After our awkward conversation about the soup, Stuart had gone ahead and cancelled all of our Wednesday appointments. He called it a family emergency, which everyone was very understanding about, but the reality was that I knew he couldn't concentrate either. When I saw him for dinner, I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and red around the edges. We shared the longest of hugs – we were the loneliest of friends, but even in silence, we understood each other.

Wednesday arrived with much protest from the both of us. I still felt guilty about what I said to Stuart the day before so when I woke up in the bright morning light, I didn't avoid it. This time I got up and got dressed like I was ready to face the day.

It was normal for me to wake up before Stuart in the morning. Even if I didn't, the man took hour-long showers so it still gave me time to get everything ready for him. I forced myself to get dressed like it was another day at the office, high heels, nylons, skirt, and blouse. Once the shower was running upstairs, I set the table with different types of jams, fruit, and eventually mostly-burnt toast. I hoped that the fresh pot of coffee and the newspaper waiting for Stuart in his spot would help hide my ability to ruin even the most basic of foods.

When Stuart finally came downstairs in jeans and a sweater, he couldn't help but muster a weak smile. "Good morning, Linkin. You're a sight for sore eyes."

"I made you breakfast."

"What else do we have with the burnt toast this morning?" We both laughed weakly at the joke, trying to find a way to hide our nerves.

Breakfast was a long-standing tradition for us. We didn't do a lot of normal things, but every morning we sat down and ate breakfast together. We talked about weird dreams, plans for the day – not that we ever had any. This morning was no different. Stuart complimented me on my even slices of peaches, how they no longer looked like I took a chainsaw to them. Eventually he asked me to go get some groceries for us. Evidently, we were running low and Stuart knew I would take any excuse to go shopping.

I returned a little after noon. Stuart was still at the table, his coffee was now tea and he was reading about the latest crime in the paper – appropriate for the occasion.

"I got donuts. Lunch?" I suggested with a smile.

Stuart looked up at me and smiled tightly. "Sounds wonderful. Grab two plates and come and sit down. I think we should go over some ground rules for tonight."

♟♙♟♙

Nowhere in any of Stuart's ground rules said I had to be nice. I thought I was okay with seeing Ira, thought I had cried and talked to Stuart about her enough. When we saw a shiny new car pull in, however, I couldn't breathe. My hands were trembling as we waited for the knock on the door.

"Stewie, what's taking her so long?" I asked anxiously, running my gloved hands over my skirt as if that'd wipe the sweat off of them.

"She's probably taking her time, calming her nerves down like us."

By the time Ira finally knocked on the door, I'd had it. My heart was racing so fast that I was either going to have a heart attack or my heart was going to force its way out of my chest. I was angry, hurt, and on the verge of a panic attack.

At the same time, she both looked different and exactly the same. Her new ash-blonde hair made her look even more beautiful, if that was even possible. She looked amazing, healthy, happy. It made me sick. I only got in two good insults before I couldn't even look at her anymore. I turned, kicked off my high heeled shoes and sprinted upstairs. I didn't even make it to the third floor, just stumbled into Stuart's ensuite and lost what little food I had in my stomach.

Of everything I imagined that could happen, I never thought that Ira would appear so normal and so put together. Not long before she upped and left, it had hurt her to smile against bruises that she'd gotten from a brawl in Mexico. Before that, she'd been stick-thin and on the verge of losing her heartbeat. I laid on Stuart's bathroom floor, still sick to my stomach with anxiety. I could hear Ira's voice, not what she was saying, just the muffled tones of her conversation with Stuart. They were chatting as though nothing had happened.

"Linkin, come down here!" It was Stuart, shouting from his office. That couldn't be good. I dry heaved one more time before stealing his mouthwash and made my way downstairs.

♟♙♟♙

I didn't hear a single word Ira said. I just stared at her, waiting for her to change. Surely there was something more to her. She looked strong, calm even as she leaned back in my chair, legs crossed and hands collected in her lap as she spoke. Not even her gray eyes betrayed a sliver of nervousness. I heard Stuart ask her questions every so often, but even those didn't faze her. She was like a corporate woman, prepared for everything and had the world in the palm of her hand.

"I need to get supper going," I said when there was a lull of conversation. I stood up and waited for Ira to do the same. She wasn't invited. That changed when Stuart idiotically told her to put her things in the spare room. I stormed off to the kitchen, gladly taking the excuse to put my focus somewhere else.

Between the water overboiling onto the stove, the kitchen fan on as loud as it could go, and the chopping of hard potatoes on the cutting board, I finally had peace and quiet. I couldn't hear either Stuart's or Ira's voices. I focused on the noises in the kitchen – waiting, listening intently to ensure I couldn't hear them.

When the door to the kitchen opened, I held the knife just that little bit tighter as I cut another potato into half. "Are you doing alright in here?" It was Stuart.

"Great." I slammed the knife down onto the wooden cutting board with a satisfying thwack. Half the potato went flying off the cutting board and onto the floor.

"Sure you are." He sighed as he walked over and picked up the potato, pausing for a second. "Linkin, just stop, won't you?"

I scoffed and continued, "Why would I? Someone has to make food for our guest."

"Because you're bleeding onto the potatoes! Stop so I can see where you're cut." I never expected him to yell. He looked apologetic as he turned the fan down.

I froze, slowly easing the knife down and glancing to the cutting board. Sure enough, it was red, as were most of the potatoes. I glanced to him. "It's... blood pudding. It's supposed to be," I said stubbornly.

Rolling his eyes, Stuart reached out and gently took my wrists, using my sleeve as a block between our skin. "Blood pudding is a form of sausage. It's made with pork blood and pork meat. Last time I checked, you were not made of pork." He smiled teasingly at me, turning my hand around and frowned when he saw a large cut along the outside of the pad of my thumb. "You weren't paying attention while peeling the potatoes, were you?"

I frowned and bit my lip, glancing to the gushing wound. "I thought it'd add flavour."

"You're impossible." He sounded annoyed, but he was smiling.

"I'm not going out there... Not with her."

Stuart paused, glancing at my thumb before he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around the cut and nodded. "No, that's probably not a good idea." He patted the counter space on the island. "Sit. I'll show you how to make mashed potatoes again while we wait for that to stop bleeding enough so we can wrap it."

I relaxed and nodded, placing my hands on either side of the white granite counter top. Sitting down, I watched as Stuart put all the potatoes I had cut into the sink to wash the blood off before putting them into a pot of boiling water. "You know, you have to try to be nicer. I don't think she's having the easiest time with this either, especially not after Celestia tried to kill her."

I tensed and gaped at him. "I— Is that what happened in New York? That's why she's back?"

"You didn't listen to a word she said, did you?" He let out a sharp exhale.

"She looks good..."

Stuart let that statement hang in the air as he washed the green beans. "She does," he agreed, not looking up. "When she walked in, I barely recognized her. Especially now that we aren't in the labs and we're out of that Mexican heat. I forgot she was beautiful."

I nodded sadly. "Me too." I didn't forget her appearance, but I forgot how it felt to be around her, to feel that power radiating off her, which commanded attention and almost made her glow.