Shayne grumbled through a snore as a pointed elbow jabbed into her left rib.

"Shay," Eshe whispered. "Seriously, wake up. We're here."

Curled up in the backseat as best she could manage considering Eshe's long legs occupied most of the dainty Prius, Shayne edged the dark brim of her hat up from her face, shielding her eyes while she'd slept, and rolled her cheek to look out the window.

Isobel's family home sat in a happy residential stretch of Woodbine Corridor, the street lined with stately maples and vibrant cherry blossoms in shades of pink in the late spring sun. The house itself was semi-attached red brick and green siding. The bright yolk-yellow door always made Shayne smile with a fresh bittersweet pang of nostalgia in her heart.

Her last visit had been at least three year ago. She'd made many stops to Toronto in that time following the accident, but her meet ups with Isobel had always happened elsewhere in the city. From various restaurants and lounges or night clubs where she was sometimes on the docket to spin.

She'd envied Isobel this place growing up, but she knew better than most that not all memories contained behind that door, despite its cheerful colour, were happy.

"C'mon, Shay," Eshe said, already half out of the Uber driver's car. "You're slower than treacle in January."

"I'm jet lagged." Shayne grumbled, swinging open her curb-side door and shambled out on exhausted legs, sore from yesterday's training.

"Oh sod off about jet lag. I'm the one who crossed the bleeding pond, yeah?" In order to synchronize their travel itineraries, Eshe had made the trip from London with a connection through Frankfurt to LAX where they'd met up travelled the rest of the way together to Toronto. Eshe's combined trip clocking in at an exhausting eighteen hours, and snored her way through the four-hour flight in First Class, which Shayne had insisted on paying for in recompense.

Besides, no way was she letting a Sister ride solo in economy.

Shayne smirked, popping the trunk to root out Eshe's large suitcase and her carry-on sized duffle-bag, and plunked both down on the sidewalk. Hands set on her knees she made a show of panting. "What did you pack in there? A body? Weighs about as much as my Tio Pacho."

Eshe glared at her, unimpressed. "Funny. Now move your ass. The ice cream's melting."

"Fine, but you're hauling your own sh!t from here," Shayne said, swinging her duffle over her shoulder and tipped the wide brim of her hat off her face. Without looking back, she shuffled up the short stack of concrete steps, across the skinny walkway and up to the front porch, freshly painted the same deep shade of green as the siding.

A black wire bench sat beneath the living room window was new and joined by a tall blue planter for company. An assortment of greenery poked out the top that skittered and swayed with every stroke of wind.

Huffing and puffing, Eshe set down her suitcase with a heavy thud and pressed a thumb to the glowing white button of the doorbell. It wasn't long before it swung open and a dazzling smile broke across her face, lighting a bronze glow at her cheeks, drawing out warm red undertones in the deep sepia. "Mr. Morgan, hello."

"Girls." He stepped back so they could haul their bags inside and shut it behind them. "She's upstairs waitin' for you. Been up there. Won't come down." Worry coloured his cheeks, shone silver in his eyes. "She won't talk to me. Won't say a word about what's botherin' her."

Shayne swept a soothing hand over his narrow back, remembering how he'd once been so broad. Coño, the man was wasting away. "You know Isobel, Pops. She won't talk about her own problems before she's tackled those of the world."

His eyes moistened. "That's what scares me. Go on up. Guest room's ready," he said, sweeping a knuckle under his eyes. "See if you can crack that stubborn shell. I'm here if ya need me."

Shayne watched the defeated curve of his shoulders as he ambled down the hall and disappeared through the back doors that led out to the cedar deck and verdant gardens. With each tender breeze the scent of lavender and wisteria swept into the home.

Hauling their bags up the narrow, creaky stairs, Shayne took the rear in case Eshe toppled backwards—all skinny arms and legs, it was a wonder she'd made it to the top. Pitching their things in the spare bedroom across from Isobel's, Shayne nudged open the bedroom door.

At their entry, Isobel scooted up in the made bed, a swollen-eyed mess wearing mismatched PJ's with fuzzy soaks, and planted her back to the headboard.

"Morning, chicki. In honour of Rule #31, I've got the ice cream." Plopping down next to her, Eshe pulled out the carton and handed it over. "Rocky Road seemed appropriate considering the current state of affairs. And Shay's the gun."

"That's right," Shayne smirked, tossing her hat across the room, it missed the mark call me SIG-Sauer, baby."

A faint smile wove across Isobel's pale lips at the playful poke. "Perfect."

"How are you holding up?"

"Before you answer that," Shayne intervened, "we should be all together for this."

Five minutes later she had Caitriona conferenced in on Skype and Eshe had connected with Priya over the phone at the firm, the hour too late to rope in Six. The four of them gathered around their Sister in need as Isobel shared every wrenching, brutal word, no one daring to speak or interrupt.

"Empty," Isobel whispered. She'd taken the top off the carton, peeled back the plastic but ventured no closer to delving the plastic spoon into the softening dessert. "I cried for two whole days, until my head hurt so much I could scarcely breathe. I thought my brain had liquefied in my skull. Then it just stopped. I think I'm finally empty."

"Hm." Was all Shayne offered. Isobel wasn't out of the woods yet. Hell, she was so thick in among the trees she couldn't even see them anymore but soon enough she'd smack her face into a low hanging branch and the cycle would begin anew.

Anyone who'd suffered a broken heart understood it never struck you all at once, but in waves. A brutal ebb and flow. Over and over until you were too battered and bloodied to stop it.

Days, weeks, years—the length of the process varied for each occurrence but the first time was always the most savage. The most enduring.

"You did the right thing, babe," Priya's voice crooned softly. "I know this is hard, and I can't believe your boss tried to push you into doing that feature. You should sue his ass. I'd help. No charge."

"It's fine," Isobel sniffled. "I'm fine...it's just...I was so ready to be married. But he wasn't, and like a coward he couldn't be honest with me. Why? Didn't I deserve honesty?"

"Men struggle with that the most, I find," Priya said. "It's easier for them to lash out than it is to have a sincere conversation, to bare their souls."

"And that right there, ladies, is why last year Earl and I made a marriage pact."

"Who's Earl?" Eshe inquired, sliding her fingers into Isobel's hair to part and gather the fine strands.

"We met while I was completing my BBA of international and business marketing in Brisbane and he moved to Paris last summer. He's fabulously dressed, successful and we'll live happily ever after swapping clothes and having hot, illicit sex with other people."

Shayne toasted the air with her half-finished lemon lollipop. Her third in the span of twenty minutes. "Amen!"

"Why not just marry the right guy for love?—or girl," Isobel quickly amended. As it was common knowledge Shayne went in every which direction imaginable, and Caitriona was also known to cross that way when the mood struck.

Caitriona shrugged a breezy shoulder, undeterred by the question. "Because in today's society—monogamy is dying idealistic belief. I'm sorry sweetie but it is. We are a culture of excess. More this. More that. It's never enough—more. Gay men would make perfect husbands, mark my words. Besides," she sat a little straighter, winked, "this way I'd get all the closet space and twice the accessories."

As a high fashion aficionado, Caitriona was known for her masculine femme style. Suits, kerchiefs and ties all in bold colours, vibrant patterns. Accessorized with cufflinks, earrings that often grazed her shoulders, and the highest heels her five foot three body could manage.

Isobel settled back against Eshe who had finished weaving her fine hair into a skinny French braid that was already fighting to come undone.

"I just had a thought," Eshe beamed, clutching Isobel's shoulders she gave her an excited wiggle. "Why don't you come with me to visit Cait in Paris? Get away for a bit and take your mind off your troubles?"

"YAS!" Caitriona shouted.

"I think that's a great idea," Priya agreed.

"I can't. I wish I could, but I can't." Isobel hugged her arms around her knees. "I need to focus my efforts on finding a job. Bills are piling up and Da is suffering daily with chronic pain. I can't afford to be jobless right now."

"If you need money, all you have to do is tell me how much," Shayne murmured, chewing on the stick of a finished lollipop. Frustration snarled in her belly at the thought that Angus Morgan was forced to battling in court for a work settlement from the construction company he'd worked with for thirty years.

I appreciate that, Shay. I do. Really, but I can't take money from you. Once the settlement comes through, things will be different. Better."

"Any development on that front?" Priya asked.

Isobel shook her head. "Not much, no. But his new lawyers seem optimistic they can undo the botched mess from the previous ones."

"Flip me their emails and whatever settlement paperwork the construction company is proposing. I'll review and give you some notes to take back to them."

"Aren't you...terribly busy?"

"Never too busy for the Sisterhood. Send it to me. I'll have my notes for you by the weekend. Okay? Look, I've got to run. But call me later if anything."

"Alright honey-bunches, I have to love you all and leave you, also." Caitriona pressed her hands to her lips and blew a trio of airy kisses and everyone said their goodbyes before signing out.

Leaving Eshe and Shayne to waste the afternoon binging on Sense8, doing manicures and each taking turns to hold Isobel when she cried. At some point exhaustion had kicked in for all of them and they'd fallen asleep, camped out in the living room with Netflix running quietly in the background. When the defiant rumble of hunger roused them all from sleep, they migrated into the kitchen in search of food.

"Can't believe it's already after nine. Da's probably off to bed by now," Isobel murmered, flicking on the lights in the kitchen, but keeping them a bit on the dim side so as not to shock their eyes. "Wish he'd woken me so I could've fixed him some dinner."

Red brick backsplash, stainless steel appliances and taupe coloured cabinets. Cozy. Intimate and though recently renovated, Shayne new Isobel had worked hard to source our eco-friendly, sustainable and reused materials to bring it all together.

A floor to ceiling wrack of herbs perched by the window for sunlight with a custom designed water track system Isobel had put together that allowed the water to siphon down from the top row all the way through to the bottom for greater absorption. Almost like a self-contained eco-system.

"You needed your rest," Shayne argued, hooking an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he welcomed a chance to sneak a bit of fatty bacon while you drooled into a pillow."

Eshe giggled, Isobel pinched Shayne's side.

"I'll make us some gluten-free pancakes."

"Won't hear me say no to that, but are you sure you just don't want us to order a bit of take-away?" Eshe yawned, flipping on the switch for the kettle.

"No, I like to cook. It calms me," Isobel said, plucking a mixing bowl from the cabinet over the sink and lined up a tin of brown rice flour, baking powder and agave syrup on the counter.

Shayne yanked open the fridge door, grimaced. Inside overflowed with organic produce and health food staples like free range eggs, tofu, non-dairy cheese and coconut water. Everything that would make her coach so damn proud. "Joder...where's the damn food, Isobel?"

"Quit complaining and pass me the eggs. Oh, the almond milk, too. Both are on the top shelf, left-hand side."

Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a large carton and frowned at the label. "I'll never understand why you drink this crap. What the actual f*ck is almond milk?" she demanded, setting the carton down on the counter by the ingredients Isobel lined up. "If I wanted nut juice I'd find a guy and have at it."

"Gross." But the words were bright, teasing and Shayne knew without having to turn around that Isobel was smiling as she'd said it.

She looked better, Shayne thought. Calmer. Rested. But the fringe of emotion still glimmered in her eyes.

"I saw my brother yesterday."

Isobel paused in her whisking, cheeks flushing pink. "Marco? Really?"

"I know, shocking. Didn't expect him to make a trip all the way out to LA with everything on his plate."

"How's the Golden Prince?" Eshe sighed, swirling a spoon in her steeping tea.

"Good." Shayne leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms as she told them all about the interesting exchange between her brother and Rita.

Isobel listened intently, stacking pancakes on a plate while Eshe washed up the dishes and set them in the rack. In the mean time Shayne hadn't given up on her quest for 'real food' and had managed to dig up a back of blue corn chips, sodium free salsa, some digestive cookies and package of dried mango.

"I knew that fight in Prague was going to come back and bite you," Eshe said, turning off the taps. Isobel handed her a towel to dry her hands. "Rita sounds like a right prat. And where does your grandmother get off sending you an image consultant? Image is you, Shay. You've always been you."

"I won't change who I am. Not even for my brother. But," Shayne angled her head in measured thought, "I'm willing too...revise certain areas, tone down others. Besides, nothing's written in stone until September."

Isobel and Eshe exchanged measured glances.

Hauling their smorgasbord of food upstairs to Isobel's room, the girls spread out across the bed and dug in to the fluffy stack. Isobel had folded in some frozen blueberries to the batter and topped the stack with a drizzle of natural maple syrup. Shayne licked the sticky sugar from her thumb. The taste comforting and familiar.

The first time she'd ever tried it had been in Isobel's home and without fail, every time she smelled maple the Morgan home sprung to mind.

"You know," Shayne mused, swiping a blue corn tortilla through the chilled salsa, "I have a lot of connections in the entertainment scene here in Toronto. Club owners, promoters...I could put in a word with a bunch of them, see what turns up."

"What am I going to do for a nightclub with my degree in journalism? Fetch Vodka for bottle service? Hand out flyers?" Isobel shook her head. Sighed. "I wanted to work for a prestigious newspaper and effect real change in the world."

Shayne snorted. "And you considered The Herald prestigious? It barely had a pulse."

"It wasn't where I planned to spend the rest of my life," Isobel quipped, "but they had values. Integrity. Or so I thought. I thought I could do something of value before I settled down, started a family. A home. Children. That was my dream. That was always my dream. I feel so lost." Her face twisted with a wrenching sob. "Oh, god...there's more."

Isobel folded into Eshe's arms and she rocked her gently, stroked her hair as she sobbed. This has to stop, Shayne thought. Plucking up her charging phone, she opened Facebook.

Kyle Reid...

She was pleased to see mutual friends still connected them and the moron hadn't thought to block her yet. Always the one to brag and showboat, there he was, broadcasting a collection of pictures of him getting ready to go out to some swanky supper club for an event with his fellow douchebro colleagues: Tapas and Traders.

Satisfied, Shayne tucked her phone away in her back pocket.

"Get her cleaned up. Hair, makeup, the works. We're taking her out to dinner. Drinks and dancing, too." Leaning across the bed, she gathered Isobel's cheeks and angled her up so she could place a firm kiss against her lips wet with tears. "Time to break you out of your self-imposed prison sentence, hot stuff."

Isobel sniffled. "I don't have anything."

"No worries, someone happened to pack enough clothes for an army," she slanted her gaze to Eshe, "I'm sure you've got something in there she can wear, yes?"

"Of course," Eshe jerked a shoulder, "but where are you going?"

Shayne paused by the door and knew, at the expression that flashed across Eshe's face, war glinted in her eyes. "To take care of a little pest control situation."

**Author's Note**

I think the song posted above totally captures Shayne/end of this scene.

Kyle is about to be in some serious trouble tho... ;)