the bar, grinning to the tender as he handed her a couple of Badsiders, one of which she offered to Randy. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a hiss.

"Nice to see you, too." He took the Badsider and lifted it up. Draining half of the bottle, he slammed it back onto the counter. He didn't think she really cared why he was here, just that he was here, messing things up for her. "And if I'd known you were here, I wouldn't have come in. I'd rather have bostfright."

"Bost ..." Aimee paused, working that one out, and blinked, stunned. "You've been out tonight? Gods, Randy, it's freezing out there!" Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over, a concerned frown appearing on her face. "Bad night, huh?" She looked over the bar, signalling the tender over and asked for a clean, wet cloth.

He waved off her concern with a drunken laugh. "Naa, baby, good night. Made some money, honey. It's all to the good. Now, are you going to finish what you started on the couch?" He sat back and thrust his hips towards her. "Or are you going to be a fucking tease?"

She levelled an entirely sober, unimpressed stare on him. "You're drunk," she stated, more for her own benefit than anything, and took the cloth the tender gave her. She hesitated for a moment, and then lifted Randy's chin, moving the wet cloth ever so gently over his bruised, bleeding jaw. "You don't want me to do anything to you, stop pretending otherwise," she said quietly, ignoring the curious looks around them.

His head moved, neck pliable, under her hands. "Knew it. Tease. You dress like a slut, you act like a slut, then claim the virgin Mary." His eyes raked over her get up, mini-skirt and fishnets. "You forgot the hole, though." With the toe of his boot, he pressed against her leg and dragged it down, snagging the fishnets and creating a hole. "There, now you've got it right."

Aimee ignored most of the vitriole, jumping when his boot ripped down her tights. "Well, you're in a lovely mood tonight, aren't you?" she smiled a little tensely, still gently cleaning the blood from his face. "You don't care why I'm here, you don't want me to be. But I am, and I'm in a better state than you, aren't I?" The cloth was brought away from his skin, dark with his blood. She looked down at his hands. "How long have you been outside?" she asked softly, worried by the reddened skin of his fingers.

"Oh, and now she's high and mighty." He pulled his hands from her and leaned forward. The reek of alcohol and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. "You don't give a shit about me, so don't even fucking pretend that you do."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that people care whether you live or die?" she demanded in response, waving away another offer of beer. "That I care? You shouldn't judge everyone by your standards, Randy, you're missin' out on a lot." Ignoring his hands jerking away, she caught them again, pulling him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you home."

"You're not a nobody." The hiss was fiercely denying of his words, but when he said she needed it, she recoiled, suddenly prickly and defensive. "You don't know anything about me, don't preach where you don't practise." She rose, turning away with her arms wrapping about herself uncomfortably.

"Hey, don't take it like that." He rose from the stool and wandered around the room. "Your singing, it just needs a bit of work. I can't help you with that, but you can take classes at uni for it. What can they teach me, that I don't already know?" He shrugged and stopped in front of a mirror, rimmed with oversized light bulbs. "The fuck are you looking at?" He glared at his reflection, then drew his fist back and let it fly, shattering his own image.

The smash of the glass made her jump violently, spinning back to find him with a bleeding fist. "Gods, Randy, what is wrong with you?" she demanded, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to sit on the low couch. Her own t-shirt was ripped up to make a make-shift bandage as she knelt on the floor beside him. "I don't want to be a singer, I want to be an actress, and to that, I need to be able to read," she told him fiercely. "I want you to teach me how get better at it. I want to see you better ... happier. Ro offered you a job, are you just going to through that away because you're too proud to admit you need it?"

He cursed as the shards of glass stuck out of his knuckles like a bad hair cut. Being pulled back, he landed on the couch with a thud. The blood dripped through his fingers and onto the floor and his jeans. "Nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all. Im just too real for other people to take." His eyes closed and he so wished for sleep. His body was aching and torn up. There were bruises from his eyes down to his groin area. Some fresher than others. "You got any pills, Aimee?"

She was delicately picking the glass out of his fist, wincing each time she made him wince. "No, I don't," she told him quietly. "Pills are what got my mom with eight kids. Pills and thinking she wasn't good enough to be better than what she was." She wrapped the torn piece of her shirt around his bloodied fist, looking into his eyes. "Don't turn out like my mom," she told him softly. "You deserve better. And I believe that you can get it."

"Ah, c'mon. Don't be such a drag. I can't get pregnant, so I don't have to worry about kids, I only got.." he clamped his mouth shut stubbornly and frowned.

"... diseases and getting hurt to worry about," she finished, raising her brow. She tied the makeshift bandage about his hand. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

"Yeah, I do." he watched as she finished bandaging his hand. His fingers curled and extended slowly. "Learned a long time ago that the only person you can count on is yourself." He looked up at her then and sighed. "Really, Aimee. You don't want any part of me. Not unless you like getting hurt and crying a lot."

"Been there, done that," she pointed out stubbornly. "Seriously, I only want you for your mind, your body's too skinny for my liking." She grinned faintly. "C'mon, cheer up, Asshat. Get me into uni, and then you can laugh at me when I get myself thrown out."

The buzz was wearing off and what ached before began to scream out in loud, shrill voices of pain. Only a catch in his breath and the sheen of perspiration on his brow were a give away to what his body was feeling. "I'll get you into uni." He lay back on the couch then and put his bandaged hand over his face. Upon closer inspection, there was blood on his trousers, shirt and even dried flecks on the leather jacket.

"That stuff tastes like crap." he crinkled his nose and his lip curled in a disgusted snarl. "Really, you should be reading Popeye. Did you yet? Tell me about Popeye." He didn't want to talk about the bruises or how to heal them anymore. Diverting the conversation was the best he could do.

She sighed softly, making a quiet plan to get some of the nettle and ginger rub to him soon enough. "I did," she nodded, speaking in almost a sing-song voice. "Popeye and Olive Oyl were building their house when Bluto came by and kidnapped her because he wants her to marry him; Popeye ate some spinach, and got all strong, and beat him up, and rescued his girl." That was pretty much it; the comic hadn't gone for intricate plotlines.

He opened one eye and watched her, his smile growing. "Did you enjoy reading it?" Canting his head, so he could better look into her face, he managed to get the other eye open. It was probably the most gentle look he'd given her, to date.

She smiled, remembering being curled up in bed with her sisters, reading it aloud to them. "Yeah, I did," she nodded, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette. "When I finished it, I read it out loud to my sisters. Is that a good thing?"

He reached the bloodied and bandaged hand out to her and pat her on the shoulder. "Very good. You're becoming the teacher, to your sisters. Feels good, doesn't it?" He chuckled then and returned his hand to his stomach.

"Yeah, it does," she grinned, noting where his hand went after touching her. So those bruises were worse than he was pretending, clearly. "Makes me wonder why you're so quick to give up on it."

He sighed and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. Staring at it, he seemed to come to some kind of decision. "I can't afford to go to school, and take care of my mom." He'd never admitted that much to anybody. "I need to make money so we don't get evicted. So that she doesn't go hungry. Do you think Ro will keep paying me, once I'm in uni?" He shook his head and frowned. "Not until I do work do I get paid. And I need to keep getting paid."

"Have you asked her?" Aimee asked mildly, carefully not making anything of his mentioning his mother. She had a feeling it was a sore subject, just like her own mother was to her. "Ro, I mean? I don't think she's going to send you to uni and not have some kind of plan to keep you going. She knows a lot of stuff, you know." She knew about Aimee's problems, that was for sure.

"You don't work, you don't get paid." He was starting to get irritated again and his breathing rate picked up a notch. "Why do you have to argue so damn much? You make my head ache."

"I'm not arguing," she said defensively, scooting back from him. "Fine, I'll leave you here to rot, would you prefer that?"

"Only if you looked happy about doing it." he scowled and his fingers twitched on his stomach. "I think Ro was trying to play matchmaker."

Aimee choked on the smoke she'd just inhaled, coughing raspingly as her eyes streamed. "You ... you're kidding, right?" she gasped, taking a few deep breaths to clear her lungs. "You can't stand me, why the hell would she throw us together like that?"

"You ever see a kid in school that really likes a girl? He'll tug on her hair and poke fun at her." He shrugged then and took the last hit from the cigarette before snubbing it out on the concrete floor. "She thinks I'm tugging your hair."

"I'm sure they do, which is why you're going to get into uni and do something with yourself other than become the whore your mother was." He turned his head away from her. Then his body followed suit, curling up on the couch, facing the back.

"And how do I do that without you?" she asked, offended. "Because, after all, no one else would teach me for so little, would they?" She threw the glass into the trashcan violently and stood. "You know what? Forget it. You just curl up in your own little world and forget that anyone cares about you and yours. You can't help anyone who won't help themselves."

"That's why you gotta depend on yourself. Nobody's gonna do it for you." He sighed and his hands were brought over his head.

She threw her hands up, shaking her head. "I give up." Moving to the door, she glanced back at him. "They lock up at four am, you'd better be out before then." Then she pulled the door open, and stepped out, muttering furiously to herself.

He flinched as the door slammed shut, then lay in the quiet of the room. It was peaceful and calm. But most of all, it was warm and free of drafts. Lacking the energy or the strength to get up and follow her, much less argue with her, he lay there with his mind whirling. She made good points and he thought about them hard and long until he couldn't muster the energy to do that. Her smiling image was the last thing that he saw before his eyes closed and he passed out.

She stared up at him with miserable brown eyes. "My mom took a new guy on last night," she told him with faltering determination. "He brought his friends, and ... one of them liked little boys. He would've ... you know ... to Marc, but I wouldn't let him." Her eyes lowered as she shuddered again. "So he did it to me, instead."

Randy blew out a breath and he put his arms around her to pull her close. "You should talk to Ro about getting Marc out of there." He narrowed his eyes as he gazed over her head and into the park. Trembling, and not from the cold, he closed his eyes again and blew out a breath.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she remembered the promise not to touch his father's jacket, and her arms wound up beneath the leather to wrap around his waist as she leaned against him. But there weren't any tears. Aimee refused to let herself cry over what had happened the night before, preferring to channel that energy into getting herself and her family out of their troubles. "She knows," she murmured. "She says she can help."

"Good." He rested his chin atop of her head. His mouth was a straight line and suddenly he felt like crying. It didn't sit well with him, and it was something that he hadn't done since he was a child. But something snapped inside of him and all of the pain, anguish, angst of growing up on the wrong side of the tracks with the wrong kind of parents boiled up inside of him. "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh!"" he lifted his head and screamed, hugging her tightly.

She could feel the emotion welling up in him, the tension and trembling anger that she, too, felt, squeezing her eyes shut as he let it out in a long, loud scream. Her arms squeezed tightly around him, responding to the crushing hug he gave her, ignoring the twinging pain from abused ribs and back as she clung on to the one person who might possibly understand what she was feeling.

Randy held her for a long time after that. He didn't speak, didn't utter another sound. His face remained dry and he slowly became stoic, once more. "And, I do that." Finally, he whispered. Taking a step back, and letting her go, he shivered as the cold air rushed in where the warmth of her body had been only moments before.

Shivering herself at the sudden coolness, Aimee dragged her coat tighter around her, hunching her shoulders. "Does it stop hurting?" she asked softly, lifting her head to look at him. It didn't matter if he saw the damage now; he pretty much understood how it had happened.

"I don't know, Aimers." He turned to start down the path again. "Sometimes I forget, sometimes it's numb." Shrugging, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes again. "Want another?"

She shook her head, smiling a little despite the pain in her lip. "No, I should be trying to give them up," she said with a shrug. "We can't afford it, not with the new bills and everything."

"Yeah." He slid the pack back into his pocket. "Mom thinks I still work. I used to do deliveries. But I was too slow and clumsy." He shrugged, staring out over the horizon, his eyes distant with memory. "I couldn't tell her that I got fired. She's too sick to work."

"Doesn't she notice the bruises and stuff?" Aimee asked curiously, walking subtly closer beside him than she had done before. There was an easiness back in their pauses that had been missing for a few days now. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business," she shook her head, then, looking down at her feet. "But that's why you should talk to Ro, find out what she means by saying you can go to uni. I'm sure she wouldn't ask you to go if she didn't have some kind of plan."

"She's blind." he snorted softly, waving her off. "No more lies and no more secrets." He turned and looked at her, really looked at her. "Were you serious when you said you wouldn't go without me?"

Chestnut brown eyes lifted to his, totally serious as she nodded firmly. "I really mean it, Randy," she told him softly. "Even more than I did when I said it."

"I don't understand why you'd do that. That's putting a huge load on my shoulders, and you're hinging your future on me. Somebody you have hated for years. So why would you do that?"

"Well, because I don't hate you," she shrugged, glancing away. "I kinda look up to you. You get on with things and nobody ever bothers you. And ... you deserve the chance to make things better for you, and for your mom."

Randy didn't see himself as somebody worth looking up to. Not after the things that he'd done. Not only to Aimee, but to himself and others. "It's nice to think about the future, but when you're living hand to foot in the here and now.." he shrugged and shook his head. "You should look up to Ro. She's a good role model. Me?" he shrugged again. "Not so much."

"Well, I do, but Ro's never been hungry or turned out of her home," Aimee pointed out. "Don't try and tell me who to respect, Randy, I'm having a hard enough time respecting myself right now."

"And that's who you should respect the most. Look at what you did. Sure, you got beat up, but Marc slept peacefully last night, and not because he passed out from shock." he offered a hint of a smile. "You're his heroine."

She shook her head, a slightly bitter smile on her lips. "Not when he had to watch," she said unhappily, turning away as she continued to walk along the path. "I'm not a hero, I should've sent one of them for the Watch or something, instead of trying to stop it all myself."

"You did what you could." he sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "And that's all any of us can do." A colorful flyer blew against his leg and he bent to pick it up. Twisting, he held the paper out to her. "What's it say?"

She sniffed, wiping her nose clean on her side of her hand, and turned to look at the flier he held out to her, taking it from his hand and smoothing it out. She squinted at the crumpled paper, her lips moving slowly. "Come to the gr ... great ... ist ... ext ... extrav .. aganza ... extravaganza ..." she read slowly, almost painfully.

"Okay, stop." He listened, smiling. "Tell me what that means."

"Who is teaching you to f*cking read? Don't give me that poor pitiful me bullshit, Aimee. I know it all too well. It works great for the paying customers but it doesn't work on me. Go on, run away, Aimee. Keep on running, too. Eventually you'll learn every trick of the trade. But it'll get you no where. And Marc? Well he'll learn it too. Is that what you want?" He threw his hands up in the air and kept walking.

She'd stopped dead, completely still, in the centre of the street, trembling as he snapped at her. Her hands clenched in her pockets, but they weren't quick enough to catch the first fall of tears from her eyes as she finally gave in. Her feet stumbled her forward, each step jolting the aches and pains from her battering the night before. Yes, she felt sorry for herself, but who wouldn't after such an ordeal? And knowing her family would no doubt suffer more for her cowardice did not help.

He reached the house first and pulled the door open. Standing there, silently, he held that door and waited for her to pass through the threshold.

Hearing the door open, Ro came out into the passageway, her lips curving in a surprised smile on seeing the teenager standing there. "Randy, how nice," she smiled pleasantly, coming over to greet him. "Was there something you ..." She frowned, seeing his stoicly frozen expression aimed down the street. "Randy, what is it?"

Seeing Ro, he gave her an upnod, then turned his gaze onto Aimee. "Not my place to tell it, Ro." He took a deep breath and kept his face frozen, not wanting to allow anybody to see his own pain. "Aimee, get your ass up here!"

Not entirely convinced, Ro stepped up to him, following his gaze down the street to where Aimee still stood, her back to the house. Even from here, Ro could see the girl was shaking. "Randy, bring her in," she ordered, suddenly not the nice teacher, but the other woman they didn't see. The care taker, who did what was necessary, no matter how it hurt. "Now."

"Yes ma'am." He stepped away from the door and went to gather Aimee up. "Come on, Aimers. It'll be alright." Then he shuffled and moved them both towards the door.

The first wrap of an arm about her shoulders made Aimee's sobs come alive, her fists pressed to her mouth as she cried out her pain and anger and misery. She was barely aware of being brought inside, of the door closing behind them, nor of Ro giving out instructions.

"Bring her into the kitchen, Randy." The young teacher gestured for the boy to take his sobbing companion through. "Look after her a while; I have a feeling I'm going to need my box."

Randy simply held onto Aimee to let her cry it out. Glancing around the kitchen, he found a box of tissues and pulled a few free. Holding them to her face, he dabbed her tears. "It's going to be okay, Aimee. You'll see."

As Ro left the room, Aimee twisted about and pressed her face against Randy's shirt, soaking it quickly with her tears. She wasn't a pretty sight as she cried. Some girls can manage tears with just a faint expression change, but not Aimee. Her face screwed up, her mouth opened, and she heaved and grunted through her sobs, the entire experience shaking her body violently.

Randy looked towards the door, hoping that Ro would get back soon. He'd never seen somebody in a crying jag before and the fact that he was the one she was clinging to made him a little uncomfortable. Not that she chose him to let her feelings out to, but because he simply didn't have the experience. His arms wide, he pat her on the back.

It seemed to take a long time for the tears to abate, and even then, little sniffles and whimpers left her lips for what seemed an eternity afterward. Aimee didn't pull away, her hand moving to take the tissues from him and press them between her face and his shirt ... a little late, perhaps, but the thought was there. "M'sorry."

"Don't be." He reached around her and pulled a chair from the table. "Here, sit down. I'll get you some water."

"Don't go." It was out before she could stop it, a tiny plea not to be left alone as her hands clutched onto his shirt. She lifted a tear-stained face to him.

"I"m not going anywhere." He assured her and wrangled himself free. "Just, sit for a minute. Catch your breath and let me get you some water."

She nodded, her breath staccato in her throat as she sank shakily down onto the chair he'd pulled over for her. The tissues were treated to a nose-blowing of gargantuan proportions, and she winced again, this time letting out a low hiss of pain as the press of her lungs made her ribs flash with pain again. It seemed that letting out the tears had let down those prickly defenses of hers as well.

He filled a glass with water, then walked over to hold it out for her. "It's not whiskey, but it'll do for now." He pulled a chair of his own out so he could sit near to her. "And Ro will take care of things."

"It hurt so much," Aimee was staring into space, not seeing the glass he held out to her. "He just kept pushing and pushing, and he ripped my clothes and tied me up with them, and even when I was screaming, he just laughed at me and hurt me more ..."

A week or so later ...

Randy was standing outside of the small room where Aimee's younger siblings were sleeping. His arms were folded over his chest and he was leaning against the wall next to the door. He could hear occasional sobs and hiccoughs as the little ones slept. His eyes closed, and his head rolled back. The last few days had been busy, stressful and he was glad it was finally over. Still, he could see the looks of apathy on Aimee's mother's and her boyfriend's faces when they came to take the children away. He thought he even saw a flicker of relief in Aimee's mother's eyes. Anger welled up inside of him and he pushed off the wall. His eyes opened to wipe the memory away with something tangible: a painting on the wall some child had made during their brief stint with Ro. Moving out of the hall, he found himself walking outside and reaching for his pack of cigarettes.

If the last few days had been hard on Randy, they had been moreso on Aimee. She'd been prevailed upon to help with the splitting of her family, and had found herself shocked and hurt by the ease with which her mother had agreed to apart with all eight of her children. It wasn't that Aimee didn't trust Ro; she knew the school teacher would find good homes for her siblings, and that life would be easier on them for it. It was just that her whole world had turned upside down in the space of a week, and there wasn't much to hold onto. Even now, as she dragged the last of the bags down the street to Ro's house, she couldn't help feeling as though she had betrayed her siblings somehow, by taking them away from their mother. Her eyes lit on the figure prowling the street ahead, and she sighed softly, recognising Randy. For some reason, he'd been there every step of the way, even coming with her to tell her mother what had been decided. Aimee didn't understand his sudden wish to be friendly, but she wasn't going to knock it. Ro was right in this one thing; Aimee needed a friend right now, and Randy was it, whether he liked it or not.

Randy exhaled a cloud around his head and turned when he heard the rustle of bags and the echo of footsteps. "Hey Aimers." He took another drag off of the cigarette then tossed it aside. "Let me take some of those." He didn't understand the sudden urge to help Aimee and her family. It was just something that needed to be done. He thought that it may be his own family life that fueled the need to help, to provide and protect. He offered a smile as he took the bags and turned towards the steps to Ro's place.

"Thanks." Her answering smile was genuine enough, if a little strained. It had been a tough few days. With half her load taken - exactly half, she still wasn't letting him do her any favours - Aimee followed Randy into the building, her body aching still with old pains as well as new ones. "Did they get down to sleep alright?" she asked in a quiet whisper, not wanting to disturb her siblings with the sound of her voice. The crying earlier had been almost unbearable.

He nodded and deposited the bags into the cedar lined closet that Ro designated for the belongings of Aimee's family. "Yeah, they finally dropped off about an hour ago. Some are still crying in their sleep. But at least they're sleeping." he stood back, holding the door open. As the roaches attempted to flee from the cedar room, he began stomping on them.

She nodded, barely aware of the 'roaches as they attempted freedom around her feet. "They'll get by," she murmured softly, piling the bags up. She'd help with the unpacking of them tomorrow, making a mental note to arrive early for school to do just that. A tickle on her leg alerted her to a 'roach making it's way up her shin, and she flicked it off, stamping on it quickly. "Least Ro won't have a problem with pests any more," she shrugged, stepping out of the closet and moving to shut the door. "Jo and Jilly are good at dealing with them."

Randy frowned as he stepped back from the door. "The cedar kills them, drives them off." he nodded slowly. "Are you going to be alright?" He reached up and gently grasped her upper arm for support.

One hand on the door as it clicked shut, she didn't immediately raise her eyes as his hand closed about her arm. "I'll live," she managed eventually, finally lifting her head to look at him. "I'm only there for another few months, then I can go and get residence on the campus, can't I? And the little ones are safe, Ro'll find good homes for them. I know she will."

"Yeah, it'll work out." He let go of her arm and gestured towards the front of the house. "Since you interrupted my smoke, you want to go out and share one?" Randy was still at a loss, and more than overwhelmed by the amount of emotion that he witnessed in the last few days.

"Sure." She shrugged, latching onto a purpose that would keep her from having to return to her now empty-feeling home a little while longer. Rummaging in her pocket, she pulled out a packet as she turned toward the door. "Owe you loads, anyway."

"Y'don't owe me." He scratched the back of his head as he moved out of the door. "You're not going to stay here at Ro's? It's not safe for you to be at that place with that man there. Not after... well it's not safe." He was pulling his own pack out of his pocket.

She drew the door to, and carefully lowered herself down onto the steps, drawing a white cylinder from the pack in her hand and lighting up. "Nowhere else to go," she snorted a little bitterly. "I won't be there much, anyway. I took extra shifts on the milkcart, and I'll be coming by here as much as I can to help out. I want enough money to pay my own way, much as I can, when I finally get out."

His smoke was already lit when he settled down onto the stoop beside her. "Aimee, you can't go back there. There's nothing left for you there. And he'll try again." Shaking his head, he fingered the cigarette, but didn't bring it to his mouth. "And your brothers and sisters need you here. You're their rock right now."

She stared into the glowing cherry of her own cigarette, not arguing with a word he said, but not able to do as he seemed to want. "I'll be here as much as I can," she said again, quiet in the darkness of the street. "But they need to let go of me as much as Mom if they're going to be happy." Her thumbnail flicked against the filter in her fingers. "Can I ask you something?"

He was about to ask her why she felt the need to stay with her mother after all that happened. But her own question stilled his mouth and he nodded. The cigarette was brought to his mouth and the cherry glared brightly before he took the cigarette and exhaled as he spoke. "Shoot."

"I haven't either." he chuckled and poured the soda into the glass. "And that's the third time tonight you've said thanks. You don't have to do that, you know."

"Yeah, I do," she snorted with laughter, frowning in amusement at his objection. "It's part of being a friend, you know? Making sure the other person knows they're appreciated for whatever it is they've done or are doing." She offered him an only slightly superior smile.

"You've not spat spitballs at me in a week. That's enough to let me know just how grateful you are." He grinned crookedly and sat back in the chair.

"Excuse me? You're the one who likes spitballs," she snorted, lifting her knees to her chest as she poured her own soda into a glass. "I do the witty repartay, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah." he grinned and glanced at her briefly before looking away. "I got something for you." Sitting the glass down, he stood up. "Just, sit tight."

"Huh?" Aimee blinked, looking up in surprise as he rose. He had something for her? For a moment, she had visions of dung in a bag, but they'd already been there and done that. So she had no idea what to expect. "Something for me?"

"Yeah." He was only gone a minute, and when he came back, he had a brown paper bag in his hand. The contents had a rectangular shape. Sitting it on the table in front of her, he shrugged. "They're used, and the lady at the bookstore said that young ladies like to read them." He dumped the bag out then, revealing three Nancy Drew paperback books.

Chestnut eyes went wide with amazement. "More books?" Here's hoping Randy was braced - if he recalled the comic book store, he should have been ready to recieve an armful of Hurricane Aimee as she leapt up and thudded straight into him, hugging tightly. It was over quickly, though, and she soon dropped back to her seat, lifting the three bindings to inspect the titles. "Nancy Drew and The ... Werhispering Stat-you-ee."

He laughed as she hugged him and this time, he returned the hug. "Yes, more books. Something a little more sophisticated than comics. But don't stop reading the comics. That'd be a shame." he smiled and turned his head to look at the spine of the book. "Statue. Like in the fountain."

"Statue." Aimee nodded, filing that away along with the abundance of information already imparted to her. "What does werhispering mean?" she asked then, scratching her fingers through her hair as she looked at him curiously.

A wicked grin ticked the corner of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes was no less the tale tell sign of mischief. Leaning forward, he lifted her hair from her ear. His breath warm as it blew a strand from her cheek. "Whispering." He whispered into her ear.

She watched him lean forward suspiciously, flinching away as he whispered into her ear with a shuddering jump, and a laugh that was matched with a light slap to his shoulder. "Thanks for telling me," she grinned wryly, reaching a hand up to rub her ear.

He chuckled at her reaction, then sat back and took a sip of his cola. "You won't forget the meaning of that, I guarantee." With a smug nod, he took another sip. "It's getting late."

"It's not that late," she shrugged. They both knew the other spent long hours awake at night, even if there was no need. "But, if you need to go, then ..." She shrugged again, making no attempt to make him stay if he wanted to leave.

"I think you should try to get some sleep. It's been a long couple of days." reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plastic baggie and tossed it to her. There were two blue tablets inside.

Catching the bag, Aimee frowned, suspicious of anything in tablet form that hadn't been given into her hands by a doctor. "What are these?" she asked warily, scowling at the pills through the plastic.

"Sleeping pills. I bought them in the market, from a respectable vendor." he could see her dubiousness. "You'll wake up in the morning feeling a lot better." He had been purchasing such pills to make his mother sleep, and had another, identical, pouch in his pocket. If they could help Aimee forget what she'd seen and heard and felt in the last few days long enough for her to sleep, then that was good. If not ... well, he'd just have to think of another way.

Ro's smile widened fondly. "Of course, you will still be tutoring Aimee, too," she added as he sipped, lifting her own coffee to hide her sudden grin.

"Do you think I should go into teaching?" he asked suddenly, trying to derail Ro's match making plans. "I mean, it's kind of nice to help people who need it."

She lowered her mug, swallowing her mouthful of coffee. "It's entirely up to you what you do, Randy, of course," was her diplomatic answer. "I would like to see you spending your energy on something that suits you, and you've more than proved you have the patience and skill for teaching in the last few weeks. But ultimately, it is your decision. And don't think I didn't notice your attempt to change the subject there."

"Well I don't want a girlfriend." He put it bluntly and leaned back in his chair. "I'm more than willing to help out a kid who needs it, but I don't need somebody clinging to me when I've things to do."

Ro snorted with laughter, almost spitting her coffee. "Oh, for goodness' sake, who said anything about a girlfriend?" she demanded laughingly, rolling her eyes at him. "I certainly never did, you thought that one up by yourself." She shook her head, wiping her nose. "I can't see either of you ever deigning to acknowledge one another in that sense anyway. But I would like to see you friends - just friends. Because you need her as much as she needs you."

"We're friends." He snorted and dropped his hands to the table. "But she doesn't need me. She needs her brothers and sisters. She and they lost their mom. Even if she were a bitch." He rolled his eyes closed and shook his head. "They don't need to lose one another so soon."

Ro sighed softly. "Ordinarily I would agree with you, Randy, but Aimee's family isn't the normal sort," she explained quietly. "They're only tied together by blood, and blood is thinner than you might think. Of them all, Aimee's the only one who will truly have regrets when all this is done, and she'll live with those regrets her whole life. Unless someone is there to help her grieve over what she has lost."

Randy could see a flaw with that logic, but chose not to argue the point, Instead, he gave Ro a flat look. "What do I look like, her shrink?"

"No, you look like a young man who's been without someone to talk to for far too long," she told him just as flatly. "And she's a young woman with the same problem. Stop being so prickly, Randy. That girl in there has more secrets hidden inside her than anyone else I know, and she's never let any of them slip. Yours are more than safe with her."

"I'm not worried about her telling my secrets. I got my own shit to deal with. I don't need her problems, too. I agreed to tutor her and teach her to read. I didn't sign on to be a guidance counselor."

"You're not listening to me, Randy." Ro leaned back, curling her arms about herself as she looked over at him with a soft look on her face. "I'm not telling you to be her counselor, I'm asking you to be her friend. And to let her be yours in return. It's far more rewarding than you seem to think."

Randy pursed his lips and turned his gaze out of the window. "I've done just fine on my own up til now. I think I'll be ok." He turned a narrow eyed smile on her then. "Thanks for the concern."

She smiled back at him. "Don't thank me for worrying, I do it in my sleep," she snorted laughingly. Then her smile faded, and she lowered her voice to be absolutely certain Aimee would not overhear her. "How is your mother?"

He turned with a jerk and knocked his mug of coffee off of the table by accident. "That's none of your business." He turned in his chair and bent to pick up the mug and wipe the mess up with a handy tea towel. His shirt lifted, the dark purple and red bruises fresh on his side and back.

"I thought I smelt ginger," Ro commented mildly, rising to step around the table and take the cloth from him. "Let me." She mopped up the mess quickly enough, pressing him back into his chair, and closed the door to as she passed it on her way back to her own seat. She fixed him with a gaze that dared him to lie. "How is it you're covered in bruises still?"

He sat back, confused by the comment about ginger. Letting it go, he sighed and tugged his shirt down, stretching it over his thighs. "I like it rough, what can I say?" he gave her a crooked smirk.

The look she gave him could have levelled mountain ranges. "That salve you're using ... get it from Aimee, yes?" she said then. "It works best if you drink nettle tea as well. The ingredients help bleeding, internal or outside."

"The salve is gone. And they like the bruises." he shrugged and played with the empty coffee mug. "What difference does it make?"

"It makes all the difference!" Ro stood abruptly, furious not with Randy but with the men who still solicited him for their own sadistic pleasure. Her chair scraped loudly over the tiled floor as she moved away from the table in agitation, pacing back and forth. "Why won't you let me help you?"

He watched her, warily and then turned his sullen gaze back down to the empty mug between his hands. "You are helping." A shrug and then roll of his eyes to look up at her. "Somethings just aren't meant to change."

She advanced on him, leaning down until her nose was less than an inch from his. "Do you enjoy what they do to you, Randy?" she asked him bluntly, serious and half-afraid the answer would be yes.

He stared her in the eyes and shrugged. "Sometimes. It's good money." He pulled his head back and looked away from her "Don't judge me, Ro. You've not walked in my shoes. You just don't know."

"No, I don't know, and I wish you didn't, either," she freely admitted it, straightening up. She paced once again, frowning, deep in thought, and paused, speaking to him though her face was turned towards the door. "How much money would see you and your family safe and provided for?"

When she moved, he stared straight ahead. "No, I won't accept any more of your charity." He set his jaw stubbornly and drew in a breath to straighten his spine. "You've done enough."

"I've given you no charity, and I do not expect you to accept it even if it were," she told him firmly. "But this has nothing to do with your pride, Randy, this concerns your mother and your sister. If I can give them safety and reasonable health, who are you to say no?"

"Do whatever you want!" he got up and slammed the mug onto the table. "No matter what I want, you're going to do it anyway!" He moved passed her and through the kitchen door. His mom and sister were doing just fine! They didn't need anybody or anything other than what Randy could provide for them. And he was providing quite well, too. Between his day jobs and his night-time lurking, they didn't want for anything. Except maybe peace of mind over his well-being.

Leaning heavily upon Aimee, his arm around her shoulders, they limped towards the clinic. Before they reached the sliding glass doors, he had to stop twice to vomit. "Don't tell Ro." As he was lowered into a wheelchair, he reached for Aimee's hand. "Please."

Wisely, Aimee didn't make any such promise, remembering a time when she had made the same plea to him and he had ignored her. It had ended well for all involved that time, and she wasn't unhappy with the thought that it could do so for him. She let him hold her hand, though, walking beside the chair as he was wheeled directly into the diagnosis and treatment area, carefully helped onto a trolley, and examined by the nurse. The orderly assisted with that examination, which ended with a promise that the doctor would be with them as soon as he could. "While you're waiting," the orderly added as she drew the curtains around the little cubicle space, "your girlfriend can help you get into a gown." Before Aimee could object to that, the woman had bustled away, and she couldn't help snorting with laughter at the assumption. Glancing back at Randy, she grinned, trying to hide her worry for him. "Don't worry, I won't ravish you while you can't fight back."

Randy was barely conscious at this point. He was babbling incoherently and shaking his head. "Forty percent." His face contorted and he frowned darkly. He only heard part of the instructions and then was alone with Aimee. "You won't? Why not?"

"Where's the fun in that?" was her playful answer, proving once again that she knew far too much for someone her age about dealing with the injured. Picking up the gown, she moved over to the trolley. "I'm going to have to touch the jacket to get it off you," she apologised quietly. "You can yell at me for it later."

Truthfully he was grateful that the orderly had left it to Aimee to remove his clothing instead of taking their shears to them. He did what he could to make the removal of his clothing easier for her. When the jacket and shirt had been removed, his upper body was painted with purples, reds, yellows and greens of bruises that were beginning to heal. "Not the pants. Don't touch my jeans."

The process of removing his jacket and shirt was slow, and Aimee was hard pressed not to gasp at the battered sight of his bruised flesh. At his words, however, she winced. Her hand touched his gently to draw his attention to her face. "If I don't," she told him as delicately as she could, "the staff here will cut them off. They need to get to you to heal you, Asshat, and they won't care that you'd rather they didn't."

The argument was bitten back, the thought of the shears came to mind and he turned his head, relenting. Lifting his behind and turning his head away from Aimee as his clothing was removed. "Cover me." He hoped that the Jacob's Ladder would be missed. But he doubted it.

It would be hard to work out who was the more embarrassed at this point, Randy or Aimee, but either one would have been a safe bet. As she dragged the skin-tight denim down from his hips, Aimee kept her eyes averted, pausing as she reached his knees to throw the sheet in the general direction of his crotch. That done, she drew the rest of his clothing off him, and added it to the neat pile by his bedside. The gown was taken in her hands, and she helped to manuver his arms through the sleeves. "There, it's done."

Randy merely closed his eyes and rested. His mind raced and he tried to work it out why he was so embarassed that Aimee had seen what she did. He'd never been ashamed of it before and even had shown it off. Not to mention, it had earned him a few extra coins every now and then. But Randy was exhausted, so he gave up the effort. He just prayed they had some form of mage on staff that could heal him with magic instead of modern medicine. While the magic could prove to be much more painful; it was much quicker and within a half hour he'd be on his feet and walking back to Ro's. With modern medicine, he could be stuck on the gurney for longer than he wanted. Then there were pills to take ... A slow rise and fall of his chest as he sighed. "May I have some water, please?" The manners he was taught as a child came through in a pleading voice.

"Slow sips only, young man," an authoritive voice said before Aimee could answer, and a doctor stepped through and into the cubicle. "My word, you have been in the wars, haven't you?" he mused gently, glancing up at Aimee, who had yet to leave Randy's side. "Miss Malone, was it? Would you mind leaving us for a little while? I'll have someone fetch you when we're done."

Randy's one good eye opened up when the doctor came into the cubicle. Lifting his head, he gave Aimee a slow nod. He was going to be alright. Laying his head back down, he tried to relax. Remaining as close lipped as ever, Randy merely closed his eyes and waited for things to start happening.

Relieved that Randy didn't seem to mind her being dismissed, Aimee nodded back, taking his clothing in her arms as she slipped from the cubicle. If there was anything in his clothing that he wanted kept safe, she'd do it; what were friends for? As she waited, though, the same thoughts kept running through her mind ... what had happened? Who had done this? Should she find some way to tell his mother and sister?

Once they were alone in the cubicle, Randy spoke without opening his eyes or lifting his head. "Magic. I want a Healing, not medicine." He set his jaw and waited for the inevitable argument that usually came from doctors. He knew that there would be some residual side effect from the healing and didn't care.

The doctor looked down at the bruised and bleeding boy on the trolley and sighed. "As much as you might want that, it's not adviseable to carry out a Healing until your observations have levelled out," he informed Randy gently. "You'll be with us at least overnight. I'm Doctor Kilbride, I'll be handling your case. Is there anyone you would like us to contact for you?"

Randy brought his arm up and covered his eyes. "No." Aimee had already seen his shame. He didn't want anybody else to see what he'd been through. "Give me a cigarette."

"That is certainly not going to happen," Kilbride said firmly, straightening from his examination of the boy's bruising. "If you want to smoke, you'll need to get someone to take you outside to do it, and given the state you are in, you won't be up to moving independently to and from a wheelchair for at least a couple of hours, until the pain blockers sink in." He made a few notes on Randy's chart. "Shall I call your girlfriend back in?"

Randy scowled and kept his arm over his eyes. "My what? Oh, you mean Aimee. Yeah." He knew Aimee had cigarettes and he truthfully didn't want to be in a hospital by himself. "No pills. Need to keep my wits."

Kilbride gave him a wry smile. "Did I say anything about pills?" he said gently. "I put the block in place while I was examining you. As I said, it should take full effect in a couple of hours. If, by tomorrow morning, your pulse, breathing and blood pressure have managed to maintain a steady level for a period of four hours or more, I will perform the Healing on you myself. You'll be discharged at some time during the afternoon. Any questions, or anything you need, ring the buzzer, and someone will be along to help you." Nodding, he stepped out of the cubicle, and no doubt Randy would hear him calling Aimee back over.

"Alright, alright." He waved the doctor off and lowered his hands down to his sides. His head rolled to the side so he could more easily see the door to the cubicle, waiting for Aimee to come in. Sighing heavily, he started to feel incredibly dizzy and tired.

Randy held his pounding head between his hands. "Between hustling and working for Ro, I made enough to send them to somewhere safe." He forced himself to lean back and put his hands on his knees. "I'm ready to go back in."

She nodded slowly, her frown still in place as she stubbed out what was left of the fag and rose to her feet. Aimee didn't want to question him further, knowing she'd pushed her luck as it was, and pleased she hadn't given him the promise he wanted of Ro not finding out. Because Ro was going to want to know about all this. She gently turned the wheel chair back into the clinic, remembering to move slowly this time.

Randy gave her a grateful, albeit brief, glance and closed his eyes as they wheeled through the clinic back to the cubicle. He was beginning to really feel the effects of the pain blocker and the slightest movement that wasn't of his own volition caused dizziness and nausea. He battled one such wave of sickness, swallowing the bile in his throat as they maneuvered him back onto the gurney.

She pulled the cot-sides up on the trolley to prevent him rolling himself out by accidently, and leaned against the side as she drew the blankets over him. "Sleepy?" she asked in a half-whisper. "When you go to sleep, I'll pop home and get those spare clothes you keep there. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Randy grabbed her hand and opened his eyes once more. "Please, don't tell anybody. Please, Aimee." His voice was becoming distant, Aimee was a blur. "Don't tell." His eyes closed and his hand went slack.

"Shhh." Her thumb stroked gently over his bruised knuckles as he passed out, laying his hand back at his side. She'd never admit to it, but Aimee stood there, watching Randy sleep, for several long minutes. It had taken a long time, but she considered him her friend now. Seeing him like this was distressing. But she knew there was one person who just might be able to make things right, with her contacts and connections that Aimee wasn't supposed to know about. The teenager patted Randy's hand gently before stepping away. "I'll be back," she promised him quietly, and slipped out of the clinic, her stride determined. Ro would know what to do.

Aimee hurried back to Ro's house in the slow creep of dusk, her mind in a whirl. Randy was in such a dreadful state, and he was too damn proud for his own good, and ... why the hell was this bothering her so much? They'd both known he had a beating coming, and it wasn't as though she had any claim on his well-being. Alright, so it was distressing to see a friend beaten all to hell, but really, was it distressing enough to risk telling Ro that she knew all about the older woman's secrets? Shaking her head in denial of anything and everything, Aimee unlocked the door to the schoolhouse and let herself in, calling out a hello to Ro in a quiet voice as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

Unfortunately for Aimee, Rowena Millard was sitting in that kitchen, poring over notebooks as she drank her tea. She looked up as her teenaged charge hurried in, her eyes widening at the obvious disarray of the girl's appearance, not to mention the determined hurry with which she moved about. "Aimee, what's happened?" she asked, rising to her feet to inspect the coltish teen. Her sharp eyes found traces of blood on Aimee's shoulder, and in the fall of her hair. "Whose blood is that?"

Stopped in her tracks, Aimee froze, her eyes going to the patches of blood over her clothing and in her hair. She hadn't realised how much Randy had been bleeding when she'd forced him to lean on her. Pinned in place by the stern gaze of her teacher, she sagged, reluctant to give in but needing the help Ro could offer. "It's Randy's," she admitted with difficulty. "He's in the clinic." Letting out a sigh, she sank into a seat at the table, telling the whole of what she knew of the story to her attentive listener.

To her credit, Ro didn't offer recriminations or scold for the way the pair had dealt with their emergency. She listened with the quiet calm that seemed to radiate whenever a new child came to the house to stay for a while; the calm that told whoever was nearby that everything was going to be alright. When Aimee finished, she nodded slowly. "You did well, Aimee," she assured the girl. "There's supper in the oven for you; when you've eaten, you can go back to the clinic and stay with him. I'll fetch his spare clothes down." Rising to her feet, she patted Aimee on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

Aimee listened to Ro's receding footsteps up the stairs for a long moment. In the growing silence of the kitchen, she could feel her panic and upset fading; Ro would handle it, she knew, and she hadn't had to admit to knowing exactly what it was Ro did here. Reassured by this, and anxious to get back to the clinic in case Randy woke up any time soon, she dragged herself out of her seat and over to the oven to inspect what had been left for her to eat.

In the upstairs room that was entirely her own, Ro waited until she could hear Aimee struggling with the oven. Randy's clothes were easily gathered, placed into a bag and laid to one side for the moment. Then, with the ease of movement she had not wanted to remember, she sidled herself into the chimney breast, reaching up to find the edges of the alcove set back into the wall, hidden in the darkness unless you knew where to find it. Bracing herself against the fireplace, she hauled herself up and into that alcove, fingers groping for the ladder that would take her up the hidden passage to the attic room. Aimee's unspoken request was to be honoured; Ro had contacts enough within the underground of RhyDin that she could contrive to have a message sent to this new presence in the slums.

Moving to an old cabinet set by the wall, she opened it, laying her palm flat against the mirror set into the door. The glass flickered mauve for a moment, and seemed to rippled beneath her hand, settling finally into faint blue phosphoresence. A voice spoke from the mirror, quiet but determined. "What do you need?"

Awkward, Aimee sat in silence for a long moment, fidgeting in the chair set by the bed, her eyes casting around the room. It was far finer than the little house she'd grown up in, and she could see no reason for being ashamed of it, herself. But Randy didn't seem to want company. "You must be bored out of your mind," she said suddenly, reaching for her bag. "Ro said ... well, I went to that store you showed me, and the guy showed me the titles you like, so I .. well, here you go." From her bag, she produced four brand new comics, laying them gently on the bed by his hand.

Bored was to say the least. When he felt the comics hit his legs, he turned his gaze onto them and then up to Aimee. "You really didn't have to do this." There was a small smile on his face, an almost shy one as he picked them up. "But thank you for doing it." Picking up the comics, he held them out to her. "Read them with me?"

"Hey, what are friends for?" She smiled back, pleased that the awkwardness had passed quickly. Her eyes flickered to the comics with a wry look of teasing. "Are you sure I can cope with them? I mean, you are my teacher, they're probably very difficult." Completely unable to keep the smile off her face as she spoke, she shifted the chair closer to the bed.

"Well they're not Peanuts or Popeye. But if you could understand the Nancy Drew books, these should be a piece of cake." It felt good to focus on something other than his own problems. "Here, start with Spiderman. That's my favorite." Canting his head, he pointed out which one it is. "You know, there's more to comics than reading. It's a real art form."

Dragging her chair right up to the head of the bed, Aimee leaned one elbow onto the mattress beside him, opening the chosen comic on his lap. Spot the eldest child in a big family - she was going to read it with him, whether he wanted to or not. "What do you mean, an art form? Do people really get paid to do things like this?"

He watched her move over and then turned his attention to the open book in his lap. "Well yeah. Look at the drawings. Much more sophisticated than Peanuts or Popeye." He pointed out the use of colorings and shadings as well. "It's a big business," he finished. "Do you like to draw?"

"I've never really tried," Aimee admitted with a faint smile, drawing her knees up to her chest comfortably. She'd listened attentively to everything he had to tell her, curious and eager to know more. "Can you? I mean, if you could anything in the world, what would it be?"

Randy gave her an incredulous look. He hadn't thought about what he'd do when he grew up since he was practically forced into adulthood at the age of 17. "You mean, besides a hustler?" He averted his eyes from her; it had come out sharper than he had intended.

Aimee chose not to comment on his reaction. "No, I mean anything at all," she said earnestly. "We're going to uni, you can study whatever you like. But if money wasn't a problem, and responsibilities, if you only had you to worry about, what would you do with your life?"

"When I was a kid, I wanted to write a comic book," his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "But now, I'll do what I can for money. It's just how it is." He shrugged and then looked back at her. "What about you?"

She looked up at him, chewing on her fingernail. "Promise you won't laugh?" she asked before lunging on with her aspirations. "I want to be an actor, like in the theatres, playing at being other people to make people happy for a while before they have to go back to reality."

Randy listened, even nodding and giving her a smile. "Well, do you know the first thing you need to do to become a thespian?" He canted his head once more and gazed upon her with his wide gray blue eyes intent and crystal clear.

"Learn to read properly, yes, I know," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "I am getting better, aren't I?"

"My star pupil." The fact that she was his only pupil wasn't expounded upon. "You really are. I'm not sure what Ro thinks so far, but I think you're doing pretty good."

Aimee's hand descended, hesitated, and touched his, squeezing gently. "You are coming to uni with me, aren't you?" she asked quietly, chestnut eyes almost pleading. "I'm scared to go on my own, what if they don't like me because I'm from the slums?"

Randy didn't move his hand from hers, but he didn't offer a reassuring squeeze back. "I don't know, Aimers. The money I'm making with Ro is barely making up for.." He clamped his mouth shut and turned his head away from her. "What about my mom and sister?"

"Ro won't let anything happen to them," she assured him, with all the confidence that came from having lived with said teacher for more than a month or so. "She really won't, Randy. You just have to trust her."

Randy sighed heavily and let his eyes close, once again. "I'm getting tired. Can you read to me?" In his mind, the subject of uni was just a pipe dream and one he didn't wish to discuss any further.

Looking uncomfortable with the lack of assurance, nonetheless Aimee nodded, shifting a little closer to get a good view of the pages in front of him. "Sure I can," she nodded, her smile in her voice, and began to read, showing off the ease she had gained under his tutelage.

Randy sighed and opened his eyes so he could read along with her. About a third of the way through, he picked up his hand to silence Aimee. "Read that again, but do it like you're talking for Mary Jane. How would she say it? How would she sound?"

Thoughtfully, Aimee considered the page in front of them, eyeing the character in question for a moment. When next she spoke the line she had been reading, her voice was lighter, betraying a naivete that Aimee herself did not have. "Like that?"

"Exactly like that." He nodded and closed his eyes again. "You're going to be a great actress. Probably win a bunch of awards and I can say I knew you when." One eye opened and he smiled as he looked at her. There was pride in that gaze.

She blinked in confusion, not entirely certain why that had sounded quite so bitter. No one in the slums wanted to be like the rich folk, although a bit of extra cash never went unwanted. "How'd you know?"

Randy pulled the spoon from his mouth and held it out to her from it's ornate end. "How do you think I know? Old man died leaving us with nothing. I'm still paying off his shit."

Aimee stared at him, eyes wide. "Bloody hell, Randy," she breathed, "no wonder you're too proud to accept when people are trying to help you." She leaned back in her seat, shocked by the revelation. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Yeah, well now you do." He put the spoon down and let himself fall backwards. It was more than he'd told anybody before. He sat there, eyes closed, trying to figure out just why he'd told her. He latched onto the idea that she'd helped him, so he gave her a piece of his history.

Unfortunately for him, Randy seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't on the bed, but sat in a chair at the table. As he tipped backwards, Aimee lunged out of her seat, sending her own chair clattering to the floor as she grabbed for his shoulders, landing in a heap underneath the weight of him and his chair. But hey, at least he hadn't cracked his head, right?

Aimee wasn't flat, either. So when he landed, he rolled off of her and onto his stomach. He blew out a breath, blowing dust away from his mouth. "Well, that was fun." There was a groan and a failed attempt to roll onto his side. Never before had a Healing taken so much out of him. He was frustrated by how quickly he became exhausted. "Great, now what do we do?"

For herself, unhelpful as it might be, Aimee had dissolved into giggles, pushing the chair out of their way to give him a gentle shove onto his side. "Sorry," she apologised laughingly. "Here, lemme help you up."

Great, she was laughing at him. There was only so much his young male pride could take and the constant humliation of not being in control of anything, much less his own body caused his anger to lash out at her. "Screw you! Get out!"

The laughter flew from her face in an instant, and she snatched her hands back from where she had been trying to help him to sit up. "Fine," she said in a hurt tone. "Stay there." Male pride or not, it had been a funny fall for both of them, and he wasn't helping himself by being prickly. She pulled herself to her feet.

"Like I could go anywhere else." He rolled his eyes and just lay on his side. "Thanks for reminding me. You got any comments about the limp dick, too? Just to make the humiliation complete, right?"

Aimee paused, turning to look down at him. "You know," she said quietly enough so her voice wouldn't carry to the undoubtably listening pair in the next room, "I've tried so hard to help you. But it's like you're doing me a favour by letting me. Why don't you grow up and grow some bollocks before dictatin' how everyone else thinks and behaves?" All of it was spoken in a quietly, angrily upset voice, and she finished the little speech by removing a pillow and sheet from the bed. The pillow she put under his head, and the sheet she spread over him, saving him a little dignity for when he finally admitted to needing help. "I'll see you 'round, Randy. If I'm not too beneath you to mortify your pride." Again she rose and moved toward the door, collecting her bag on the way.

Randy watched her as she spoke, an unbelieving expression on his face. "I have been doing you a favor all along, Aimee. And getting paid to do it. So get off of your high horse." He averted his eyes as he was covered and grumbled out "thanks" as the pillow was placed beneath his head. "Go on then, Florence Nightingale! Don't forget your books!"

"They were a gift. For a friend." He may only have heard it once or twice before, but there was a definite tremble in her voice that suggested tears being held at bay. Aimee didn't speak again, though, pulling the door open to look into the disbelieving face of Randy's sister. She shook her head, managing a faintly forced smile, and stepped past the girl, exiting the apartment as quickly as she could.

Randy watched her go, then looked up at his sister. Pulling the sheet up to his chin, he curled into a ball. "Don't look at me, Susie. Please, don't look at me."

Susie returned the strained smile, then leaned against the doorframe, looking down at her brother. "You're being stupid, Randy." Then turned and shut the door, leaving Randy alone to his thoughts.

After Randy finished his lunch, he set the newspaper aside. He got up and cleared the table and did the dishes. It made him feel somewhat useful. But then he found himself with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. He wandered into the living room, wraithlike, just looking at different little things that they'd been able to salvage from their previous life. There was a sad, contemplative look on his face. "Need to get the hell out of here," he muttered and took a sharp turn to walk to the doorway. His hand was reaching for the doorknob when the knocks resounded and echoed through the house. He jumped back and looked for anything that he could grab to brandish as a weapon. The only thing he could find was an umbrella in the stand beside the door. LIfting it, he held it in one hand as he reached for and slowly opened the door. "Get back!" And the umbrella swung.

In the split second between the door opening and an umbrella being thrust out at her, Aimee lurched backward out of the way, protesting loudly. "Hey, watch it!" Her hand grasped the umbrella and pulled hard, herself moving forward enough to slam a boot in the doorjam so he couldn't just slam the door closed. "That any way to say hello?"

The umbrella had been snatched from his hands and he did reach to slam the door. But with the boot in the way, he had a hard time even moving it. Then it hit him. He stared blankly at Aimee, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily. "Aimee, what're you doing here?"

She glared at him mildly, giving the door a shove. "Hello, Aimee; come in, Aimee; go out with you, Aimee? What a great idea, it's just what I need," she declared in a sarcastic tone of voice, although the grin on her face was friendly.

"Oh, yeah, hi." He stepped back and turned to walk towards the kitchen. "How's the reading coming? Did you finish Peanuts?" Randy was scrambling for anything to talk about other than his most recent plight. "Lemonade?"

"Yup, finished everything you gave me," she nodded cheerfully, a determined glint in her eyes as she reached out to pick up his jacket. She thrust it into his hands as she spoke. "Put that on. No, Ro started me on some Oscar Wilde plays to keep me going; she says I need the practise to get different voices in my head for characters."

"Oh, cool." The jacket was taken and he gave her a puzzled look. He refused to show the dejection of having been replaced as her reading teacher so soon. Did Ro not believe he was capable, either? "I don't need a jacket inside."

"We're not staying inside," she told him with a smile that wasn't forced, despite the tension of their last meeting. "It's a beautiful day, and I need you to go through The Importance of Being Earnest with me. Only I don't have it with me, because I left it at Ro's. So come on." Her hand slid into his, taking a firm hold as she walked toward the door, not really giving him much choice in the matter.

"But, Aimee!" And already, he was being pulled through the house and then outside. The sun was bright and he held up his hand to block the light. "You planned this, didn't you? Forgetting your book, my ass."

"Damn straight." She had a feeling Susie wouldn't want Randy to know how worried she'd been about him, and instead laid the entire blame for this episode bravely on herself. "And I did forget my book. It was in my jacket, which I left behind on purpose." She grinned, refusing to relinquish his hand until she'd walked him far enough away from his own home that he couldn't run back.

As they walked, Randy broke into a jog each time they passed the opening to an alley way or side street. And by the time they reached Ro's, he was sweating profusely and more than just a little red faced. "You had to pick the hottest day of summer to take me for a walk, right?"

"Gotta get you used to being outside during the day, Asshat, so you don't look like a vampire at uni." Was it obvious that Aimee was making this up as she went along? She drew open the front door of their teacher's place, beckoning him in to follow her upstairs to her own room where she rummaged about for her book.

Randy merely pursed his lips at her response. Once inside, he slid away from her and went to the kitchen. "I'm thirsty. Water first. Go find your damn book." He was full of grumbles and showing his irritation.

Ro heard the pair come in, nodding a smile to Randy as he passed by the classroom door into the kitchen. Upstairs, Aimee paused to review her strategy. Okay, so it was hasty, and he hadn't really got all that much out of an enforced walk to Ro's. So what now? She chewed on her lip as she thought, smiling when the solution came to her. Thumping back down the stairs, she all but skipped into the kitchen, laying the book down on the table before turning to make sandwiches.

By the time Aimee came into the kitchen, Randy had drank and refilled his glass of water. Her skipping about had him putting the glass down and looking at her like she'd slipped her cheese off of her cracker. "Ok, Twinkletoes. What gives?"

She laughed, looking over her shoulder at him. "What do you mean? I'm not allowed to be excited about something?"

Randy gave her a cynical stare as he sank down into the chair at the table. "The hell is there to be excited about?" Shaking his head, he grabbed the glass of water and took a drink.

"We're going out," she informed him, wrapping up the sandwiches she'd made and moving to grab a couple of bottles of water from the 'fridge. "It's a shame to waste such a pretty day bein' indoors, and you've been cooped up for ages, you must be goin' stir-crazy. We can go to the park, and you can poke holes in my readin'."

"We are?" Randy leaned back and scratched his head. "What's with all of this 'we' stuff? And when did you become so bright and cheery? Reminds me of a cheerleader. Jeez, Aimee. Have you been drinking the water or something?"

"Quit that." He reached and pulled her shirt back down. His gaze shifted from one person to the next as they passed by. He was sizing them up to see how much they had noticed. "They'll think you're a hustler."

Chestnut eyes rose to him with a smirk. "No, they won't," she told him, gesturing over to a group of people their own age a little way away. The boys had almost all removed their shirts, and the girls were dressed in the skimpy skirts and dresses the richer folk liked to wear. "See? Compared to them, I'm practically in thermal underwear."

Randy's head swiveled on his neck and he looked at the group of teens. More than one he recognized as a street walker. "Hustler, hustler, strawberry, hustler." He turned to look back at her. "Nothing is ever as simple as it seems."

Aimee groaned, letting her head fall back. "Why should it bother you if people assume I'm a whore like my mum?" she asked quietly. "It's not true, and as long as no one touches me, I don't care what they think."

"Because, eventually somebody will touch you." He turned and pointed to the scar on his face. "You want something like this staring at you every morning?"

She sighed quietly and looked back to her book, not wanting to get into another argument. She hated that people were always going to see her in her mother's light, and worse that Randy seemed to see her in exactly the same way. Rolling onto her stomach, she grabbed a sandwich, unwrapping it. "Hey, old Wilson's looking for a delivery boy again," she said suddenly as the thought occurred to her.

Randy saw the look of hurt on Aimee's face. He turned his gaze onto the group of boys and girls and gave an upnod to those he knew. "You think he'd give me a job?" He knew that he'd be stretching himself thin between working for Ro as Aimee's tutor and being a delivery boy. But it beat hustling.

"I bet he would if Ro wrote you one of those refereeing things," she shrugged lightly. "And there's a couple of jobs going at one of the dairies, if you think your mum and Susie might like to get out of the house a bit." It was just a suggestion, of course.

"Referral." Randy smirked and shook his head. "Mom thinks she's too good to work and has Susie under her thumb. Mama squeaks and Susie runs. Just the way it is."

"It was just an idea," Aimee shrugged lightly once more, shifting onto her side as she chewed on her sandwich. "But yeah, Wilson needs someone to do the deliveries around the market now his leg's packed in completely, and it's pretty good money. You get the horse and cart, too, it's not all walking."

"Sounds good." He nodded as he grabbed his own sandwich. "I don't think I'm going to uni anyway."

She looked up in surprise. "Why not? It's got to be better than hanging around here, and I bet Wilson would keep you on." Her hand lifted to prop her head up. "Besides, if you don't go, you don't get to laugh at me makin' a fool of myself with all those rich kids."

"I've got bills." He sighed and wouldn't expound. "And you'll run circles around those rich kids. You've got street cred and that's a hell of a lot more than any of those brats have."

"You've got a job," she reminded him, "and another one if you go and talk to Wilson. And I bet Ro's going to keep you on as my tutor - at least I hope so. And you'd be able to move into the student campus; I checked, it's free, you just have to feed yourself and stuff."

"And what about Mom and Susie? I can't just leave them." He sighed then and ran his hand through his hair. He wanted nothing more than to leave that house and never go back.

Aimee frowned thoughtfully. "Well ... you know my little sister, Jilly?" she said slowly. "She's sort of old enough to go into service, and the family she's with can't really afford to keep her about. They had a tough time when the taxes came around. So she'll be back at Ro's by the time the semester starts, and I bet she'd be pleased to be a sort of servant companion person for your mum and sister. You know, look after them and stuff. And Ro'd pay."

Randy couldn't argue with that, even if he wanted to. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. "Why's it mean so much to you that I go to uni?"

"Why are you so set against it?" she countered, watching him. "You were really up for it when we found out we had places. What changed your mind?"

"They want forty percent." He sighed and shook his head. "I want out, I do. But if I try, they'll kill me."

Her head tilted thoughtfully. "You did see the news over the last week, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah. Houses burning and men being beat down." He shrugged and reached for a bottle of water. "But if you don't kill the cockroaches, they come back. And keep coming back."

"So move out of the area," she shrugged. It was one solution, anyway. "They can't be spread all over the city. And there's got to be somewhere cheap and nice you can live."

"You don't give up, do you?" There was a bit of a laugh in his words. "And you didn't answer my question. Why is this so important to you?"

It was a moment before she answered. "I'm scared." Her hand ripped at the grass as she stared down at it. "And I don't want to be on my own. You're my best friend, and I want you to be safe and properly looked after and everything, and uni's as good a place as any."

The smile grew and he lifted a fist to nudge her shoulder. "You're such a girl." Randy chuckled, flashing that dimple. "Ok, you've convinced me to go."

"Really?" Her face lit up with a happy smile as she looked up to him, extremely pleased that he'd finally agreed. "And you're not going to change your mind again, you're really going?"

"I'm really going. You need somebody to look out for you." He shook his head and nudged her with his fist again. "Because you're such a girl."

"You need me to be a girl, it makes you feel like a man!" she teased back, batting at his hand as she laughed. He nodded to her book, and she obediently lifted it, absorbing the satire as she played each part for him, grinning to herself. Out in the sunshine, surrounded by strangers, and he had relaxed. Mission accomplished.

"Make out like everyone's just using you and they'll disappear when they're done," she sighed. "Not everyone's out to get you, Randy."

"Hurts less when I face reality." He shrugged and kept his eyes closed. "I don't take it so personally. I have no expectations, so I can't be disappointed. Easier that way."

"So you wouldn't care if I just got up and walked away and never spoke to you again, huh?" Her snort suggested she didn't believe a word of it. "Like hell."

"Oh, I'd care," he gave credence to her snort. "Probably more than you'd ever believe. But I'd also know why you did it and not hold it against you."

"So you reckon you can read my mind now, huh?" she snorted again, lifting a hand to rub her forehead. "Contrary to popular opinion, I am not as much of a flake as people think. You're my friend; that means I'm loyal, and even if I don't have loads of time to spend with you, I'll still keep coming back."

"Then you're a glutton for punishment," he held the laugh from his voice, just barely. "Give it a rest, Aimee. You don't have to tell me what I already know. But nothing lasts forever."

"Some things should," she insisted stubbornly, but did fall silent. Even if the 'Randy-bot' was more easy-going than the real thing, she didn't want to push things too far. They'd already had one argument this week, she didn't want to leap into the next one with any real enthusiasm.

Lifting his head, he reached down and pat her shoulder with his hand. "I know, Aimee. And we'll last longer than most friends. It'll be alright and won't hurt so much because of it."

She shook her head, refusing to admit that deep down she did believe him, and she was dreading the time when they would part ways. "You're my best friend, Randy," she confessed quietly. "I don't want to say goodbye."

"Oh, well, it's never goodbye. It's always, 'call me, I'll talk to you later.' And a week later or so one or the other will call. Here's the best thing about friends parting ways. And you remember this," he paused a moment to make sure she was listening. "The reunions. They're the best."

She turned her head to look at him as he spoke, giving him her full attention when he asked for it. She nodded slowly, not entirely understanding, but getting the jist of what he told her. A thought occurred, though. "But you don't have a phone."

"I will by then." He snorted and shook his head. "Quit overanalyzing it, Aimee. Just enjoy it while it lasts. Ok?'

She pouted a little, obviously very inexperienced when it came to friends of any kind, let alone best friends. But despite everything, she trusted him, turning her face back to the sunshine with a faint smile. "Did you talk to Wilson yet?"

"I did." He was glad for the change of subject. Even as confident as he sounded, it was twisting in his gut that someday his best friend wouldn't be around any longer. "I start on Monday. He even gave me a ball cap to wear. Can you imagine me with a baseball hat on?"

Aimee couldn't help laughing at that imagery, her free hand rising to hold in the snorting giggles that were trying to escape. "Sorry, that's just ... oh gods, that's so silly!" she chuckled, knees lifting to curl up to her chest as she laughed, forgetting that this would, unfortunately, display her underwear to the world walking by.

"Ha!" He laughed with her, just not as enthusiastically. "Go ahead and laugh, hardy har har. You don't have to wear the stupid thing!"

Snickering, she lowered her legs, brushing her skirt down hurriedly. "Oh, come on, at least you don't have to dress up like Heidi and Helga and wear your hair in braids with ribbons," she exclaimed, grinning. She knew her waitressing uniform was ridiculous, and equally knew he hadn't yet worked out where she was working.

"Is good, ja?" he joked with her and laughed sincerely. "You'll never see me in leiderhausen. No way. My knees are too scarred up and I'm not that much of a dork."

She snorted with laughter again, rolling her eyes. No way was she admitting to waiting tables at the Austrian cafe unless he caught her. "I dunno, leather shorts'd probably suit you."

"What, you think I'm a fluffer?" He shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, well maybe I am. But that doesn't mean that I am."

"Okay, confused Aimee now," she admitted with a grin, shifting onto her side. Her hand dove into the fall of chestnut hair to hold her head up. "What is a fluffer?"

"Oh my God." He laughed and shook his head. Bringing up his fist, he held it to the side of his mouth and moved it towards his mouth. At the same time, he poked his tongue into the cheek opposite of his fist. "Cocksucker."

She stared, and an expression of indignant, horrified, wicked laughter crossed her face. "Ewwww! Randy!" Her hand reached out to poke at his shoulder. "Stop, there's kids in there!"

He glanced up at the door then back to her. "Yeah, behind the door. They can't see." He grinned and lay back, closing his eyes. "Can't believe you didn't know what a fluffer was."