"And that's a wrap."

Isobel jerked at the loud clap of the producer's hands. Nneka rushed forwards, hands gripped in front her and a smile splitting her face. Coral lips, matching her a-line skirt, popped against the deep bronze glow of her cheeks.

"That was incredible. It's coming together nicely, and you're looking a lot more comfortable up there."

Isobel climbed down from the bar stool propped behind the smooth marble workstation. They'd spent the last four hours filming various spot segments to link together for a promotional collection that would highlight and draw attention to all the core issues and causes she held close to her chest. And today's filming was her first camera check, to ensure she had the ability to work a camera on the spot, to deliver the news and relay pertinent information without stalling, freezing or losing focus.

The moment they'd walked out onto the set she'd been dazed and dazzled by the hot lights, the flurry of movement of the boom operators, camera technicians and production staff.

"Thanks," she said, plucking up her bottle of water tucked out of sight and took a long, deep drink. Her mouth was so dry and parched it was like she hadn't touched water in a month. Nerves had sucked her dry and with each cut and break she'd guzzled greedily between makeup and hair touchups. She tried to smile but her cheeks were exhausted from holding a perma-grin for several hours. And the layers of makeup weren't helping.

"You'll get used to it," Nneka said with a knowing smirk. "The lights wash you out so we have to apply heavily. At least most of your filming won't happen in studio."

"Thank god for that."

"Alright, girlie, let's get going. We have a sweeps meeting we're already late for." Hooking her arm through Isobel's, Nneka led her off the platform and around into the back end of the newsroom studio were the team was already gathered and waiting. Soon as the door opened and they strolled inside the clamour of happy voices cut away, like gossiping students the second the teacher returned to the classroom.

"Hello boys and girls," Nneka said, claiming the available seat at the end of the table, off to the left. Isobel took the only free seat left open at the side. Papers were scattered around the length of the oval surface, various bottles of water and half-finished cups of coffee dotted in between, and at the head was an open box of gourmet donuts that were almost too pretty to eat.

"For those of you whom haven't already met Ms. Morgan, please come up and introduce yourselves later, otherwise we'll have plenty of time to get better acquainted. You'll all be working rather closely in the trenches for the next eight weeks—longer should the PA program take off as I expect it to."

Isobel's gaze slid around her. Young and old, men and women, at least a dozen or so who all watched her with varying degrees of interest. Some appeared open and friendly, others more guarded, and a few were impossible to read.

The Passivist Activist was going LIVE. She was set to become a voice that would cast attention on the problems in the world and CP24 was giving her to power to connect on a scale she could never have otherwise achieved on her own.

Her first assignment was to discuss the recent rash of hostility against the LGBT community, as reports of gun violence and assaults flooded the news. The most recent of which left a staggering body count in its wake. She was a part of vital news while also maintaining control over the core message. She wasn't reading off someone else's script. It would all be her words.

Her beliefs. Like a spoken news article. Honest and without agenda. A thrilling opportunity.

The first of its kind. And not everyone around the table was happy about it.

Or, more accurately—happy about her.

She listened carefully as Nneka led them through the agenda and project points, and the team leapt in with updates, proposal, most of which spun over her head like helium balloons dangling from the ceiling. Floating out of reach of her seeking fingers.

"Your passport is up to date, yes?"

Isobel nodded, jarred by Nneka's sudden swing of attention in her direction. "Yes. Um, I think so."

"Good. Make sure, confirm with me tonight and I'll have Stacey coordinating flights. Let's get you to New York for Friday—on the earlier side, ok Stace?"

"Sure, boss."

"What's happening in New York?

"The Mayor is holding a memorial for the victims on Saturday. He's agreed to give you exclusive access to see the crime scene firsthand the day before. You'll stand right where they all died. This will be a great, visceral punch we need to roll out PA on a strong foot."

"I—New York? This weekend? Fly out tomorrow?"

"Yes. For two—maybe three days."

Isobel shifted in the leather seat of the chair, all eyes drawn in her direction. A few of which were cast in judgement. She knew what they were thinking—who was this idiot girl to complain when she'd been handed a job anyone of them would have yanked out their front teeth to have? "I wasn't...traveling is going to be a bit difficult."

"What is the problem?" Angela, a tired looking brunette with thick dreads and harsh voice spoke up, arms crossed over her wide body. "This is the News. We can't tell it accurately if you're not there. And the idea behind PA is ground coverage. Are we supposed to green screen you at ground zero?"

Laughter trickled around the table and she shrank at the sound of it.

"Occasional travel. It was stipulated in your contract," Nneka added gently.

"I know I just...I thought I'd have more time. More warning." Swallowing her nerves, Isobel dug down for her voice, for her confidence. "I told you about my father. My situation. I can't be away from him for extended periods of time."

"Right, next time we'll make sure a crazed shooter checks in to coordinate calendars," someone else scoffed. More laughter ensued. Isobel's cheeks blazed.

Nneka angled herself so she was facing Isobel directly, manicured nails bouncing atop her notes. "This is your project now. Your face. Your voice. Your brand. If you won't go out there than the Passivist Activist is dead before it even hits the water." Her lips curved in a sympathetic pull to the left. "It's your call, Isobel."

Isobel tucked her chin to her chest. Nodded.

"Let's wrap here. Stacey, I want those travel itineraries within an hour for confirmation. Gerald, finalize with the Mayors secretary and let him know we're going ahead."

When the sweeps meeting wrapped shortly thereafter, Isobel made her way. Distraught and depressed, she unlocked the door and pushed inside, hung up her coat and purse. Why hadn't she thought this through? Of course she was going to have to travel. Issues were limited to Toronto. It was a big world. A big, complicated, messy world.

"There's my girl," Angus scuttled in from the living room and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Isobel folded into his embrace and tried not to cry. "How'd it all go?"

Drawing back, she let out a weary sigh. "I'm going to have to give it up, Da."

Angus' sharp blue eyes popped wide behind wire frames he wore when immersing himself in his Sudoku puzzles. "What? That's crazy talk. Ya just started."

"I know, but it's complicated." Because standing around would put too much strain on his back and hips, taking his hand, she led him back into the living room and sat down on the couch. As Angus settled back into his recliner, Isobel dragged her legs up on the seat, tucked them beneath her. "They want me shuttling about as certain events happen. This weekend it's New York, but next month—or even next week—it could be someone where else. I have to leave tomorrow which means you'll be alone..."

"I can manage for bleeding two days on me own." he asked, fingers working the levers on the chair so the leg rest swung down and the back pulled up. The base swiveled as he swung it around, poising it to face her instead of the TV.

"That's not the point, Da. I can't keep leaving you home alone and without someone to care for you for days on end. I just can't."

"A stór," he sighed, calling her 'my treasure' in the lilting words of his native Gaelic. "How long are ya going to lock yourself away in this house because of me?"

"It'll be fine, Da." Because she felt like she was on the verge of tears, Isobel decided to get up and focus on more important things. Like clearing the kitchen of morning dishes and worrying over what to make for dinner. "I picked up some organic lamb mince from the butchers, on the way home. How about I make a Sheppard's Pie for dinner?"

Angus' features set behind his frames, knowing she'd shut the door on the subject and wasn't about to let anything boot it back open. "Sure, love. Fine," he said, reaching for the book of puzzles on the side table, splayed open, face down.

Angus watched as she walked away, her shoulder pulled back—tight and fighting against the curve of defeat. Lord above he'd raised a stubborn child, a fact that pleased and vexed in equal measure. He'd wanted her strong. Stronger then her mother had ever been. Stronger than he ever could be. But sometimes he wished she'd lean on him again, even if only a little. He might be broken, but dammit, Angus Morgan was a long way off from bleeding useless.

Hand resting over the open book, he waited until he was sure she was set in the task of fussing over the stove before plucking out his phone from beneath.

He might not be able to do much for his little girl, but he'd be damned if he sat back, idle and fekkin watched she cast off her dreams for the likes of him.

#

The next morning, Isobel was worrying over how she was going to break the news to Nneka. She'd have no choice but to leave for this trip, things were set too far ahead in motion for her to pull out on a dime, which would make quitting all the harder to do without some serious blow back. She could check in with Mr. Nunes across the street and see if he wouldn't mind checking in on Da.

There were plenty of premade meals Isobel had frozen for the odd chance she wouldn't be home to fix something in time for dinner or lunch. She trusted her Da would be able to manage well enough with those to not need much help.

And if she pulled out some clothes, put them in easy reach so he wouldn't have to bend or stoop—the trail of her busy thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang. Angus, perched at the breakfast nook, disappeared behind the pages Toronto Star.

Whirling from the stove, Isobel lowered the heat on the cooking hash of potatoes frying in avocado oil. "Who is that? Da, are you expecting anyone."

Angus answered with a noncommittal grunt. "Dunno. Maybe."

Something was up, she thought, setting down the wood spoon on the counter. Wiping her hands on her jeans, the door rang a second time as she reached it. Unfastening the locks, Isobel pulled it open.

A portly woman, middle-aged with dark hair threaded with white stood on the threshold. A dumpy jacket pulled over pale blue uniform. A heavy looking bag set at her white sneakered feet.

"Can I help you?"

"Buenas," she smiled. Revealing large teeth in a glowing grin. Dark freckles scattered across the apples of her cheeks. "My name is Luz Alarcon de Sandoval. I'm the care provider from Family Touch respite center."

Isobel widened the door, a little dazed. "I didn't—?"

"A Ms. Priyanka Seth placed the call last night and set up a meeting for today," Luz interjected, her voice carrying a hint of an accent that thickened around words starting with S or Y. "I understand you're looking for weekend coverage starting this afternoon? We customarily do a home walkthrough the prior to introduce ourselves to the individual's requiring care and discuss their needs, but given a generous donation on the behalf of a Ms. Shayne to our humble facility, we've agreed to make a special allowance."

Slotting her tongue into the pocket of her cheek, Isobel shook her head with a laugh. Why am I not surprised? "Of course, come on in."

Leading the woman into the home, Isobel chanced at glance at the kitchen and caught Angus sneaking a guilty look over the folded edge of the paper he was currently hiding behind like a shield. "Da," she said, leading Luz into the kitchen. "This is Mrs. Sandoval."

"Buenas Dias," Luz sang in a cheerful tone. "And how are you today, Mr. Morgan?"

The paper crinkled loudly as Angus folded it down on the counter, her cheeks bright red and eyes shying away from meeting Isobel's pointed glare. "Ah, em—fine, just fine. Lovely to meet you. I think I'll see myself to the garden. Get a bit of air while Issy shows ya about."

Isobel's lips pulled into a thin line as her father made a no so subtle escape to the patio doors. Chicken.

"Will you be staying overnight?"

"The center thought it best," Luz answered, her hands gripping the leather straps of her bag which Isobel now imagined to be packed with enough clothes and personal toiletries. "Ms. Priya provided the center with detailed copies and records of your father's current state of health and care needs. We're quite up to speed."

Jesus, Isobel thought, with friends like hers—the world didn't stand a chance. And she loved them for it. "Alright, let me show you to the guest room and then I'll give you the layout of things."

Luz explained the plan and policy paperwork Isobel had to sign and, according to an email from Priya, following very shortly after the caregiver's arrival, thanks to CP24's generous benefits package, she didn't have to worry about the expense eating a hole in their savings. It was all covered and any out of pocket expenses would be reimbursed up to a capped amount per calendar year. It wasn't much, but it bought her peace of mind as well as freedom.

But as she'd left Luz to get better acquainted with her father as Isobel packed her bags for the trip, anxiety shook her speechless.

"Well, that's everything," Isobel stopped at the base of the stairs and Luz came to join her, drying her hands on a dish towel from the kitchen where she'd been washing up the morning dishes.

"Is there anything else I should—?"

"I have the list on the fridge," Luz said, looping the towel over her shoulder. "And all of your contact details should I have any questions. We'll be fine."

Isobel nodded slowly, her heart rising high in her throat. "Ok. Well, I'll just head out and say a quick bye to Da."

"Por supuesto."

Swinging out the back door, Isobel found Angus seated beneath the heavy canopy of the stately maple tree, its leaves thick and deep burgundy, the wire frame of his glasses sliding down his slender nose.

Hearing her approach his eyes lifted and his smile spread, bright with triumph. "So you're off then?"

"Yes." Claiming the wrought iron seat next to him, she sat down, tucked a lock of hair behind her hair tugged by the passing breeze. "I'll only be gone for two days. Three at most."

"Go," Angus said, hands holding her face he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Off with ya now. And don't be fussing yourself with calling every bleeding hour. I mean it," he wagged a finger, "enjoy yourself. Forget out responsibilities for a little while."

"This is a work trip, Da. Not a vacation."

Amusement glimmered in the powder blue of his eyes. "Darling girl, this is closest to a holiday you've had in a long time. And you'll have Priya for company. I expect she'll cram in a bit of fun."

I don't doubt it.

It was a quick trip and short flight over to NYC, and before Isobel could gather her bearings she was already touching down at JFK airport, rolling through customs with her single suitcase in hand and found Priya's waiting for with a flurry of balloons, stuffed animals, flowers and a glitter covered bedazzled sign of Isobel's name.

They embraced with a squeal, a laugh, bobbed in an endless, giddy bouncing hug that punctuated by Priya's chanting, "You're here, you're here, you're finally here!"

Flushed, breathless, Isobel pulled away. Her cheeks burning from excessive smiling. "I know; I can hardly believe it." Anxiety tempered her joy as she thought of her dad and her fingers itched to reach for her phone. "Do you think I should call him? Let him know I touched down? I should call him."

Priya rolled her eyes, smiling as Isobel rooted for her phone from her purse and shakily dialled his number. When he answered the tightness in her chest eased. He sounded bright and cheerful, and more than a bit amused she'd placed her first call home well within the five fifteen minutes of touching down.

Apparently he'd won the bet, and now had twenty bucks to show for it.

"So Nurse Ratchet hasn't killed him yet?"

Smiling, Isobel tucked her phone away and helped Priya with gathering her Welcome to NYC shrine. "Go ahead and make fun of me. This is a big deal."

"I know it is. Three years, babe. Three effing years. Insane. I can't believe you almost quit your amazeballs job. Speaking of, run it all by me again. The Passivist Activist—how they're transforming your blog into a news broadcasting kind of thing-a-ma-jiggy?"

"That's it, more or less. It's all live. No pre-recordings, aside from the spot features we do ahead of time, but I handle my own scripts, I decide the topics—and then it's all pitched out there via various forms of social media. Periscope, Snap Chat, Twitter and Instagram, whatever you can think of." Pausing to hold open the door, Isobel let Priya sweep out the airport doors ahead of her and trundled out afterwards, her bags catching on the threshold and pitching slightly before correcting themselves. "The idea is about touching the younger demographic, to move them past this state of passive mindset of addressing problems with a simple like or share or tweet, but to prompt them into actual action. Into immediacy. Hopefully by engaging with me live, in the moment."

Priya lifted sunglasses from her eyes, pushing back her dark waves of hair from her stunning face, bright with excitement. "Babe. I'm so f*cking proud of you. This is major."

They stopped at the curb where a que of people lined in wait for airport limos. As third in the line, it wasn't long before the attendant reached them and took hold of their bags, hauling them into the trunk of the sedan.

"Thanks. Tomorrow I'm meeting with Nneka and the Mayor of New York and the Police Chief. They're taking me to the site of the mass shooting where I'll stream live my thoughts and experience. Hopefully bring people right into the heart of the tragedy."

Sliding into the backseat, Priya scooted in after her and shut the door, their conversation pausing long enough for her to give the driver the address of her family's apartment in the Upper East Side.

"I'll walk through the place where so many people died," Isobel continued. "It's surreal. I'm a little scared, but I know how important this is—how important it could be. To show everyone the truth. To honour the dead."

Priya nodded and released a heavy breath. "It's going to be emotional, that's for sure. With all the violence happening in the LGBT community, lately. It's terrifying."

"I know. I mean, what if something like this happened to Shayne? Or Cait? Or—?"

"Scheisse," Priya cursed hotly, dark eyes blazing like embers. "If anyone hurt my Sister—any of you—I'd tear the world apart show the bastard the true meaning of eternal suffering; Hell would seem like Heaven by comparison."

Isobel didn't doubt that declaration for a moment. Few people were as terrifying as Priya when crossed. Even Shayne knew not to incur the wrath of Priyanka Seth, Isobel pitied the fool who was stupid enough to try.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Isobel squirmed at her side, hands worrying themselves atop the table. "A bit. It's a heavy subject—such extreme hatred. I've never been close to anything like it before."

Priya nodded, murmuring in agreement. "If you need me to come by and be there with you I can clear my afternoon for a couple of hours."

"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to do that."

"It's not about ask. This is what Sisters do. When does your boss fly in?"

"Tomorrow morning. She had a last minute meeting with the executive producers so she bumped her flights. We're meeting for lunch to go over our agenda."

Priya's smile spread, evil with delight. "That means you're mine. All mine, until then."

"More or less."

"YAS, bitch! We're so going out." Throwing up her hands, Priya gave a victorious whoop of joy. "Get ready girl, cause tonight we're gonna show this city how the Sisters party!"

**A/N**

In case you were wondering, although I'm sure it is fairly obvious, I was inspired by the horrible tragedy of Orlando, and thought I would pay homage to the victims by giving Isobel a similar set of events to play out in the novel. This is certainly the kind of issue she would be passionate about as more than a few of her Sisters fall into the LGBTQ umbrella.

#LoveIsLove and the SISTERHOOD is about embracing that, celebrating that and showing that everyone deserves as Happily Ever After.

And if you look extra closely, I think you'll see some familiar names hidden in this chapter. *cough* instagrammers* cough. Tag them when you find em. ;)