CHAPTER ONE : THE PROBLEM, IT'S ME

TULSA, OKLAHOMA

THERE IS A WORLD WHERE SHE NEVER EXPECTS TO HEAR FROM ANY OF THEM AGAIN.

It had been this one—a world where their contacts still sit in her phone, adorned with little pictures from their shared past—snapshots of camping trips, barn nights, and wild laughter under thunderous skies. A world where their names still linger, saved but untouched, reminders of a different time. She never pressed. After everything—after that day, the day that split their lives into before and after—Bea knew their paths probably wouldn't cross again.

Well, okay, minus Willow.

Willow was the exception, the only one who seemed just as stranded in the aftermath as Bea. They'd formed an unspoken pact in their mutual isolation (because that's what it was, though neither of them would call it that—isolation felt too dramatic, too self-pitying). The rare, but consistent enough, quiet dinners they shared felt more like club meetings for the emotionally marooned, two people trying to rebuild their lives while pretending the foundation wasn't crumbling beneath them. 

She made it a part of her routine, just to save some sanity; renovate the house, work from home on coding, meet Willow for dinner once in a blue moon, and try not to dissociate in the hours between. Those evenings were bittersweet but manageable, a way to mark time without letting the past feel completely unreachable.

But Kate?

Kate had been a fixture of the before, a piece of the life Bea had resigned herself to never seeing again. The last time Bea had seen her was at Addy's funeral. Kate's face had been streaked with tears, her hand gripping Willow's so tightly it seemed like she was afraid to let go, as though that moment might swallow them both whole. That day had felt like a door slamming shut, the thread connecting them frayed beyond repair.

And then there was Javi.

Stupid, stubborn, reckless, stupid Javi.

She won't lie. She'd imagined him returning—a lot, especially in the first couple of years. In those daydreams, he'd show up on her, their, porch in some camo uniform, duffle slung over one shoulder, looking every bit the stupid, cocky charmer she used to love. He'd grovel and apologize, beg for her back. She'd slap his chest, yell at him for disappearing, and then—because she could never really help herself—she'd kiss him, just like all the movies. They'd fix up her, their, house like they always said they would and live happily ever after.

But the letters stopped around year three, the ones he sent from deployment that she would read and clutch to her heart but also never respond to because fuck him for leaving. By year four, the vision blurred. It became easier to let the fantasy fade, to tell herself that chapter was closed. Not just closed—sealed, locked, and buried somewhere deep enough that it might as well have been written in another language. Easier to tell herself he was long gone, dead to the world just as much as he was dead to her. Fix up the house, ignore her problems, live a lonely life with her one-eyed cat Momo, instead of ever asking about him or the past again.

But then Willow calls.

Not for dinner this time, but for a favor.

A job.

And it's no doubt something utterly insane and genius at the same time. It always kind of is with Willow—storm-chaser, mad scientist tornado tamer. The most sensible thing the woman's ever done is take up weather reporting, oddly perfect at it even when she looked ready to strangle herself with a mic pack every time she was on screen. But that even ended about six months ago, after the TikTok of her punching a man twice her size went viral.

Somehow, Kate Carter is involved too. Of course she is. Kate comes back for her other half, doesn't she? Not like other people.

Bea tells herself she'll just hear them out, that's all. She'll drive to Tulsa and check out the address Willow swears is legit, not just a shifty location set for kidnapping. If nothing else, it'll be a break from the quiet monotony that's defined the past four years.

Kidnapping her, honestly, would be the most exciting thing to happen in a long time.

But it's legit—T-DARC sign and all—with Willow and Kate standing in the parking lot waiting for her, waving as though no time at all has passed.

"Bea!" Willow's voice rings out, bright and full of an energy Bea hasn't heard in years. She's smiling, radiant and genuine, the kind of smile Bea's only ever seen a handful of times—usually when it had something to do with a cowboy or a storm. It's not the smile Bea had grown used to over the past few years, the pleasant enough greetings accompanied by a shaky, half-hearted grin as Willow tried to face the easiest, most accessible pieces of her past.

This Willow crosses the distance in seconds, pulling Bea into a quick, almost impulsive hug, her arms wrapping tightly around her. The excitement radiating from her isn't new, exactly, but it feels revived, electric, like she's been waiting for this moment far longer than Bea can fully grasp.

"Thanks for coming," Willow says warmly.

"Yeah, no problem," Bea replies softly, stepping back to take her in.

The last time she'd seen Willow, she had been all sharp edges—stiff, professional, and impossibly sad. She'd come straight from the station, wrapped in a pencil skirt and blouse that screamed a kind of poise and control she never would have put with Willow until then, until it concealed so much more. Bea remembers that blouse vividly, remembers sitting in the hospital and watching the nurses redress the scar beneath it with careful, practiced hands. It hadn't just been Willow's skin the fabric shielded—it had been everything she wasn't willing to let the world see.

Grief had been etched into her eyes back then, raw and relentless, no matter how well she tried to hide it behind her practiced weather-girl charm.

And Bea had hated herself for finding comfort in that.

There was something sick, twisted even, about seeing her own pain reflected in Willow's eyes. It had been horrible, but it had also been reassuring in a way Bea would never admit out loud. Because at least in those moments, the gulf between them didn't feel so wide. At least in those moments, they had both been drowning.

But now?

Willow doesn't look like someone who's drowning. She's wearing cargo shorts and an oversized flannel that's definitely not hers, the scar on her arm bare to the world like it doesn't matter anymore. There's no heaviness in her expression, no shadows lurking behind her smile. She doesn't just look fine—she looks happy. Alive in a way Bea hasn't seen in years.

More than fine. More than alive.

More Willow than Bea has ever known her to be.

Bea swallows thickly, her chest tightening. She's happy for Willow—truly—but the contrast between them stings. Willow is thriving, glowing, and Bea feels like she's barely holding it together. Even now, fumbling for the right words feels impossible.

"You look good," Bea finally manages, her voice quieter than she intended.

"You think so?" Willow beams at her, and as the sunlight catches her face, Bea notices the tiny scars that mark her cheeks—new, but already fading with time.

Bea nods, unable to find anything else to say.

Then Kate hugs her—Kate, who Bea is almost certain has only ever hugged her once in their entire lives. The gesture is just as unexpected as Willow's, and Bea feels herself stiffen on instinct, hating how awkward and unnatural she feels in moments like these. Kate's arms are strong, her embrace warm, and Bea tries—she really tries—to reciprocate, but her movements feel clumsy and mechanical, like she's forgotten how to be close to anyone.

"Bea, it's so good to see you," Kate says sincerely.

"Hey, Kate." Bea steps back quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear in an automatic, awkward gesture she can't seem to stop. "I like the blonde," she says, nodding toward Kate's hair. It's shorter now, lighter than it used to be—she remembers it being darker and longer, always braided back by Willow when the wind got too wild during a chase.

"Thanks." Kate grins, raising an eyebrow in that subtle, knowing way of hers. "How was the drive in? You still at the house?"

The house. They both know it well—the big, old fixer-upper that her Nana left her for whatever family she'd end up with. They threw a housewarming party in it when Javi and her decided to start shacking up in it, the drinks flowing as they picked out paints for each room, and deemed which bedrooms were theirs. According to Jeb and Addy, it needed work, a lot of work. The latter had been more than happy to offer her demolition services if ever needed.

Bea busted down the kitchen wall for a more open floor plan in her memory. All alone; no family to fill the rooms like always imagined.

"Yeah," Bea replies, a bit too quickly, the word rushing out before she can think. "Couldn't part with it." She hesitates, the memory of the house pulling at her chest, and then adds, "Nana left it for us—me," she corrects clumsily, the word catching in her throat. Her cheeks flush, and she silently curses herself. "I've done a lot to it, though. Looks like a whole different place now."

"That's great," Kate says warmly, her smile soft and genuine.

"How's your mom?" Bea blurts, desperate to shift the focus away from herself.

Kate's expression softens further, and her voice takes on a quieter tone. "Good. She's good. Happy I'm back at home."

"And she's not the only one," Willow chimes in, slinging an arm around Kate's shoulders like it's second nature. Their ease with one another only deepens Bea's self-consciousness.

"We have so much to tell you, Bea," Willow continues, her excitement bubbling over, her words tripping over themselves. "The whole past few months have been absolutely insane—"

"Will," Kate interrupts gently, her tone amused but firm, "why don't we get her inside first before you talk her ear off?"

"Oh, right."

"So, is this y'all's place then?" Bea asks, her voice tinged with disbelief as her gaze shifts toward the building. She almost can't believe it. The last time she knew Kate and Willow as a team, they were two underfunded storm scientists working out of Kate's mom's barn. No one at Muskogee had taken them seriously, even with Jo and Bill's backing. They were brilliant, sure, but they were also quacks in the eyes of the academic world. Wonderful storm-chasers, but quacks all the same.

Now?

This wasn't quack territory. Not with a building that looked sleek and professional, and definitely not with the way Willow strode toward the door like she owned the place—because she did.

"Yep," Willow says proudly, stopping at the entrance and gesturing for them to follow. She swings open the door, revealing the logo printed on the glass: T-DARC, spelled out in bold letters over a swirling twister graphic. She steps inside, holding the door open for Bea and Kate. "The Twister Disruption Analytic Research Collective, or T-DARC for short, because the full name's a real mouthful."

Bea trails behind them, her steps faltering as her eyes adjust to the space inside. It's a far cry from the barn she remembers. They pass a row of offices, only two of which seem occupied. In one, a woman with short, dark hair looks up from behind her computer and waves, her voice cheerful as she hollers a greeting.

"Hey, Dani," Willow says with a grin, nudging Bea lightly. "She's our PR wizard and navigation expert. You'll love her." She gestures ahead. "Kate and I keep our desks in the lab. We're more lab people than office people."

The lab isn't so different from the barn Bea remembers. It's sleeker now, more polished, with rows of neatly organized equipment and monitors humming softly in the background. But even with the upgrades, the space holds an undeniable familiarity. The walls are still peppered with pinned-up pictures—snapshots of storms, candid moments frozen in time.

Off to one side, a couch sits with its arms draped in a throw blanket Bea recognizes instantly. It's the same one Kate used to steal for midday naps in the loft, wrapped up like a burrito to recharge after a long night of brainstorming. Bea bets Willow still curls up there too when the hours stretch too long, despite her endless energy when it comes to anything chasing.

It feels like stepping into a memory that's been distorted by time. Bea's gaze lingers on the small details that scream Willow and Kate—the random DOROTHY sensors scattered on shelves, the fake potted plant in a blue ceramic pot adorned with lightning bolts, a design so distinctly Willow it makes Bea smile despite herself.

Willow glances over her shoulder, catching Bea's wandering gaze. Her smile warms instantly, soft and inviting. "We tried to make it feel the same, as much as we could."

"Yeah," Bea murmurs, hugging herself as her eyes move from detail to detail. The room feels alive with their presence, but it also carries the weight of everything that's come and gone—the signs of their lives moving forward while hers stayed frozen. Her gaze catches on a photograph pinned to the wall, a familiar one. It's of the old crew she knew best: Addy, Jeb, Praveen crouched with Kate and Willow with her arms slung around Javi's shoulders, his face frozen mid-laugh. She can almost hear the sound of it, clear and unrestrained, echoing in her memory. Only two of those faces are with her now.

Willow's smile falters for a moment, a shadow flickering across her expression, something unreadable. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by a softer look. "Location changes, but people don't," she says, motioning toward the couch. "Kate still hogs that thing, by the way."

"Do not," Kate denies, her tone half-hearted but affectionate.

Willow presses on, gesturing animatedly as though unveiling the world's coolest secret. "So, the primary objective is still the same—disrupting tornado dynamics," she explains. "You know, the thing we started with."

Bea nods. She remembers Willow and Kate in that barn, spinning science into magic with all the confidence of people who truly believed they could tame chaos itself. It had seemed impossible—ridiculous, even—but the way they talked about it made the impossible sound inevitable.

And Bea knows how that story ends. She knows what it cost them all, the weight of it lingering in the air even now, framed in the pictures surrounding them.

"You're still working on that?" Bea blurts before she can stop herself. The question hangs awkwardly in the air, her voice sharper than she intended. She hugs herself tighter, glancing between Kate and Willow. "After everything?"

Willow's smile falters again, her excitement dimming visibly, and Bea instantly regrets opening her mouth. She didn't mean it like that—didn't mean to sound dismissive or critical.

Bea picks at the skin of her elbow, the sting of her own words simmering under her skin. She's going to ruin this before they've even had a chance to let her in.

Willow hesitates, her voice quieter now, more measured. "I mean, we had to finish it, you know," she says, her words carrying the weight of something unspoken. "Finally make it work. For them."

Bea swallows hard, forcing herself to soften, to claw her way back from the mess she's just made. "And did you make it work?" she asks, her tone gentler now.

"Oh, they made it work," a voice interjects from deeper in the lab. Bea turns to see a tall man entering from the back door, oil streaking his cheek, grinning No one could have ever guessed Willow's smile had slipped, not with the way it shifts wider the moment he enters the room and the oversized flannel drowning her suddenly makes sense—it's his. "Drove straight into a storm the size of a football field just to prove it."

"That's a bit of a misinterpretation of that story, Tyler," another man chimes in, stepping forward. He's older, sporting mutton chops and a fishing hat perched on his head, mildly exasperated.

"I agree with Dexter on that," Willow says quickly, stepping closer to Tyler with a sly smile. Her eyes gleam with affection and just a hint of mischief as she rises onto her tiptoes, closing the space between them.

Without hesitation, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

The moment lingers—brief but charged, stretching just long enough for Bea to feel like she's intruding on something deeply personal. When Willow pulls back, her expression shifts into a playful pout, as if daring Tyler to ask for more. And he almost does. His grin softens into something vulnerable, his eyes fixed on her like she's the only person in the room.

Bea watches the exchange, her stomach twisting with a strange, unfamiliar ache. She remembers the old Willow—the one who jumped headfirst into love like it was a storm she could chase, reckless and fleeting. There had always been a cowboy on her arm by Thursday night and tears staining her pillow by Sunday morning. But this? This wasn't that.

This wasn't infatuation.

This was real.

"But I'm still really sorry about it," Willow teases, her voice light as she smiles up at him, though the sincerity in her tone is undeniable. It's an apology that goes deeper than words, one that holds weight and history.

"You changing the oil back there?" she asks, her tone softening further.

"How could you tell?" Tyler replies, his grin widening again.

"You got a little..." Willow wets her thumb with her mouth and reaches up, rubbing the oil streak off his cheek with deliberate care. Tyler stays perfectly still, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression one of pure bliss.

"There. All clean," Willow announces, pulling her hand away with a satisfied smile.

"Thanks, baby," Tyler hums, and without warning, he pulls her into another kiss. This one lingers—longer, deeper, and unmistakably heartfelt. Willow leans into him, her hand curling against his chest. It's not until Dexter clears his throat that they pull apart.

"Sign," Dexter deadpans, pointing a finger at a laminated NO CANOODLING IN THE LAB poster hung haphazardly on the wall, featuring some comically bad artwork.

Bea lets out a startled laugh, unable to contain it. It manages to cut through her unease.

"That sign is not official," Tyler retorts, barely glancing at it.

"It's laminated," Kate counters, her smirk sharp as she leans against the counter. "That makes it pretty official."

Tyler scoffs, unimpressed, but Willow gently disentangles herself, her grin widening as she turns to Bea. "Tyler, this is Bea," she says, motioning toward her.

"Nice to meet you, Bea. I've heard a lot about you," Tyler says warmly, extending his hand. His grip is firm, his gaze steady, and there's something in his tone that makes Bea feel like her presence here matters more than she realizes.

"Good things, I hope?" Bea asks, her voice wavering slightly, caught between curiosity and hesitation.

"Oh, these two think you're the answer to all our problems," Tyler teases, nodding toward Willow and Kate. His grin is infectious, disarming even.

Bea narrows her eyes, studying him more closely. There's something familiar about his face, though she can't quite place it. Then it hits her. "Wait, you're that tornado YouTube guy," she says, the realization dawning. She remembers seeing his thumbnails pop up—him grinning under a wide-brimmed hat, the titles always some combination of chaos and science. She'd never clicked, too engrossed in her home-decorating videos or the next recipe she'd never actually try.

"Tornado YouTube guy," Kate repeats, her smirk widening. "That's him."

Tyler rolls his eyes. "You know what, Sapulpa? You're banned from the house."

"If she's banned, I'm going with her to Cathy's for a week," Willow counters.

"You are no longer banned from the house."

Bea shakes her head, letting the tension in her chest ease. The absurdity of it all—their banter, their dynamic, the way they're somehow thriving in this wild, chaotic world—is almost too much to process. But it's also strangely comforting.

"I can't believe..." Bea starts, trailing off as her thoughts swirl. "You two actually tamed a tornado. How did you even—what did it...?" The words feel clumsy, inadequate to capture her disbelief.

"It took a lot of work," Kate answers matter-of-factly, her tone steady. "We're still tweaking the process, but right now it's a mix of silver iodide rockets and polymers that force the tornado to collapse in on itself."

"There's an article that explains the whole process if you're interested," Tyler adds, puffing his chest slightly as he pulls Willow closer. "Our buddy Ben wrote it. Put these two right on the cover of a magazine."

Willow shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "He's exaggerating. It wasn't the cover. It's, like, a tiny corner shot of me and Kate from behind. You can't even tell it's us."

"I can tell it's you, baby," Tyler says, entirely unbothered as he playfully slaps her behind in front of everyone. "I'd know you anywhere."

Kate groans loudly. "Please re-ban me."

Dexter clears his throat, steering the conversation back on track."The process is all captured on our channel," he explains, his tone casual, like broadcasting experiments to the world is the most normal thing ever.

Bea furrows her brows, caught off guard. She remembers Jeb's constant filming back in the day, a camera shoved in her face more times than she cared to count during those chaotic weeks she and Willow worked on DOROTHY. But broadcasting it all publicly? That was new—unexpected even.

"The Tornado Wranglers are our partners in crime now," Kate explains, leaning against the counter with her usual no-nonsense air. "They're their own entity, but there's some overlap with what we do. We chase with them, they document the experiments, and they're our main line for bringing in investors."

"Plus, we fill jobs on both teams," Tyler adds, flashing a grin that feels entirely too confident for Bea's liking.

"What a crew," Bea mutters under her breath, still trying to wrap her head around the setup. This wasn't the small, scrappy operation built out of cold ones and the ramblings of mad women like she remembered—it was something else entirely.

"But we're still missing an engineer," Kate says, her tone shifting, the lightheartedness replaced with something more serious. "Which is why you're here."

Bea blinks, feeling the weight of Kate's words settle over her. "I'm not sure what I could do for your experiment," she admits, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket.

"Oh, the experiment is covered," Kate reassures quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "Willow and I have made real progress. Enough to secure funding and even start branching into other projects."

Willow bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, her energy practically buzzing as she jumps in. "Lilly and I are working on a new drone data collection system," she explains, her excitement so tangible it's almost overwhelming. "It's like the DOROTHY sensors, but with a twist—you can control these in flight. We've got prototypes, but they're not performing the way we need. Either they take too much damage in the storm or crash too early, so we're missing crucial data."

"The goal," Kate adds seamlessly, picking up where Willow leaves off, "is to either keep them airborne longer or ensure they can still collect data once they land. Right now, they're a bit... fragile."

Willow nods vigorously, her enthusiasm undeterred. "And Kate thought bringing in a real engineer—"

"I meant someone with experience and fresh ideas," Kate cuts in quickly, her tone apologetic but firm. "No offense, Will."

"—would be a game changer," Willow finishes, rolling her eyes at Kate with a grin that softens the moment.

Bea stares at them, her thoughts spinning as she tries to process everything they're saying. "And you think I'm the right person for the job?"

"No pressure," Tyler chimes in with that same grin Bea already finds a little too self-assured, like he's completely unaware of how overwhelming all this is. Or he does, but lives for it, the kind of chaos these chasers all thrive on. "But they've been calling you the perfect fit."

"It's paid, too," Willow adds quickly, her eagerness bubbling over again. "Like, actual money—not that 'experience' nonsense they push on you in school. And Dani's working on getting us company benefits. Plus, it doesn't have to be short-term if you don't want it to be, and—"

"Will," Kate interrupts gently, her voice calm but decisive.

"I'm getting carried away, aren't I?" Willow asks sheepishly, looking between Bea and Kate for confirmation.

"No, no, it's fine," Bea says, shaking her head. "It's just..." She pauses, exhaling as she searches for the right words. "A lot to take in. I didn't expect all this when you called."

"What did you expect?" Willow asks, curious.

"I don't know," Bea says with a small, awkward laugh. "You and Kate in a barn with, like, zero budget." The words come out unfiltered, but they're laced with something warmer, almost nostalgic. That's what she's used to, that's what she knows; not this uncharted territory. "Not that I didn't believe in you all, it's just, wow."

"How about I show you the prototype?" Willow suggests, her smile returning with full force. "Let you see if it's something you've got some ideas for?"

Bea hesitates for just a moment, the weight of the offer settling in, but then she nods. A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips despite herself. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

There's a brief pause before Willow walks toward the garage, and Bea follows. The lab, the new faces, the entire setup might be new and intimidating, but she can handle that. Machines have always been her comfort zone—no questions, no emotions tangled in the mix. She knows what to do with machines. It's people she's not sure how to handle anymore. 

But a storm-chasing drone, well, that is right up her alley. 

—AUTHOR'S NOTE

ALRIGHT TAKE THIS

idk what this is but here is bea reuniting with kate and willow at least. willow did not tell her ab javi tho (NOT ON PURPOSE WILLOW IS JUST SO EXCITED ABOUT BEA BEING THERE SHE FORGOT)

this is just to truly fulfill my willow and tyler needs so enjoy and wait for bea and javi to awkwardly meet again

thanks for reading srry its awful

- kari