Jared is not happy about being forced to leave his friends behind.

He knows it was the top priority to get Floren out of harm's way, and he really couldn't skip work today, but everything inside him is begging him to go back. He wants to go join his friends, help them and take care of them... or, at the very least, bind their wounds if they have any.

Experience tells him that he should rather be worried about the opposition; if he had to be very honest, he is. Ranger is unpredictable at the best of times (these days, even more so than usual), and though he's generally a warm-hearted guy, Archer is not someone you want to get into a real fight with. Yet, it's John he's worried about the most.

John is grumpy, but he hardly ever gets truly angry. On the rare occasions that he does succumb to anger, he does so with passionate commitment. His anger triggers almost always involve one or more innocent people being threatened or hurt by forces stronger than themselves. He becomes someone completely different during those moments, and Jared doesn't really trust the other two idiots to reel him in and calm him down.

If John somehow truly injures someone, he would not be able to live with himself, even if the other party got what they deserved... and he would get into serious trouble.

Jared checks his phone for the 100th time and he has to do it surreptitiously because his boss will not understand his concern for his friends. He'd left voice mails on all their phones, requesting feedback; there has been none so far. He'd also called Floren to make sure that she was alright.

She said she was fine, but she was tense and frightened. Jared considers bowing out of work to go sit with her. He is worried that they'd all been too rough with her earlier when she was fighting them like a feral cat, and he doesn't like that idea at all. She wouldn't even let on if they'd actually injured her.

"Dammit!"

The restaurant is the last place he wants to be right now. He is chomping on the bit, working on a plan to sneak away and go check on his friends.

To hell with this crappy job!

He is going to leave and will just deal with the consequences later. He still has his phone in his hand while he makes up his mind about how he should leave when it begins to vibrate, announcing an incoming call. It startles him into almost dropping it into the pot of Bolognaise sauce he's stirring for the chef.

Jared is always wondering why the stingy bastard cannot appoint more staff. He has to spend four nights a week, until well past midnight, running between being a waiter, host, busboy and kitchen helper. He is sure that there are laws to prevent this kind of situation.

He hates this job and is sick of the greasy smell of the sub-par food. He is really worried that he might lose his temper with his abusive boss one of these days, probably today... and shove the petty man into one of his bland soufflés.

Arrogant asshole.

This afternoon, Jared is not being his positive, upbeat self at all. He seldom is when he's alone and can finally just feel what he feels without affecting the people around him.

After fumbling enough to fear missing the call, he finally manages to answer the phone. "Yeah?!" he barks as soon as a connection is made, sounding more aggressive than he means to.

"What the hell do you want?"

Jared didn't even bother checking the screen to see the name of the caller before answering it and is therefore surprised to hear Ranger's lazy drawl in his ear. The guy normally sucks at returning calls.

"Huh? You called me," Jared points out, relief at hearing Ranger's voice washing over him in almost nauseating waves until the fact that Ranger seldom returns calls hits him, turning his relief into worry for his cousin and John.

"You left like a gazillion messages and missed calls... are you a girl?"

No, Ranger wouldn't be this obnoxious and annoying if something happened to the others. Relief it is, then. Jared called Ranger exactly twice, only leaving a message during the second unanswered call. Speaking to Ranger is making him chuckle. The guy is the worst person to have a conversation with over the phone... or in person...

"So... you survived," he observes drily.

"What else?" Ranger means that sincerely. It never occurs to him that he might not win or, worse, not survive a fight, regardless of the odds. Jared always finds himself torn between admiring the guy and wanting to kick his cocky butt.

"Asshole."

"Always," Ranger agrees, chuckling.

Jared doesn't bother trying to drag more information from his friend. If anybody were dead or in jail or crippled, he would've said so by now, he never drags things out. Ranger, just being his pain-in-the-butt self, is all the reassurance Jared needs.

"Gotta go. The boss is on his way over to shit his pants again," he informs Ranger, watching the approach of his employer with some trepidation.

"Later."

The call ends, and he shoves his phone into his jeans pocket under the apron, bracing himself for the upcoming outburst. Watching the obese, red-faced man steaming towards him, Jared has serious thoughts about discussing the dangers of high blood pressure and cholesterol with him. He is not in good shape at all.

Later? Ranger meant it when he said that. He hardly ever says anything he doesn't mean. He is definitely going to be over later... to drink Jared's beer, eat his food and sleep on his couch... or in his bed, if he gets to it first.

"Why the hell am I friends with that jerk?" It's not even the first time he has asked himself this question, and as usual, it causes him to chuckle. He is grinning happily by the time the chef reaches him and waits patiently for the man to catch his breath so that he can yell at Jared.

He doesn't care anymore; there is a huge chance that he won't be losing his temper and murdering his boss today after all.

Meanwhile, back in the red-brick turn of the 19th-century building she lives in, Floren is surprised to find John suddenly standing at her bedroom door. He didn't return to his bedroom in the apartment across from hers as she was expecting him to do. Instead, he throws himself down next to her on her bed, lamenting the woes of having a bruised shin.

"You got hurt?"

"Yeah!" he frowns. "Stepped on the edge of a bat, it flew up and smacked me on the shin, stupid thing," he grumbles. "Seriously, I didn't even get to throw a single punch! Damned shame! Arch mowed into the bastards like a friggin' plough, scattering them around like bloody fleas. Then Range laid into them like the savage he is...

"As you can probably imagine, that was enough to make the thugs drop their weapons and run like the cowards they are. Ranger and Arch moved so fast that by the time I caught up, all that was left were scattered bats and crap and a couple of pathetic guys trying to crawl away. Can't hit people who already look half dead, can I?" he complains, rubbing his shin. "Guess they managed to beat me up indirectly, though... Bastards."

Floren knows that he's trying to cheer her up with his obvious exaggerations, so she forces a smile, and it's easier than she thought it would be. "I'm glad."

"That I beat myself up?"

"That you didn't get to throw a punch."

She hopes that at least that part of his story is completely true; if not, he'll be filled with regrets right now. Biting her lip, she sits up and clutches her white unicorn under her chin, peering at him through her lashes, looking like a repentant child. She would hate it if she were aware of it. "I'm sorry I ruined your day... twice..."

"You can make it up to me," John grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her. When he saw those guys crowding her earlier, he'd nearly lost his mind. He was about to charge at them and kill every one of them, grab Floren and run, but his friends stopped him and told him that if they were going to fight, it had to be way off school property, somewhere where there wouldn't be any witnesses.

That meant the empty lot next to the convenience store.

There are no other buildings in that area, as Mick Carvalho owns all the surrounding land and uses it to plant and raise some of the fresh produce he sells. The empty lot was cleared for some extensions to the building he is planning to keep up with his growing business.

"I'm not scratching your back!" Floren groans, rolling her eyes and feigning horror, causing John to pout at her. Pouting doesn't suit his fierce face at all; the effect is quite unsettling, making her giggle uneasily.

"You have a huge back," she complains, imitating his pout, and her version of the pout is much more convincing, but John just sighs, dropping his head, and now he is the personification of the most disappointed guy on earth.

"Oh, for crying in a bucket!" Floren exclaims. "Fine, I'll scratch your back! Just... a little bit... Keep in mind that this is cruel and unusual punishment!"

Grinning with satisfaction, he rolls onto his stomach, stretching luxuriously. "Go ahead," he encourages, happily wriggling his body. Floren snorts, pretending annoyance, but the relief of knowing that John and the others are safe is making her a little light-headed. In fact, she is feeling positively giddy when she drops her unicorn, pushes up John's shirt and begins to run her nails over his skin.

"Just for the record," he mutters, "you only ruined my day once... today... and only a small part of it."

Pleased to hear that, she pours her heart and soul into the task of giving John the best back-scratch in the history of back-scratches.

"You really have a thing for peas, doncha?" he remarks, looking at the half-full, defrosting bag lying on her bedside table. Unable to stand the throbbing pain in her wrist any longer, Floren finally fetched the peas from the freezer, and until a little while ago, it was wrapped around her wrist.

"Yeah, they're handy. You can throw them at people and use them to cool stuff down," she chuckles.

"Does it hurt a lot?"John's dusky voice is laced with concern.

"Not anymore. Now shhhht, so I can take you to heaven."

"What the hell? I just want a back scratch," John mumbles, but he obediently settles down and closes his eyes.

"So, are you done with gymnastics?" he asks her after a few minutes of sheer bliss.

"Yeah, I suppose so... it's just another thing I suck at," she says, letting out a long, heartrending sigh.

"What do you mean? There are lots of things you're good at," John assures her, lifting his head and trying to look at her from his awkward angle. "You draw awesome pictures... of fairies... and you write interesting... weird... graphical novels... and... animals don't take cover when you sing..."

"Hm," she concedes, not sure whether she should be flattered or slap him. "I want to be good at something physical too."

"Well, you're magic when it comes to scratching my back... even when you can use only one of your hands..."

"Oh, my soul! My dreams have come true!" she exclaims, smacking him on his back. "I mean something exciting, like... football or arm-wrestling... no... I want to be able to do real wrestling. The violent kind."

John snorts, unimpressed. "What the hell, Flor? Just try to get a handle on walking properly first." That snotty statement just earned him another smack.

"Actually, I tried wrestling already and just ended up zipped into a sleeping bag like a sausage..." she tells him, and John squirms under her fingertips. He always becomes agitated and uncomfortable when she refers to the incident.

Floren has no idea what she's supposed to make of the event that took place one school night a couple of weeks ago. Her mother brought home some rowdy companions and Floren did what John, Marsha and Brad instructed her to do during occasions like that. She fled across the bridge and took refuge in their apartment.

It was late, and she didn't want to wake anybody, so she just got into John's bed. Besides, she was frightened and cold, and John was warm and comforting, so she snuggled up to him the way she had done a gazillion times in the last five years.

She might as well have been made of live electrical wires based on his reaction when he realised that she was there. He bolted upright and that was how the wrestling match ensued, during which Floren finally ended up trapped in a sleeping bag on one side of his bed.

He'd acted like a damsel in distress fending off a molester... and all she'd wanted was some comfort. The roles in that drama got horribly mixed up. When Floren thinks of it, which is fairly often, the incident still rankles.

Where did the damned sleeping bag come from anyway?

John has been holding her at arm's length like that for the past two years now, and when it started, Marsha told Floren that boys become uncomfortable with affection from girls when they reach a certain age. That told her absolutely nothing helpful, though it might've been true two years ago when she said it.

Now, it only seems to her as if John still sees her as a small child while he is becoming an adult. Floren believes that he'll probably see her as one for the rest of her life. She's slightly small in build, not young... at least, she's not a baby.

She looks a bit like a much younger girl and has to buy her clothes from the pre-teen sections in stores if she wants them to fit properly, but she will be 16 next week. She's no different from any other 16-year-old girl. Due to circumstances, she might even be more mature than most girls her age. Well, at least in some ways.

Besides, he has no problems hugging Kelly, and Floren knows they're not involved romantically, so it's clear that he just doesn't want to hug her. It hurts. He is her best friend in the whole world.

"The front door wasn't locked," John clears his throat and changes the subject when the silence starts to feel awkward. Floren is glad because she was about to dig her nails into his back in annoyance. She knows how much safety issues like that normally upset him; he is always drilling it into her to lock the front door, so much so that she'd become programmed to do it automatically when she came home or went out.

"Mum left a little while ago," she explains, and he angrily mumbles something incoherent, thinking that her mother is not all that bothered about her safety. Her mother does care; she is just extremely scatterbrained.

John is always looking out for Floren. If something were to happen to him, who would look out for her then?

Floren's hand stops moving at the distressing thought, and John groans in protest at the inactivity, moving his shoulders to remind her of her task. Swallowing against the sudden knot in her throat, Floren bends over to hug him tightly. It's an awkward, uncomfortable position for a hug, and she can feel his body tensing up at her intrusion, but she doesn't care.

"Umph," he moans after tolerating her for a couple of minutes. "You're really heavy, you know? And I don't feel any scratching going on back there... Do you even want dinner?!"

Floren clicks her tongue, sitting up straight. He is always dodging her hugs, and she knows she's making him feel embarrassed again, but right now, she doesn't care. Sometimes she really just wants to take care of him as well as he's always taking care of her.

"Brat!" she growls, digging her nails into his back anyway, making him jump.

"No tickling!" he squeals, which is a highly disturbing sound when it's coming from a big guy like him.

"It wasn't supposed to tickle..." she sulks.

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