Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Conrad Fisher

When Laurel had floated the idea of doing Christmas in Cousins this year, Conrad hadn't been sure about it, mostly because of how Jere would feel, considering his wedding had blown up right here a few months ago. But Jere insisted that he was fine with it, that he looked forward to it even, because he wouldn't let Belly and a few bad memories steal the most precious place in the world from him. This was their mom's place after all, where she was happiest, and it would be a shame to avoid it forever just because of a girl. 

So Conrad had said yes, but standing in the attic now, surrounded by dust and ghosts, he wished he hadn't. Or at the very least, he wished he hadn't told Devon, because then she'd gone and dragged herself across the country just so he wouldn't feel obligated to cancel his plans and spend Christmas "playing doctor instead of enjoying time with his family"—her words, not his.

But maybe she just wanted to get away from him, and he wouldn't blame her for it. He wasn't delusional enough to think that a handful of apologies could undo the damage he'd caused, but he'd hoped it'd be a start. Instead, things felt worse off.

She still texted him, but it was beginning to feel like talking to a customer service chatbot programmed to keep things cordial while slowly funnelling you toward a dead end. He could feel her pulling away, and he had this awful certainty that by the time he flew back to California, there'd be nothing left to salvage.

Laurel had sent him up to the attic for more ornaments, but Conrad had gotten stuck somewhere between the cardboard boxes and the slanted beams. The place smelled like dust, old paper, and salt air trapped in wood, like it always had, littered with keepsakes of the past. 

Conrad picked up his mom's old beach hat, his thumb brushing against the wide brim and sun-worn ribbon, remembering how she used to toss it onto the kitchen counter when she came back from her morning walks, her hair wind-tangled and her cheeks pink.

A box of her scarves sat nearby, varying patterns and florals peeking above cardboard. She'd worn them even in summer, tied loose around her neck or knotted onto the handle of her beach bag. Conrad could almost hear her voice, telling him one in particular was for good luck as she looped it around his wrist after a scraped knee or a bad day.  

There were ornaments, too. Seashells glued onto paper stars, popsicle-stick frames with crooked childhood photos of the four of them, painted rocks of every shape and size, and the memory jars filled with sand and other collectibles. 

That was the thing about Cousins. It held everything he loved and everything he'd lost in the same place, a place he could never fully return to, no matter how many times he came back. And now, just when he'd found someone who felt like home, he'd gone and ruined that too.

Conrad sat on an old trunk, his hands tangled in the lucky scarf that still smelled like sunscreen and lavender, wondering when he'd become so good at losing the things that mattered most. He didn't even realize he wasn't alone until the weight on the trunk beside him shifted.

He startled slightly, looking up just as Laurel settled herself next to him. She peered at him in an observant manner, making him feel both seen and slightly cornered. 

"I sent you up here to get ornaments," she said kindly, "not to handcraft them from scratch, Connie. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Laurel hummed, unconvinced. "We're really glad you're here. How's everything going with school? I know you said you had a rough semester."

"Oh, yeah. That's fine too."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Laurel's smile was patient, way more patient than he deserved. "Come on, Con. It's me. Your Laura." She nudged his shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong."

The answer rose in his chest like a tide, pressing against his throat, and forcing its way out of his eyes as he glared at the floorboards, willing the feelings away. Laurel had a way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. Ever since he'd been a kid, he liked being around her. He liked the way he could be quiet around her and with her, and she'd never push, so much so that you'd want to tell her what was wrong.

Conrad tried and failed to clear his throat. "Uh... I think I messed up. Like, really bad. And I don't know how to fix it."

Laurel tilted her head, studying him. "I have a feeling that we're not talking about school anymore."

"No."

There was a pause in which neither of them moved. 

"Is this about her?" Laurel asked eventually.

They both knew who she meant. Laurel always knew what was up with him.

Conrad stared down at the scarf in his hands, twisting the silk absently between his fingers. "I think... I think she might end things."

"Oh."

"I wouldn't even blame her," he added quickly, like he needed to get it out before he lost his nerve. "I really did mess up. And it's—it's killing me."

Laurel turned toward him fully now. "I'm sorry. I know you love her a lot, kid."

He nodded, eyes burning.

"And that's exactly why I know you'll figure it out. If you love someone, you find a way to make it up to them. And when they love you, they work with you to find a solution."

"But I—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I won't ask what you did, Con. I don't need to. Because I know you, and though I may not know Devon as well, from what I saw of her last summer, I know the two of you will figure it out."

Conrad was surprised at that. "From what you saw?"

"She's one of the sweetest girls I've had the pleasure of meeting. Jeremiah told me she did all the flower arrangements for the house, which were lovely, by the way. And after the wedding... didn't happen, she offered to stay behind to help clean up and take the catering to the women's shelter with Adam and me."

"She didn't tell me that."

"Not every act of kindness is meant to be shared. But that's when I knew."

"Knew what?" Conrad asked hoarsely.

"That our special boy had found his special girl."

The words hit him harder than he expected, and a single tear slipped free, tracing a hot line down his cheek.

"And," Laurel added gently, "Susannah would have loved her."

That did it.

Conrad bowed his head as more tears followed. It was the way Laurel said it, like his mom was right there, somehow, seeing straight through him, saying exactly what he needed without him having to ask. It felt like both permission and approval, so that he could stop carrying the guilt of not making things work with Belly for his mother's sake.

"I miss her," he whispered.

They both knew who he meant this time, too. That was one thing they shared in a way no one else did, their private, lonely grief for Susannah Fisher. 

Laurel nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I miss her too. She would've known exactly what to say to make it all better. I'm not sure I helped."

Conrad shook his head, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. "No, you did. You really did. Thank you for everything. Just... thank you."

She reached out, pressing her palm to his cheek, and Conrad leaned into it without thinking. 

"You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right? You're my special guy. Our first baby." Her thumb brushed just beneath his eye where tears still clung. "She always did say you felt things the deepest."

Conrad let out a watery chuckle. "I think that's the problem."

"She never thought it was a problem. She thought it was your gift, even when it hurt."

"She'd tell me to stop overthinking everything."

"She'd tell both of us to stop overthinking everything."

"Sometimes I forget things," Conrad confessed shamefully. "Like the sound of her laugh. And then I feel guilty, because she's my mom, how can I let her fade away?"

Laurel shook her head immediately. "Oh, honey, she's not fading. Sometimes it isn't about holding onto every detail perfectly. It's about the way she shaped you. She can never fade as long as you and your brother exist because she is a part of you. She is in your mannerisms and how you make your way through the world."

"She'd hate to see all the ways I've messed up."

"Absolutely not. She'd be furious that you think that." Laurel's voice softened. "She'd tell you that you're allowed to stumble, and that loving hard means sometimes also failing hard."

Conrad let out a shaky breath. "You really think she'd like Devon?"

Laurel nodded without hesitation. "She really would. She always liked people who were kind when no one was watching. And most of all, she would like her because she makes you happy. That's what matters most to any mother. For their child to find someone who brings out the best in them."

"Devon really does make me want to be the best version of myself."

"I know."

"In that case, Mom would probably tell me to stop being an idiot."

"Oh, definitely. She'd say, 'Conrad Fisher, get out of your head and go fix it!'"

Conrad laughed quietly through his tears. "I wish she were here."

"Me too, kid. Me too." Laurel squeezed his hand and glanced around the attic. "But I think she'd be happy knowing you're here, that you still come back and love this place as much as she did."

Conrad nodded, clutching the scarf tighter. "I don't know how to do Christmas without her."

"Neither do I, but we do it together. And we remember her. Somehow, that has to be enough to get through the big days."

When Conrad finally made his way back downstairs, his brother had arrived, seated in Conrad's usual spot on the couch, one leg tucked beneath him, the controller in his hand as he demolished Steven at Mario Kart.

"Bro, that was cheap!" Steven fumed. "You knocked me off the map!"

Jeremiah grinned without apology. "Skill issue."

"I will get you back for this, just you watch!"

Jeremiah glanced over at Steven with a wicked smile. "How's Denise, by the way? Is she dropping by later, or are you keeping her a secret from the family?"

Steven groaned. "No, she's with her own family this year."

"A Christmas without Denise?" Jeremiah gasped dramatically. "How will our poor Steven survive?"

"Shut up!"

When Conrad stepped into the room, Jeremiah's eyes lit up, and he dropped the controller without a second thought, crossing the room in three strides to wrap his brother in a bone-crushing hug.

"Connie!" he exclaimed. "How've you been?"

Conrad laughed, his arms coming up around his brother. "I've been good."

And for the first time in a while, it wasn't a lie, or at least, not entirely one. After his talk with Laurel, it felt true enough to say out loud. 

Steven eyed him from the couch, suspicion written all over his face. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Conrad turned back to Jeremiah. "How about you? How was last semester at Finch?"

Jeremiah made a face. "Survived my online classes only because Dad would've blown a fuse if I didn't."

"Hey, at least it's over."

"Thank god for that. And I got a gig at this Italian place in the North End, which I love way more. It's beginner stuff right now, but the old couple who owns it really likes me. I'm hoping to work up to sous chef eventually. Get some real practice before maybe opening my own place someday."

Conrad grinned. "That's huge, Jere."

Jeremiah's grin turned mischievous. "And they keep saying they want to introduce me to their granddaughter. Apparently, she's in culinary school."

"Jere..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," his brother said quickly, holding up his hands. "I'm actually done with relationships for a bit. Gotta figure out what I want and where I'm headed."

Steven burst out laughing. "You? Done with relationships?" He wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. "This really is the season for miracles."

"Shut up, Steven!" Jeremiah retorted. 

But Steven was already pulling out his phone. "No, no, I gotta tell Denise. This is too good."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, then leaned toward Conrad, lowering his voice. "I figured I could use a break after everything, ya know."

Conrad nodded, clapping a hand on his brother's back. "Yeah, of course. I'm glad you're taking time for yourself."

Jeremiah beamed and flopped back onto the couch, immediately trying to wrestle Steven's phone out of his hands. "What did you text her? Lemme see how you're slandering me."

"Give it back, Jere!"

"No, I need to know!"

Their bickering faded into familiar background noise just as a knock echoed through the house.

From the kitchen, Laurel called out, "Con, can you get that, please?"

Conrad glanced between the bickering idiots he called family and nodded, already moving.  "Yeah, I've got it."

But when he opened the door, Isabel Conklin stood on the other side, one hand still raised as if she'd been about to knock again, her expression halfway between surprise and relief. Her hair was tucked into a wool coat, and her cheeks were pink from the cold. 

Conrad's stomach dropped, and his gaze flitted over her shoulder, back toward the living room, where the sounds of Mario Kart and Jere's laughter still drifted through the house. This Christmas had just become infinitely more complicated.

"Hey," Belly said, smiling tentatively. 

"Hey." Conrad stepped aside to let her in.

Thankfully, Laurel appeared almost instantly, crossing the entryway to pull her daughter into a hug. "Oh, Belly! I thought you were staying in Paris for the winter."

Belly laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, I thought so too. But I just—I really wanted to see you, and Dad, and Steven, and..." She trailed off as she glanced at Conrad. 

He looked away, suddenly very interested in the scuffed edge of the welcome mat, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremiah set his controller down and disappear up the stairs.

"I just need to get my stuff to my room," Belly said, "and then I can help with dinner."

"Dinner's already ready, but yes, go freshen up. Then you can help the boys set the table." Laurel turned to Conrad. "Could you help her take her things up? And then call everyone for dinner."

And because it was Laurel asking, he couldn't exactly say no. He nodded and grabbed Belly's suitcase, lugging it up the stairs silently without waiting for her. He set it down in the doorway of her old room, and she followed him inside slowly. 

"Wow," she murmured, smiling to herself as her fingertips brushed the patterned blue wallpaper. "Every time I come here, it's like nothing changes. I've missed this place."

"Yeah," Conrad said, a little too quickly.

She turned to him, searching his face. "It must be nice, being here for the holidays."

"Sure."

Belly winced almost imperceptibly, then tried again. "You haven't changed much."

"You have."

"Oh." Her smile was uncertain. "Is that good?"

"Does it matter?"

"By the way, I didn't know Jere was coming today," Belly said, clasping her hands together.

"He just got here."

"Did he..." She hesitated. "Did he see me?"

"Probably."

"I should probably talk to him."

"Probably."

Conrad left before the conversation could get any weirder, dropping by Jere's room on his way, where his brother was hunched over at the edge of the bed, his fists clenched so tightly against the comforter that his knuckles had gone white. His jaw was set, eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

The moment he saw Conrad, his head snapped up. "What the hell is she doing here?" 

Conrad closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, rubbing a tired hand down his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He had enough of his drama to deal with, and he really didn't have the energy to handle whatever bullshit Belly had brought with her. 

"Her mom's hosting Christmas, Jere," he said patiently. "Her whole family's here. She has every right to be here."

"So you're okay with it?" Jeremiah scoffed. "With her just showing up?"

"I'm not. I just... couldn't care less." Conrad paused, choosing his words carefully. "She's irrelevant to me. But I know it's not like that for you. I know this is hard, so I just need you to get through it, okay? There's nothing else to do. We can't kick her out, and you can't suddenly disappear without making it painfully obvious she's the reason."

"The audacity! Showing up like nothing happened, like she didn't just run away from everything."

"Laurel worked really hard on putting this dinner together, Jere. You'll break her heart if you make a scene or leave. Just do it for her."

Jeremiah's expression softened, and his shoulders slumped. "Fine. I'll keep my mouth shut, but only for Laurel."

"And remember what we agreed on before," Conrad added. "You can't let her ruin this place for you, or stop you from coming. This is Mom's house. She would've hated seeing you driven away."

Jere dragged in a few deep breaths, forcing himself back into his body until he felt steady enough to stand. "Okay. Let's just get this dinner over with."

Dinner itself was painful. Even Laurel could sense the tension thrumming through the air, and she made sure to seat Belly and Jeremiah at opposite ends of the table, as far apart as physically possible. Unfortunately, that meant Conrad ended up seated right next to her.

Steven and his dad did their best to keep things light, filling the silence with jokes and stories about work, asking harmless questions about classes and plans and anything that wasn't the wedding. Laurel chimed in where she could, her smile a little strained, her eyes darting between the kids more than usual. 

Adam had made it in time for dinner too, and for the first time, Conrad was grateful for his presence because the occasional banter he exchanged with Laurel was yet another buffer to distract from the churning undercurrent of unease in the room. That and Adam managed to distract Jere by pestering him with questions about his new restaurant job. 

Meanwhile, Belly told everyone about her life in Paris. She spoke of cafés and museums and walking along the Seine in the cold, sharing with them a life that sounded full and entirely removed from the room she was sitting in now.

Conrad nodded when politeness demanded it and hummed vague acknowledgments, but really, he'd zoned out. Frankly, he couldn't care less about her trips or stories, but he noticed that Jere very much did. 

His brother wasn't eating much, his eyes darting toward Belly every time she spoke, subtle in a way that screamed he didn't want to be caught, but Conrad registered it right away. 

Jeremiah seemed to be mapping her words, trying to trace the shape of the life she'd built without him and figure out who she'd become, in the absence he'd been left with. As several stages of grief flitted across his face, Conrad swallowed hard and looked away, unable to bear witness to the pain there. 

Later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Conrad found himself slumped on the couch in front of the fireplace, watching the embers pulse and glow like a slow, living thing. The flames moved lazily, stretching and collapsing in on themselves, and he let his mind follow them because it was easier than thinking about anything else. It was easier than thinking about Devon, who was still not responding to his texts. 

He didn't realize he wasn't alone until someone set a steaming mug in front of him, and he glanced up to find Belly sitting at the opposite end of the couch, her socked feet just barely grazing his thigh.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained. "So I made myself some hot cocoa. And then I saw you were still up, so I made you some too."

Conrad stared at the mug for a moment too long. The chocolatey smell was familiar, and he hated how quickly it transported him to a dozen other nights he'd rather forget.

"This brings back memories, huh?" Belly said when he let the silence stretch too long. "It always feels kind of weird being here when it's not summer."

He didn't respond.

"Remember that first time we were here in the winter? When you kidnapped me so we could see a snowy beach?" She chuckled fondly at the memory. 

Conrad's jaw clenched. Of course, that's where she went. Of course, that's the night she picked, the version of him that was hopeful and stupid and still pretending things could stay good if he just held on tight enough. He opened his mouth, already preparing to shut this down, when Belly suddenly bolted up, twisting toward the window.

"Oh my god, it's snowing!"

Sure enough, fat flakes had started drifting down outside, illuminated by the porch light.

"Wanna go to the beach?" she asked tentatively. "For old times' sake?"

Conrad didn't look at her when he answered in a low, measured tone. "The last time we were at the beach, you told me that my grief over my mother dying was basically worse than my brother cheating on you. So no thanks, I'd rather not do that again."

Belly's smile vanished instantly, and she deflated, sinking into the couch like she'd lost whatever momentum had carried her to him. "I... I shouldn't have said that to you," she admitted.

Conrad shrugged, wondering if this was his cue to make an excuse and escape upstairs before this turned uglier. 

But Belly wasn't done. "That night," she continued, her gaze fixed on the fireplace, "the night you brought me here that first winter, it was probably the best night of my life. You seemed so hopeful back then. So happy. I don't think I ever saw you that happy again. And when we were talking about Christmas gifts, you said nothing made Susannah happier than knowing I was your girlfriend."

Conrad scowled, amazed at her ability to be so reckless with memories that didn't belong to her alone.

"I guess I just wanted you to know that, despite everything, I don't regret that night. At all. I'm glad it was you."

Conrad stood abruptly, the movement quick enough that Belly flinched. "I didn't really ask, Isabel."

Her head jerked up at the sound of her full name. 

"I don't know why you're telling me all this," he went on, trying to hold on to his composure and avoid saying something worse. "I have a girlfriend. So it's really fucking weird to hear you talk about our intimacy when we've been practically strangers for the past four years."

Belly's eyes glistened with tears as she blinked in confusion. "I didn't know you were with someone—"

"And if you want to know why you haven't seen me that happy since then," he interrupted, "it's probably because you haven't seen me at all. Because you thought it was a good idea to go after my brother a month after we broke up, which was pretty gross, if I'm being honest. And then, you proceeded to play with his feelings for the entire duration of your relationship. So I'm not sure what you're hoping to achieve by taking a trip down memory lane with me tonight, but you should stop. Seriously, just stop."

She recoiled as if he'd struck her.

"I'm tired," he finished, running a hand through his hair. "And I don't want to deal with your bullshit tonight."

Belly's tears brimmed over, slipping down her cheeks freely. "I was only trying to apologize, I guess."

"I don't really care. I got over it eventually. And I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I already apologized to Jere," she snapped, defiance creeping into her voice. "But he's still mad at me, and I thought you could—"

"Could what? Fix it for you?"

Belly went silent.

"Hate to break it to you, but I can't be that person for you anymore. You can't keep expecting me, or anyone else, to clean up your messes. Grow up, and for once in your life, take responsibility for your actions and do it yourself."

Conrad didn't wait for her to respond. He turned and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his heart pounding—not with regret, but with the dull certainty that some doors, once closed, were meant to stay that way.

The next morning, after the house stopped buzzing with the post-gift-unwrapping excitement, Conrad slipped out into the backyard, where a thin layer of snow dusted everything. The fence posts wore white caps, and even the branches of the bare trees were traced in frost, like someone had painted it on by hand. The whole thing looked like something off the front of a Christmas card.

Christmas morning today had been nice, notwithstanding the awkwardness associated with having Belly around, but it still reminded him of Christmas mornings back in Boston, when he was still a kid. 

No one was allowed downstairs before Susannah was up, which meant Conrad and Jere would sit at the top of the stairs in their pyjamas, whispering furiously and vibrating with barely contained energy while the smell of coffee and cinnamon rolls drifted up from the kitchen. Their dad would pretend to be grumpy, their mom would laugh and tell him to stop ruining the magic, and then, finally, they'd all go down together.

Presents were opened slowly, one at a time, because their mother wanted to see their reaction to each one. She'd sit cross-legged on the floor with her mug, wearing some ridiculously festive sweater, clapping her hands like a kid herself every time someone tore into wrapping paper, and she always saved her own gifts for last, saying that they didn't really matter unless everyone else was happy first.

Now it was different. The glue that held them all together wasn't here anymore. 

Instead of wallowing in self-pity any longer, Conrad pulled out his phone, unable to put off calling Devon any longer. 

The ringing sounded too loud in the cold air, seemingly going on forever, and just as he was about to hang up, she picked up. Conrad almost breathed a sigh of relief, and it hit him all at once how good it felt to see her. 

But he couldn't read her expression. Was she happy to see him, or disappointed? 

"Hey," he said quickly, before she could even consider hanging up. "Nice hair."

Devon smiled a little at that. Her hair hung in loose waves around her face, and she held the phone back to swish her head deliberately in the frame, letting the light hit the strands of glittery red and green threaded through. 

"Thanks," she said. "My grandma got us these hair tinsel clips we used to love as kids, so Dakota spent all morning putting them in for me. I like the red. Might go red next for real." Then she paused, visibly catching herself. "Sorry, I'm rambling. How's your Christmas going?"

"No." Conrad shook his head. "I like hearing you talk. And my Christmas was alright."

There was so much more to say, but nothing felt appropriate. He could tell her about Cousins, about his brother, about Belly showing up and how weird everything felt, but he wasn't sure. Belly wasn't even his mess to deal with; she was Jere's. 

Before he could say anything, Devon blurted, "We need to talk."

Conrad's heart dropped straight into his stomach. There it was, the thing he'd been bracing for the entire time he'd been here, the sick, creeping dread that had followed him all through December. 

"Okay," he said, forcing himself not to waver, but inside, all he could think was, shit, shit, shit.

Devon shifted, and Conrad noticed that she wasn't looking directly at the camera anymore, her gaze drifting off to the side like she was lining up her thoughts before letting go.

"You really hurt me that day," she said finally.

Conrad's lungs seized, and his instinct was to interrupt and apologize again, but he bit his tongue and forced himself to listen.

"I was too knocked out of it to talk to you about it earlier," she continued. "But I'm not bringing it up to hear you apologize again. You've apologized enough. I just—I needed to get it out, because if I don't, I'll keep thinking about it, and that's bad for me. And it's unfair to you."

"Okay."

Conrad had no idea where this was going. Was she about to end things over a video call, of all things? That felt unnecessarily cruel, and he had never known Devon to be a cruel person. 

"Uh, that's it, really." Devon glanced back at the screen, clearly gauging his reaction. "You made me feel really crappy, but then you apologized. And I get it, you were stressed. It happens. It'll take me a while to get over it, I think. But I will. Because I was thinking about it, and like... other than that time, I like the person I am with you. For the most part."

"For the most part?" he echoed, before he could stop himself.

His pulse was racing, still braced for impact, and he didn't know whether to laugh or hold his breath. Was this good? Was this bad? Was he allowed to be relieved yet? He still didn't know where this was going.

"Well, yeah." Devon shrugged. "But that's not really your fault. That's just me. I've got some stuff I need to work through. But it's fine. I'll work through it. I've decided I'm starting therapy once I get back to California."

Conrad was glad for that at least. He always respected when people finally took that first step toward taking care of themselves, and he knew firsthand how difficult it could be. 

"The point is, you make me happy," Devon said. "Like really, really happy, and I don't want to lose you in any capacity."

Conrad felt the words hit him all at once, and his grip on his phone loosened, a tentative smile spreading across his face. "For the record," he said, "I am sorry about that. And I don't want to lose you either."

"And, can you also stop tiptoeing around me like I'm a landmine."

"I—" He ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment. "Sorry, I kind of thought you were going to break up with me."

"Oh."

"Were you?"

"No."

"It's okay, you can be honest."

Devon shook her head resolutely. "No, I am being honest. My life is better off with you in it. And yeah, there's going to be hard times. That's kind of a given in any relationship, romantic or not. What matters is that we put in the work to try to fix it, and that we apologize for hurting each other and work it out."

"Yeah, I just thought, you know, you weren't texting back, and I'm bad at this, and my brain immediately goes to worst-case scenarios—"

"Hey," she interrupted gently. "I wasn't texting back because my life was going to shit last night, not because I was drafting a breakup speech."

Well, now he just felt bad. He had noticed that she was at her mom's place, not her dad's, so something must have happened, and his worst-case scenarios just felt foolish and self-absorbed. 

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked. 

"Not really. Maybe when we're back in California." Devon smiled. "But my point is, you really think I'd go through all that we've been through, just to dump you?"

"I've had worse odds."

Devon rolled her eyes. "You're not as disposable as you think you are, Conrad Fisher."

"I'll—uh—try to remember that. And, it's okay if you were ignoring me. I deserved it." He paused, searching her face. "But we are okay, right?"

"Yeah, we're okay." Then she winced a little. "Wait, sorry, I just realized this was probably a better conversation to have in person later."

"No, I'm glad we had it out right now. I don't think I could've gone another day without talking to you or fearing the worst."

"Oh." Devon looked genuinely surprised by that. "Sorry, I made you feel like I was about to pull a worst-case scenario on you."

Conrad exhaled, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs properly, feeling as if he hadn't breathed all month. This had to be the solid start he'd been practically praying for. Things were still not magically all better, but it was progress.

"Then, can you please go back to sending me your bizarre oddities?" He had to stop himself from outright pleading. "I miss your Boston pigeon log."

"My Boston pigeon log?"

"Yeah. When you spent the end of summer there, you kept sending me pictures of pigeons you saw around the city."

Devon burst out laughing at the serious look on his face, and god, how he missed the sound of that. "Uh, hate to break it to you, Fisher, but there aren't a lot of pigeons out in the winter. It's fucking freezing."

"Huh, that sucks. Do you have anything else to share then?"

Her whole face lit up. "Oh, okay, wait." 

She set the phone down on some surface, the camera wobbling as she shuffled backward until he could see more of her, and she was hauling something massive. 

Conrad's brows shot up as a sword came into focus, nearly half her height. Devon winced as she used both hands to lift it, clearly favouring her uninjured side, but she was grinning like a madwoman. 

"Dakota got me Blackfyre," she announced proudly. "A real sword! Well, okay, maybe not real real. It's a replica. But it's so pretty!"

Conrad found himself smiling just watching her, the excitement in her tone making his heart do somersaults in his chest cavity. "Is that the sword from your incest dragon show?"

Devon's expression turned mortified. "When you say it like that, it sounds awful! You're making me sound like some sort of perv."

"Isn't that literally the entire plot, though?"

"Shut up. But yes, you are right, Blackfyre is the ancestral sword of House Targaryen. It was wielded by Aegon the Conqueror, the guy who unified the Seven Kingdoms, so the sword itself became this symbol of legitimacy." She turned the blade so the light caught it, "In the books, Valyrian steel is described as having this rippled pattern, almost like smoke trapped in metal. It's gorgeous. And steeped in dark magic, which makes it infinitely cooler."

Conrad realized distantly that he could listen to her talk about this for hours. "So," he said when she finally paused to breathe, "you're telling me this sword is basically royal propaganda."

"Conrad Fisher!"

"What?"

"That is a criminal oversimplification! Like if I said, the One Ring is just," Devon paused dramatically, counting on her fingers, "a weird little piece of evil jewelry some guy made that turns you invisible and causes a hiking problem."

"You did not just say that."

"I did indeed."

"No," Conrad said firmly. "No, you can't just say that about the One Ring. I made you read the books. You should know better."

Devon pointed at him triumphantly with her sword. "First of all, you didn't make me do anything. I have free will. And because I've read the books, I think I earned the right to disrespect them a little."

"Disrespect? Devon, that ring is a metaphysical manifestation of absolute power, corruption, and the slow erosion of free will—"

"—that gives you invisibility," she finished sweetly.

"And dooms your soul."

"Accessory feature."

He stared at her in fond exasperation. "Accessory feature?"

"Yes. Sure, its primary function is to ruin your life, but it makes for a neat party trick in a pinch, no?"

Conrad burst into laughter, despite his best efforts to appear stern. "Unbelievable. Frodo carried the burden of the free peoples of Middle-earth on his back—"

"Alright, buddy, pack it up," Devon interrupted with a chuckle. "The point I was trying to make before I was so rudely sidetracked is that—"

"Is that, you're just trying to show off your cool new toy?" Conrad teased.

"Well, duh." 

She hobbled closer, lifting the hilt toward the camera so he could see the details, but Conrad's attention snagged on something else entirely. The cuticles on both her hands were freshly torn, bloody crescents where the skin had been picked too far.

His smile faltered, and a familiar knot of worry settled in his stomach. Was it because of him? Had she done that to herself because she was stressed about them? Because he'd hurt her? The very idea was unbearable.

"Dev," he said gently, "your hands..."

She glanced down dismissively. "Oh, yeah, bad habit."

"Because of what happened?"

"No, this wasn't because of you," she replied carefully. "It's just life. Everything. I promise I'm working on it, and I'll tell you all about it back in California."

"Promise?"

"I promise. No more secrets. Of course, as long as you do the same."

Conrad nodded, even though the guilt still ate away at him, and he wished he could reach through the screen and take her hands in his. 

"I hate that I can't be there," he confessed.

"I know. But hey, you called, and I'm really glad you did." She paused to think before grinning again. "Oh, speaking of presents, did Laurel and your dad like their gifts?"

Of course, she'd ask that, because even after all the hurt and distance, she still cared whether his family felt thought of. Who else but Devon Watson would be mad at him and still send him home with presents for his parents? 

"Oh god, yes," he said. "Laurel was so surprised this morning. She opened it and just froze, utterly surprised that you managed to pin down the exact brand of perfume she used."

Devon's eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. And, plot twist, Steven's dad got her the same set."

"Oh shit. I forgot about that." Devon groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "Is perfume, like a gift your husband gives you? Or ex-husband, I guess. I don't know the etiquette."

"No, no, you're fine. She loves it. But I do need to know, how the hell did you get her exact scent?"

Devon ducked her head, suddenly shy. "I, uh... recognized it when she hugged me at your mom's memorial thing."

"You're kidding."

"She smells like my friend Gwen's mom. So I just texted Gwen and asked what perfume her mom wears. Easy."

Conrad burst out laughing. "Wow, you are an actual wonder of a human being."

Devon grimaced. "Okay, but now your family probably thinks I'm some sort of stalker weirdo who goes around sniffing people. Like that guy from the murderous perfumer movie."

"They do not. And you need to stop watching weird movies."

"You should've defended my honour. I promise I'm not that weird."

"You're a little weird," Conrad joked. 

"Well, now you're just being plain mean. I should hang up."

"But," he added quickly, "they don't think that. They just think you're an incredibly thoughtful gift-giver. Which I already knew."

"I still have your present, by the way. It's in my apartment in California." Devon winced. "Sorry, I couldn't give it to you before. I was kinda out of it."

Conrad felt guilty again, but he forced it down. "So you say. You do seem awfully coherent right now. They stop your codeine prescription?"

Devon let out a long, suffering sigh. "Yeah, I'm coherent and irritable as fuck. Ibuprofen is not helping. Someone sedate me, please."

"You do know opioids are addictive, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. As if I need to add a codeine addiction to my already impressive list of vices. I got it, doc." She paused, then added, "Side note, I definitely thought TSA was gonna pull me aside for my metal peg leg."

"It's not a peg leg, Devon, it's a surgical implant. And I'm pretty sure those are titanium. They've got low magnetic conductivity and are generally undetectable by standard metal detectors."

"Nerd."

"Look who's talking." His lips twitched with amusement. "And by the way, you might want to worry about lugging your sword back through airport security."

Devon's face fell in slow-motion horror. "No! My sword!"

Conrad laughed again, watching her for a while before finally asking the question that had been on his tongue since the moment she'd picked up. "But seriously, how are you doing?"

Devon tilted her head, pretending to be deep in thought. "Could be better, but we soldier on. Could be worse. Could be dead."

"That's... one way to look at it."

"My sister said if I got hit by a car and died, I'd probably end up transmigrated into some bizarre novel or something, which would definitely be worse."

"Transmi—what?" Conrad frowned in confusion. 

"Transmigrated," she repeated, as if it were a perfectly normal word that everyone should know. "You know, like in the webnovels."

"I do not know."

Devon grinned deviously. "Okay, so, it's like when someone from our world dies and wakes up in another world. Usually inside a book, or a game, or some fantasy setting."

"That already sounds stressful."

"Oh, it is," she agreed cheerfully. "Especially because half the time they wake up as the villainess who's destined to die horribly."

"Of course they do."

"And then, they're like, 'Oh shit, I've read this novel, I know how this ends, I need to survive.' So they try to avoid their tragic death flag."

"Death... flag?"

"Yes, like when the plot is clearly about to kill you. Anyway, there's this one novel where the girl transmigrates into a medieval empire, and she's like four years old but mentally thirty, so she starts investing in real estate."

"Excuse me?" This was beginning to give Conrad a headache, but he indulged her explanations. 

"And another one where she wakes up as the emperor's evil fiancée and decides to dump him first and become a sword master instead."

"Is it the same person both times?" Conrad asked. 

"You know what, I'm not actually sure. I suppose if they just keep dying in every universe and getting reincarnated into a different one, it'd be pretty interesting. Dakota would know better."

Before he could respond, the back door creaked open behind him, and his dad poked his head out. Conrad turned, half-blocking the phone instinctively, but Adam had already stepped out onto the porch, squinting at the screen.

"Oh, is that Devon?" Adam asked slyly. "Tell her thank you for the Christmas present, and that we'd love to have her celebrate with us next year."

Conrad flushed and glanced at Devon with a sheepish look. "You heard him."

"Glad you like it, Mr. Fisher," Devon said politely. 

"Just call me Adam," his dad said, returning to the door. Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, just for Conrad's ears, "Future father-in-law works too."

When he pointed discreetly at his ring finger behind the phone, Conrad's ears burned red. He bid Devon a hasty goodbye before following his father inside, hoping not to be bothered on the topic further, but life was never that easy. 

"Well," his dad said far too casually, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, "she's nice."

"Dad!"

Adam's mouth twitched. "What? I'm just saying. I don't think you've ever brought home someone this thoughtful. And she has great taste in gifts."

Conrad felt his face heat again. "Can you not? Please."

"Relax, Conrad. All I'm saying is that I like her. Jere likes her. Hell, even Laurel likes her, and that woman is notoriously difficult to please, so you have everybody's approval."

"Thanks, I guess."

Adam's expression softened. "I'm glad you have someone who makes you feel that way. You deserve it, son."

"Feel what way?" Conrad asked defensively. 

"I don't know. You smile differently when you talk to her. Or about her. We've all noticed. In fact, I saw it from the moment I saw the two of you at your mother's funeral. And I know for a fact that she would have loved her."