A/N: This chapter contains physical and verbal abuse. Please proceed carefully.

"I am so sorry." Thatch says for the third time since he got home. He's set out the remotes on the coffee table. "I can't believe I forgot to show you how to work everything."

"It's okay, I promise." You reassure him. You aren't sure what to do. When Thatch got home he found you napping on the couch. In your sleepy post-nap daze you'd admitted that you didn't know how to turn on the TV and didn't want to mess up a setting, and had just dozed off.

Taking a few minutes he walked you through the TV controls. It was easy enough, not too different from what you had at home, but you'd never been allowed to even touch those remotes. It was probably best to experience choosing the channel while you were on your own tomorrow, you didn't want Thatch to worry more than he already was.

"If you want to rent a movie you can," he says after he's sure you've got the controls down pat, at least well enough to be okay on your own tomorrow. "Most of the books I have are about food and cooking, but I got one of those electronic deals somewhere. I can dig it up tonight."

"Please just rest." You offer a warm smile. "You were at work all day, and having the TV for tomorrow will be plenty. B-besides, I was... I was hoping I could maybe ask for something." Your stomach knots, but you try to look and sound as comfortable as possible.

Thatch pauses, and his face lights up. "Certainly! Anything you want."

"I... would like to... go on a date?" You can't look at him as you ask, but you're not sure you would've been able to do so regardless. It was almost painfully embarrassing to ask, even if the reason was duplicitous, it was something you did want to do with him.

"Tonight?"

"No!" You reach out for him, stopping short and covering your face. He looked so delighted you were worried you were going to break down and start crying. "No, I mean... I mean like, I'd like to see a movie, and maybe have dinner before, or... er... well, I've never gone to a play, or... anything."

"Ah, I see." Thatch ruffles your hair gently. "A full and proper date then. It would be my pleasure, doll." He heads down the hall to his room. "Let me grab a shower and change, after dinner I'll see what I can find for this weekend, okay?"

"Y-yes, thank you!" You raise your voice a little as he disappears down the hall. Sitting back down on the couch you look out the sliding door again.

You cannot cry. You can't. If you cry then Thatch is going to ask what's wrong, and if he asks you can't lie to him. Doing this was bad enough, but if you told him then he could end up getting hurt. Your dad couldn't harm him directly, but he could find people who would do it, you knew that for sure. Especially after today.

Thatch cooked so much the day before, dinner was an easy affair for him. It was interesting to watch him go through a few different ways of reheating leftovers in order to reheat each part correctly. He talked you through what he was doing, more you think, to fill the silence than anything else. The impromptu lesson was appreciated; you could cook, but not like Thatch, and you never really dealt with leftovers.

Everything was so measured to be sure you weren't over eating that leftovers weren't really something that happened.

After dinner, Thatch set up a laptop at the dining table, and looked up some stuff you could do for the weekend.

"There's an Opera this weekend, and a performance of Shen Yun the weekend after that." He says as you sit down next to him. "We'd have to leave Friday night for the Opera, it's pretty much on the other side of the island. Grabbing a hotel room would be less hassle than waking up at 4am to get there on time."

"The Shen Yun is closer?"

"Yeah, it's barely twenty minutes from here. See? The Rumbar Theater House is just down the way a bit." He explains, pointing it out on the little map. "It's a long production though, we should probably consider a big meal before hand."

You had told your father one or two weeks, and he hadn't pushed for one or the other. The distance away from the apartment would be something you were sure he'd prefer, but you were nervous about traveling so far.

"We should do both." Thatch says after a minute of silence.

"Huh? N-no, that'd be..." A waste, you think. Once your father does whatever he intends to do, you're sure that everything will fall apart.

"Perfect," Thatch interrupts your thoughts. "It'd be perfect. We should be trying to spend as much time together as we can. With my job that makes it a little difficult, but if we go on some big dates every weekend for the next couple weekends that would help make up for it."

"But..." You take a moment, and Thatch sits still until you decide what you're going to ask.

"Isn't it expensive?"

He smiles and you feel your chest tighten again. "It's not cheap," he admits. "But I have more than enough saved up, and I think you'd enjoy both of them. This way too, you can decide which was more fun."

"It's -."

"It's not too much, I promise." Thatch puts a hand over yours. "I'll get things set for both of them, and if the travel and the Opera is overwhelming, I can cancel the other tickets. How's that sound?"

You nod. It's too much, it's entirely too much, but only because you don't deserve any of it. You can't say that, and you're pretty sure even if you did, he would argue. The only way that argument would resolve would be if you came clean about everything that happened today.

Instead, you sat with him while he booked the other parts of the dates. He gave you choices on a lot of things. Thatch chose the hotel, but let you choose one room or two. You chose one because it would be cheaper, and one with two queen sized beds because you weren't quite ready to sleep in the same bed. It was the same cost as a single king, so you didn't feel guilty.

You made plans to go out shopping tomorrow, or Wednesday. Thatch was going to try and get home a little early and if he couldn't swing it tomorrow he'd manage it the next day. That way he could buy you something really nice to wear, since both events were the kinds of things you could get all dolled up for.

"I have nice clothes." You insist. There's no anger in your tone, but you don't want him to spend more money than he already has.

"You do, and I won't force you." He gives you a smile that has the tips of his ears pink. "But the date will be fun for both of us, and... I'd love to give you a gift. You know, for your first real date."

"Let... let me sleep on it." You can see the edges of sadness creep into Thatch's soft expression, but he nods.

"Of course."

Shortly after that, you'd both gone to bed. As quietly as you could you cried yourself to sleep. The guilt made you feel sick, but if you got up to throw up you were worried you'd alert Thatch. You only had to hold out a few more days and it would be over. Whatever happened, he'd be safe.

Whatever happened to you wouldn't matter. Not after all this. You didn't deserve him. You didn't deserve any of this. The whole match process had been fabricated, you weren't even supposed to be here.

The only thing you did deserve was the guilt, and so you'd carry it. You knew your place, and your worth. You'd do as your parents asked to pay back all you owed them, and then accept whatever happened.

You slept so hard that night that you barely had time to scramble out of bed and tell Thatch good-bye in the morning. He asked if he could kiss your cheek and you said yes. He told you not to worry, but you weren't sure what he was talking about, and then he said he'd be home for lunch, and not to worry on deciding about going shopping. He'd open up Wednesday for it, and that would give you time to think on it.

After that, he was out the door and you were in the empty apartment again.

Remembering that he said he'd be home for lunch you decide to eat a light breakfast and then take a shower so you can get cleaned up. Your face wasn't too swollen, but it would be better to make yourself fully presentable if he was going to be coming back.

It was difficult. Even the "quick" breakfast took nearly an hour. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't shake the heavy feeling in your heart, and tears kept leaking down your face. Your tears last night were apparently only the beginning, and you wondered if your resolve was so flimsy that this was the result.

You waffled between resolving to tell Thatch, and resolving to not say a word at least a dozen times while you were in the shower. By the time you were done you'd only managed to resolve to stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

So automatic was your usual process that you had hardly registered that you were back int the main area until you heard the door beep. Your eyes slipped over the microwave clock and saw that it was barely past 9am, there was no way it was Thatch. Fear grips your heart for a split second until your mother walks into the apartment by herself.

Fear is replaced by confusion. You can't even sort out how to greet her.

Your mother hasn't noticed the look on your face. She's been looking around since she stepped in, a wide glee-filled smile on her lips as she takes in the surroundings. Your brain catches up enough to understand she used the key card your father copied yesterday, but her presence is still entirely too surreal.

"Show me around, Doll." She says, setting her things on the kitchen counter as she walks past you. "This is much nicer than I had expected, I wonder if that old bastard pays for it." Anger flashes across your face, but it's long gone before your mother looks at you.

"Show me around!" She snaps and you flinch.

"Yes mother."

You motion with your arm down the hall that leads to your room, and the bathroom you have. She looks around your room, only opening your closets to marvel at how much space you have in an apartment.

"Goodness! It's bigger than our house." Giggling she closes your closet and turns toward you. "His room, Doll, c'mon."

"I... I haven't." You stammer and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not asking you to lay in his bed, I'm telling you to show me to his room." She asserts, turning you around and pushing you out of the room. "C'mon now, I'm not going to spend all day in here."

You stumble a couple steps before you get your pace ahead of hers, leading her down the other hall to Thatch's side of the apartment. She's not even pretending to care about the common areas, and you're certain she didn't even want to see your room in the first place.

When you get to Thatch's bedroom door you're surprised to find it open. The fact that he didn't even close it while you were here and he wasn't sat heavy on your shoulders. The pictures of his family lining the hallway walls felt like condemnations with every step.

Thatch's room was well organized. The king-sized bed was dark wood and dark sheets, with white accents. There were more cooking books in here, a desktop and desk in one corner, and a sense of military service in the way the bed was made and how his closet was organized. As far as you knew neither him nor any of his brothers had been in the marines. Maybe Newgate had just raised them strict in that way.

It would make sense, trying to wrangle and keep so many boys in line like he had. You can clearly hear him saying that he runs a tight ship, or something similar.

"Ah there it is." Your mother says, looking up at a space high up in the closet. "Doll, go bring a chair in here."

"You can't take anything." You say the words without really thinking, your mother's eyes going wide as she looks over at you in shock.

"I'll take whatever I fucking please, you ungrateful bitch." She replies icily. The weight of your words settle on you as she raises her voice, pointing down the hall as she practically screeches. "GO GET ME A CHAIR!"

The volume, more than the words, has you down the hall in a dash. You grab one of the dining room chairs and carry it into Thatch's room. Your mother points and you set the chair into the closet.

"Steady it for me, useless thing." She grumbles, stepping up on the cushion and looking around the top shelf of the closet while you hold the chair steady for her. "Humph, a number pad and no key. Well, that settles that then."

Stepping back down off the chair you're relieved to see she's empty handed. She waves you off to return the chair, and she's coming down the hall by the time you've put it back where it belongs.

"Have you convinced that oaf to take you on a date yet?"

"He's not an oaf." You say the words far more quietly than you wanted to, unable to even look at her.

"True, he's a monster. That brute, you didn't see his face when he threatened your father and I."

"Thatch didn't threat-!" The sharp sting on your cheek was unexpected, as was the force she used. The sharp slap cut lines in your cheek from her fingernails. You put your hand to your cheek, shocked she would leave such a harsh mark on you. Especially your face.

"Don't you dare talk back to me like that!" Her hand sails through the air again and she grabs your wrist roughly, twisting it until the pain has you on your knees. "Apologize this instant!"

"He didn't threaten you!" You cry, trying to get her to let go of your wrist. You cry out as she twists it further, her other hand grabbing your hair and forcing you to look at her. The look in her eyes is wild and manic, you can't remember ever seeing her so angry before.

You can't remember defying her either, but Thatch hadn't threatened your parents.

"APOLOGIZE!" She demands and you shake your head. If she twists your wrist much more she might actually break it. "He's a fucking monster! I bet I could tell everyone he's beat you, and they'd believe it. Wouldn't even listen to a pitiful thing like you," she snarls, a twisted knowing grin marring her features. "So desperate to be accepted by a faked match you let him abuse you. I'll get your father up here and-."

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" You wail, sobbing as she lets you go, leaving you to crumple onto the floor, throbbing hand to your bloody cheek. "I'm - hic - sorry, mother. I'm sorry, you-you're r-right."

"He's a monster." She says and you nod. "Say it, Doll."

"He is," you reply, hoping it's enough to satisfy her. You don't think you could actually call him a monster and she might really break something if you defy her again.

"Humph. Did you convince him to take you on a date yet?"

You nod.

Your mother hisses, taking a step toward you and causing you to back away so reflexively you're under the dining table before you can stop yourself. There's a tense moment of silence and she clicks her tongue.

"Text us the details before you go to bed tonight." She commands, stepping away from you and heading toward the door. "Fix your stupid face before he gets home."

"Yes mother," you barely say the words aloud as she gathers her things off the counter and leaves.

You need to get up and get ice for your wrist. You need to get up and clean the scratches on your face and try to cover them up with makeup. You need to get up. You need to.

You can't do anything but cry heavy gasping sobs from under the dining table. Almost no sound escapes you, the occasional hiccuped gasp of air dotting the relative quiet. A few painful sobs manage to claw their way into existence and you can't keep quiet, letting the wretched wail into the air before forcing yourself to quiet again.

When you hear the beep of the door you realize you must've been sobbing under the dining table for over an hour. The door opens and you just stay where you are, resigned in having been caught. There was nothing you'd be able to tell him except the truth.

Thatch comes over, and sits down as far away as he can, and still be in your line of sight. You can smell the mix of flour and fruits on him, the soothing smell of honey and sugar from the confections made at the bakery. You don't know if it's the warmth of the shop that you can feel rolling off him, or if it's just the warmth that always seems to be around him.

Most of you is hidden from him, curled up against the central table leg. Looking over at him you can see splatters of different sauces on his uniform, puffs of flour against his yellow scarf that makes it look patchy in places. The look on his face is sorrowful, and painfully kind.

He has no idea what's happened. He might have an inkling, some idea gnawing at the back of his mind. His sorrow might be in knowing you're going to hurt him, or maybe it's just in knowing you've been hurt. He wants to be closer, you can tell, but he's staying back until you give him permission.

How could he be so kind?

So gentle?

So patient?

He should be furious! He should be loud, and demanding, and unrelenting! This is his home! He shouldn't be coming home to something so unknown. He shouldn't find you like this. He should be able to have lunch with you, because that was the plan. That was how it was supposed to go. How it should be going.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. Like he didn't want to spook you. The tone was soft and gentle, full of a pain you didn't understand. How could two words sound so sad and so loving at the same time?

Especially when they were nothing but cold disdain on the tongues of your parents.

"Hey Doll."