Stefan and Aimee made their way to the underground parking lot and into his yellow New Beetle. It was not long before they had arrived at a relatively empty McDonald's drive-thru.

They joined the queue, two cars behind the first window. Aimee constantly took her phone out of her pocket, only to put it back in again because there were still no messages from Molly or Clifford. She had called all their numbers what felt like ten times each, but was repeatedly put through to their voicemails. She could not keep herself from worrying about them.

Once the Beetle came to a halt, she sent both Clifford and Molly the same message. Then she sent two more to Molly alone.

Hey, I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm safe and with Stefan getting sundaes @ McDonald's, and then going to Emma's quickly. I'll be home soon!!! XO

Hey, Moll! Uhm... did you get my message? I hope you're okay... I'm worried.

Moll, where are you? Is Clifford with you? Please answer?!!!

Her fingers were texting like crazy. She went in and out of her messages, in case they were not getting through, but they were. There was nothing wrong with her phone. Her signal was good. She was seconds from typing yet another desperate message, but Stefan promptly took her phone from her hands.

"Aimee!" he called.

It was about the fifth time he had said her name, and she did not even realise. She looked at him with wild eyes.

"Give it back!" she yelled, frantically.

"Which ice-cream would you like?" he queried quietly and managed a shaky half smile.

"My phone, please?" she put out her palm. He cautiously dropped it into her hand. "A berry sundae, please," she said, returning to her frantic texting.

Stefan gripped the steering wheel and slowly drove forward as the car in front of them moved up to the drive-thru window. He glimpsed at Aimee again, her eyes adrift, and her texting thumbs trembling. He slammed the breaks calculatedly, and her phone rolled onto the car floor, still in one piece at least. Only she was not as together.

"Stefan!" she glared at him.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said hard. "Aimee, I'm not kidding. Talk to me," he restated as she nonverbally watched his eyes.

Her thoughts were anything but clear. She did not know what to say except that she was worried her parents were in danger. It was not a fact, but an uneasy feeling in her stomach, the one thing that felt certain. She picked up her phone, showed Stefan all of the messages she had sent. His hands held her phone gently and his eyes focused on the screen.

"Gavin and I swung by my house earlier and they weren't home, and they aren't answering their phones," Aimee explained meanwhile. "They could be fine and I could just be overreacting, but what if I'm right and they're in danger?"

"Maybe they're at work," he replied as he finished reading.

"I called their work numbers, no one answered," she sighed. "You know what; I just need to have faith that they're okay. Let's get us some ice-cream."

Stefan's eyebrows rose in surprise, "You are weird."

"Why?" she almost squeaked.

"You're kind of mood swingy."

"Stefan, it isn't mood swings," she tested, "I'm just trying to be positive. When I'm negative, you're negative and I don't want you worrying about me all the time."

"Based on what I know about Molly and Clifford, they wouldn't want you to worry about them this much either," he said, looking into her eyes as he warmly touched her shoulder. He was right.

"Next customer, please," called the lady from the drive-thru window.

Stefan returned Aimee's cellphone and glued his hands onto the steering wheel again as he drove forward. He ordered and received three berry sundaes, and they drove to Emma's. The entire time, Aimee shoved heaped spoons of ice-cream into her mouth, to cool her pathetically hidden concern. Stefan was quiet; he had to focus on the road. Also, he knew that she could not reply in her current state. He did tell her one thing though: "You look like a chipmunk."

She only smiled – because she could not laugh – and continued stuffing her cheeks humorously.

Soon, the two of them had arrived at Emma's house. They knocked on the door and waited for an answer. Emma came swiftly. She greeted them excitedly – especially happy to see ice-cream – and welcomed them inside. Not surprisingly, Aimee had already finished her sundae, so she was the only one without an ice-cream cup in her hand.

"Mom isn't home, but I'll tell her you came by," she said.

Mrs. Lincoln was still at work, doing whatever journalists do. Emma shut the door – using her hip so that she did not have to put down her ice-cream – behind Aimee and Stefan and walked them further into their lavish foyer with its marble floor, glass coffee table and gold finished chandelier.

"I'm surprised you're home, actually," admitted Aimee, "I thought you'd still be at school."

"Oh, no, school came out an hour early today. I'm not sure why, but I'm not complaining!"

Aimee's eyebrows rose, "And soccer practice?"

"Kirkwood cancelled, said his girlfriend wanted him to run some errands. Dad, Aimee's here!" she glanced in the direction of their TV room. "Thanks for the ice-cream, you guys. I will hug you once I finish this," she beamed at both of them.

Her father had recently lost his notary job, but he took it quite well. Maybe he liked having the time on his hands. He came into the foyer – dashingly dressed in his slimming jeans and black shirt – to greet the visitors. He quickly, and tightly, hugged Aimee. Then he shook Stefan's hand as Emma introduced the men to each other.

"Daddy, you remember Stefan. He and Aimee are dating now."

Stefan's cheeks turned bright pink as he shyly shook Jacob's hand, "Hello again."

Aimee shot Emma a look, but her equally pink cheeks destroyed her already less-than-intimidating expression.

"What?" Emma asked, as a spoonful of sundae entered her mouth.

"Well, it's always a pleasure to see you, Stefan," commented Mr. Lincoln. "Make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Sir," he said, genuinely appreciative.

Mr. Lincoln headed back to the TV room, and Stefan went with him since Emma was pulling Aimee upstairs to her bedroom. They hopped onto her bed and sat on it cross-legged, and then Emma stretched out to put her ice-cream onto her end table.

"Always out with Stefan. Are you guys a thing now, or what?" she queried, slightly surprising Aimee.

"M-maybe," she stuttered. "We're in love, is that a thing?" she made air quotes.

"Well, how do you know?"

"Know what?" asked Aimee. What are you getting at? she thought to herself.

It was as if she was at the other end of some interrogation, but it slowly became a little more playful.

"That you're both in love. I mean, how do you know?"

"He said he loves me, we kissed," she murmured.

Emma's face lit up, "Did you say it back, no wait, is he a good kisser?"

Aimee giggled, "What does it matter?"

"It matters, this is gossip!"

"Emma," she paused and her smile faded soon. "I need to tell you something."

She wanted to talk about her parents, the Griffiths, she had not forgotten about their disappearance. And then she thought about how complicated things had become for her, and she willed to confide in Emma, to explain where she had been and what had been going on. Emma repositioned herself and sat a serious look upon her face.

"What is it, Aim?"

Aim... AIM. Where do I start? Aimee thought to herself. She glanced at Emma for a while, but could not speak.

Aimee jumped off of the bed, and deliberately began to walk circles on the carpet, "Please, don't call me that?" she implored.

Her tone had Emma leaning forward on her bed with concern in her eyes, "I've been calling you Aim for over a decade," she said softly. "What's up?"

"My parents..."

"Cliff and Molly?" she guessed.

Aimee sighed, "No, my birth parents, the ones I told you about. They're alive, Emma, I saw them with my own eyes."

"Mind-blowing... well, tell me more."

"There isn't much to tell really, they're crazy enough to have named their organisation of je ne sais quoi after me, AIM," she breathed out and in, loudly. "They love me that much. If you can call that love."

"Isn't that a cool thing, not the crazy part, everything else?" inquired Emma. "You can reunite with them, if you want. Just don't leave me behind, alright?" she smiled. "We can tour Paris together."

Aimee laughed, "They live in Lorient, not even close to Paris."

"Then we'll ditch them when they get boring," she giggled.

"Emma!" she nudged her on the arm before plonking onto the bed, onto her back. "It's not that simple," she glanced at Emma.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because my mother wants me to herself, and she'd destroy America to get me."

"What?!" Emma climbed off the bed, freaking out from the words themselves when she realised they were genuine. "Destroy America, the whole of America? Then you have to go Aimee, it's not even a question!"

"I thought you didn't want me to leave you," she mentioned, getting up again.

"Aimee, you have to go! It's millions of lives!" she held the door. "As your best friend, I love you, but if you're serious about this, and I believe you are, then staying is out of the question. I'm not prepared to die because of you," she paused, a long pause, as tears started running down her cheeks. "And I'm sure the rest of America isn't either."

"I know, but you don't understand, I –"

"No, you don't understand!" she interrupted. "I know how you feel, but unlike you, I won't risk putting the lives of the ones I love in danger."

"Well, what about me, Emma?" she cried. "I won't spend the rest of it with that woman!"

"Oh, would you stop being so selfish?!" She knew what she said and would have apologised if it were untrue. She sniffed, her eyes tearing, "You can't be selfish with this. And if she loves you like you said, living with her probably won't be that bad."

Aimee's cheeks ran cool from her tears. She nodded acceptingly – she and Emma had nothing to say anymore. She left the bedroom before things could get worse, if possible, and Emma closed the door deferentially at her back.