Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Alex O'Whitt is © Tigermark. The B-Team is © Silver Coyote. Jean LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Fox Jones, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Dina Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Erica Belge and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005. All other characters appearing in this story, except where otherwise specifically noted, are likewise © Joan Jacobsen.

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.er nodded. "I'm sure."

"Hi Mom..."

"This...is not going to be easy. It requires a high degree of accuracy and a very steady paw..."

Yohni facepawed and groaned. In front of her, Timothy was trying to thread a needle. He was squinting and the tip of his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth. The sight was quite hilarious.

"You're going to hit your finger...mark my words..." Gabrielle said, dryly, and sipped her cup of cafe-au-lait.

Timothy stopped, turned his head without moving his paw, raspberried his sister and went back to squinting as he attempted to thread the needle. "You're just jealous because you can't use needle and thread like me, sis."

Gabrielle didn't even contradict her brother. She just tossed her mane and grinned widely, sipping her drink again. There was no point in trying to argue the point with Timothy. He was right and they both knew it.

Yohni smiled a little and kicked up her feet. When she and Gabrielle arrived yesterday, they had been extremely tired. While it had only been four in the afternoon, they had traversed six time zones, and they had spent the entire day traveling. By five, they had both been fast asleep. The flip side of that coin had been that they had woken up at three thirty in the morning...and felt like it was roughly half past nine. It'd take a week or so to get adjusted to American time again. They had stayed in bed...chatting...snuggling a little now and then and reminiscing on their vacation. By six thirty, Gabrielle had decided they might as well take a shower and make breakfast. They had both been quite surprised to find Malcolm cooking breakfast for them, by the time they got out of the shower.

Their hosts had decided to get up early to let the two femmes have some company.

By now, it was midmorning, and Malcolm had gone off to work. Gabrielle enjoyed the company of her brother immensely. He looked well and happy. Very happy, in fact. It still occasionally boggled her mind that both Timothy and herself had ended up in homosexual relationships, but now that she had actually seen Timothy and Malcolm together, she couldn't imagine a better couple.

"Y'know, Timmy...I'm sorry I haven't been by before. Honestly..." she said and finished her Cafe-au-lait.

Timothy shrugged and picked up the skirt in front of him and turned it inside out, starting to repair a run in the hem. It was one of Yohni's...a favorite of hers, in fact...and she had been somewhat annoyed to find that it was coming apart. Timothy had immediately offered to repair the damaged garment.

Gabrielle couldn't say she was surprised that her brother could do fine needlework like that.

"It's okay, sis. It's not as if I have been by Ohio either, have I? I could've afforded it. Strictly speaking, I think it all boils down to me thinking you didn't want me to come a'knockin' like that," Timothy said and smiled.

"Heh...you and me both. It's stupid, you know...it's still Dad's influence. He's still got this weird power over parts of our lives, even after more than two years," Gabrielle said and sighed. "We should know better. I hope this means we'll get to see each other more often, at least."

Timothy nodded. "Somehow, I think Ohio desperately needs some style! Try to keep me away, sis," he said and grinned widely, flicking his mane slightly with a little toss of his head.

"Good grief, why aren't you a drag-queen, Timmy...you're so on fire it scorches my eyeballs," Gabrielle laughed.

"The fact that my sister is an internationally famed porn-star, and the fact that more or less everyone tells me how much I look like you certainly would give me some interesting options on stage, wouldn't it? However, Malcolm gives me this funny look whenever I mention the possibility," her brother answered and pouted excessively.

"What funny look?" Yohni chimed in. "Who knows...perhaps he likes the idea and you just misread him...?"

Timothy shook his head and smiled crookedly. "Nahh. I don't think that's it. I know him. I think he finds the idea of suddenly living with a femme rather odd, that's all."

"But...he wouldn't be. Sorry, bro, but I think I'm the expert on this issue, and I can assure you, Malcolm would still be living with another male."

"Oh, that's just cruel. Sis, you're heartless!" Timothy moaned and put the back of his right paw to his forehead, rolling his eyes back into his head. His other paw graced his chest lightly, still holding a needle between two fingers.

It took a moment before Yohni stopped gawking. When she did, she looked at Gabrielle and started giggling. "Not even you would pull that kind of move, Gabby...not even you. Does acting run in the family or something? Imagine THAT kind of behavior on stage..."

Gabrielle laughed and nodded. "I need another cup of this stuff!" she exclaimed and got to her hooves.

Timothy stopped acting and winked in Yohni's direction, crossing his legs and placing the last few stitches in the cloth he was holding.

###

It was early afternoon when Jean and Esteban turned around the corner and looked down the quiet street where Francois and Marie lived. To anyone looking, they were just another young couple, holding paws, walking down the street. What the casual observer couldn't see, of course, was the fact that Esteban was forcing himself not to whine. Jean was close to crushing his paw.

The street looked suburbia heaven. Small, but comfortable houses with well kept gardens. Even in late October, as it now was, there wasn't a fallen leaf anywhere on the ground. Esteban turned his head and looked behind him. Swirls of color in red, orange and yellow graced the road they had just come from. He wanted to comment that it looked like a nice neighborhood, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Jean's face was ashen. She looked like she had to concentrate on simply taking every single step without fainting.

Stopping momentarily, Esteban smiled down at his vixen, before leaning down to kiss her hair. He wished he could remove her worries, but at the same time, he not only understood them, he felt a good deal of them himself. For more than two years, he had been Jean's boyfriend. Now...he was her husband-to-be. And he had never been 'home to meet the parents' yet. Francois often dropped by, or they saw him when they needed bread. All in all, it amounted to several casual run-ins with Francois every week. The fox was everything Esteban had ever hoped for in a father-in-law, but his wife had, until recently, flatly refused to acknowledge the existence of her daughter. The fact that Jean was dating an ex-porn-star probably hadn't helped, either.

He just wished he had the right words to help calm down Jean right now. She looked so scared and he didn't like that.

"Te quiero, chica," he whispered and brushed his free paw over her cheek. "Whatever happens...always remember that, no?"

Jean looked up at him. Her eyes were scared. She looked on the verge of tears. For a few split seconds, Esteban remembered the first time he had looked into those eyes, and his knees momentarily seemed about to cave in under him.

"Thank you," she whispered and turned her face to kiss the palm of his paw.

They both took a moment to recover their courage, before continuing. It wasn't far now. Just a few more yards.

A moment later, Jean stopped outside one of the small houses and nodded.

"This is it..." she said, quietly.

Esteban nodded and gave her paw a little squeeze again. "Readee?" he asked.

"No. But I never will be, so we might as well do this fast..." was the answer.

The wolf nodded and scratched his neck and mane. He reached out and opened the gate in the picket fence, stepping inside with a reassuring smile to Jean.

She followed...never letting go of the wolf's paw. If nothing else, she knew she had Esteban to rely on. Her pillar of support. For all that strength she had gained over the last few years, she knew she was still vulnerable. Esteban removed that vulnerability.

The door looked like an insurmountable obstacle at the end of the short path. It was almost threatening. It was difficult to believe that behind that very door lay the place she had called 'home' for so many years of her life.

Suddenly, she laughed. Not loudly. Rather, it was a bitter little chuckle. She shook her head and looked at Esteban, realizing his confusion at the outburst.

"I just remembered something..." she said, shrugging.

"What was eet?"

"My father's words to me after I told my parents that I needed surgery...what was wrong with me..."

Esteban nodded and looked at the vixen again, putting his head slightly askance, flopping one ear as he often did when curious.

Jean smiled and sighed. "You're too cute to be legal, Esteban..." she said, quietly.

"What deed he say, chica?"

"He looked at me like I had stabbed him in the heart and whispered "If only you had told us that you dated someone called Michael"."

Esteban blinked. "They could've dealt weeth that?"

"I always told myself that yes, they could have. For years, I thought...that yes, if I had just been homosexual, they could've dealt with it. I was raised in a very open-minded home. I was raised to be accepting of others, and to respect differences between furs. That conformity...uniformity...was a bad thing. For years...I laughed bitterly and told myself "My parents are French. If I had been gay, with a tendency to wear lingerie, they would've shrugged it off as borderline normality...", and then I realized how prejudiced that was of me. And then...I realized that no, they probably couldn't have dealt with it. They probably just...told themselves that they could..." Jean said, quietly. She didn't take her eyes off the door while speaking.

Esteban smiled and once again, he brushed his paw over Jean's cheek. "You're a wiser femme than you geeve yourself credeet for," he murmured.

Jean smiled crookedly and shrugged, without answering. Finally, she let go of Esteban's paw and stepped up to the front door. She knocked. Haltingly.

The door opened.

Jean took a deep breath, swallowed her fear and tried to smile.

"Hi mom..."

###

Leo was an annoyed lion. More than that, in fact. He was irritated and slowly getting downright angry. He respected Captain Cervus...hardnosed old thing that he might be. He had a great deal of respect for Sergeant Pardinus, not to mention the other sergeants in the company. He had grown to respect the ability of furs like Corporal Mofeta as well, despite initial misgivings. What he couldn't respect was a first lieutenant who drove onto base in his gigantic Cadillac, out of uniform, five minutes before roll call. A first lieutenant who, quite frankly, exemplified all the things his own troops had thought he would be guilty of.

He wasn't even an empty uniform, because that required the fur to be IN uniform, first of all.

Captain Cervus clearly felt the same way, but apparently, someone higher up in the hierarchy held a protective paw over Lieutenant Aureus.

Corporal Mofeta had scored a few points in Leo's book by pointing out that the only thing 'Golden' about the 'Goldenboy Lieutenant' was the spoon he kept shoved up his backside at all times.

Lieutenant Aureus was a Jackal...of Russian descent, apparently, and he used to keep reminding everyone that his family was an ancient, Russian noble line. Sergeant Pardinus had summed up the opinion of the entire company when he had been forced to listen to it once too often.

"Beggin' your pardon, Lieutenant, but this is the US of A, and we don't have nobility, kings or princes. We kicked the Brits out two centuries ago because we were sick and tired of them. So with all due respect, Lieutenant...you can take your antiquated titles and shove'em."

Leo knew Lieutenant Aureus had tried to get the lynx punished for it, but without luck, since Captain Cervus had told him, rather flatly that he agreed with the NCO on the matter.

Unfortunately, Sergeant Pardinus was in Leo's platoon, and that meant trouble. Every little thing that Lieutenant Aureus could do to make life miserable on third platoon...he did.

Which was why Leo was now supervising his troops digging foxholes on base. The fact that they were moving out in less than a week, and that they were still in the United States of America made no difference there.

"This country is in a state of war, Lieutenant Leon. Do you want to be caught unawares?" Lieutenant Aureus had asked, trying to be brusque.

It hadn't quite worked. Leo was a full four inches taller than the jackal and at least that much wider over the shoulders as well.

"Nossir. I'm sure that when the Taliban bring their 60mm mortars and homemade AT-rockets around near Kabul, we'll be much safer here in Pennsylvania. After all, we have these excellent foxholes to dive into!" he had replied, before saluting, gritting his teeth and picking up a shovel.

He didn't have to dig, but if his furs had to suffer because of an officer with delusions of grandeur and unrealistic ideas, then he would bloody well suffer with them.

He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm and grumbled, before picking up the shovel again. He was about to resume digging when a tall, pitch black equine stepped up next to the half-finished foxhole and saluted.

"PFC Twain reporting for duty, sir!" the newcomer said, in a voice that sounded like the owner's larynx had been through a cheese-grater.

Leo blinked and looked up. The fur towering over the hole was one of the fittest furs he could remember seeing, dark as midnight and with a hard expression on his face. Corporal Mofeta had said something about whining and whimpering about a broken leg, but somehow, Leo found it difficult to believe the fur looking at him would whine, even if he had a leg amputated without anesthetics.

"Good. We finally have all our SAW-operators back then. Grab a shovel and join the digging-fun, PFC Twain," the lion said and once again wiped his brow.

"Permission to ask a question, sir?"

"Go ahead."

The equine looked incredulous. "The others tell me you're the kind of officer that tries to be friendly with his troops. What I want to know is if it's all talk, or if you'll be there with us, when the shit hits the fan and the enemy are raining down grenades on us, or if you'll be cowering under the nearest piece of cover the first time you hear a beebee-gun, Sir?"

Leo grinned and swung the shovel over his shoulder, leaning on the side of the foxhole. Most of the troops looked at the equine in surprise and shock. "Are all you equines that mouthy?" he asked. "You remind me of a friend of mine from back in Ohio. Anyway, to answer your question. Lieutenant Aureus has ordered that third platoon dig foxholes for the entire damned company, because he's peeved at Sergeant Pardinus. I'm down here in the bloody hole, digging like everyone else, even though I could be enjoying a nice meal in the officer's mess right now, before hitting bed early. In all likelihood, we won't be done with this until midnight, and I am not going to bed before anyone else..."

"That's all well and good, Sir...but foxholes don't shoot at you," PFC Twain asked, crossing his well-muscled arms across his chest.

"Grab a shovel, Twain, and find yourself a damned hole to dig..." Sergeant Pardinus growled nearby.

Leo held up his paw to stop the lynx. "It's okay, Sergeant. I'll answer. Truth is, Twain...I don't know if I'll be cowering under the nearest rock when the shooting starts. You know why? Because none of us, except Sergeant Pardinus, have been in this males army long enough to experience real combat. None of us know how we'll deal with it until it happens. But I believe I'll cope with it. I've got a responsibility to every fur you see here. If I fail...if I crumble and act like a coward, I will leave the platoon leaderless under fire, and God help me...if that happens I hope the Taliban will get me before my girlfriend does. It'd be less painful," he grinned.

PFC Twain took a moment to think about that answer. Then he nodded, slowly and looked around at his comrades.

"He's okay, buddy. Now stop shirking and get working," Corporal Mofeta called out and gave PFC Twain a thumbs up.

The equine nodded and looked back at Leo with a crooked smile. "I like you, Lieutenant. You're brave enough to admit you could be a coward under fire. That's why I think you won't be. But you have no idea how to dig a foxhole. Move over and let me have that shovel, Sir..." he said and motioned for Leo to get out.

Leo grinned and crawled out of the half-finished foxhole, letting the equine have the shovel. "Very well. I'll go get us all some water instead. Looks like we could use it."

Amidst the cheers of his thirsty troops, Leo set out towards the mess hall.

###

So far, things had gone better than Jean had dared hope for. They hadn't been there for more than twenty minutes or so, admittedly, but so far there had been no hard words. Not much had really been said. Not much at all. It was clear that her mother was as nervous as she was. Her father was in the kitchen with Esteban. They had decided to leave mother and daughter alone until they had breached the ice. So far, not much was happening. At least Jean was positive about the fact that nothing bad had been said yet.

Nothing really good had been said either, but that was another matter.

Marie sighed and hung her head. "I..." she began, and once more shook her head. She had done so a lot of times already, as if to say she didn't know how to proceed.

"Mom..." Jean tried, halfway reaching out...and falling back in her seat. She too had tried that approach a lot of times already.

Marie got to her feet and walked to the window, looking out at the garden. Jean looked after her, but didn't know if she was supposed to follow or not. Instead, she remained seated.

"Isn't it...strange...the way life turns?" Marie finally asked. "I didn't...want much from life. I never...really asked for much. A home...a family...not much at all."

Jean was about to answer, but stopped herself. The question had been rhetorical, and she stayed quiet a while yet.

Marie smiled bitterly and looked down, folding her arms over her chest. "We have so few years together...when you think about it. Even if you get your children when you're young, you lose them when they become teenagers, and...you never really get them back. They are a part of you, which tears itself loose, to drift away and become independent. And even if that part comes back once in a while to say hello, it is no longer a part of you. It's well known and familiar...but it is an independent, autonomous being, and most parents...just can't accept that or deal with it," she said. Her voice was thoughtful and quiet.

Still, Jean remained quiet. She wasn't quite sure where her mother was going with all this. It was definitely an improvement to the strange, almost painful quiet that had permeated the room until now, so she didn't want to interrupt and ruin the progress. Instead, she folded one leg over the other and looked attentively at her mother.

"What mother...declares war on her own children?" Marie asked and looked back up and out the window. "I didn't know what to do. I don't know you. I have no idea...who you are. Who you...really are. Don't you see?"

Slowly, Jean nodded. "Yes...I see," she said, quietly. "But...I wanted to let you get to know me. I offered."

"I know you did. But you were a total stranger to me, and...you scared me. You took my son from me. Or...or so I thought..." Marie said. Her voice started to crack. "So I thought..."

"Go on..."

"I thought I had a son. I thought I would have grandchildren, and...that I knew who my son was. Troubled...surely, but...but so many young males are troubled and I tried to help. It is difficult to accept that I could never help, because I never really knew my own child. I have been scared and I have acted foolishly. All because I thought I could force reality to conform to my wishes. All because I never knew you."

Jean nodded, slowly. "Do you want to know me?"

Marie turned her head and looked at Jean for the longest time. "I realized that I really had no right to judge. Who am I to say to another fur what is right and wrong when it isn't my life to live? I guess I remembered...all the things I told you when you were little, Jean..."

Jean stiffened. That...name. Pronounced. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her head from spinning. She was about to answer...

"No...no wait...I'm so sorry," Marie's voice said, desperately, from somewhere in the room.

Jean wasn't exactly sure where. Her head was swimming.

"It was force of habit. Just that. Please...I'm sorry..." Marie whispered, much nearer now. Her voice sounded like she was weeping.

"It's...it's okay, mom...it'll...take some getting used to. I couldn't just...just throw away the name, you know? It was the first thing you and dad gave me..." Jean whispered. Tears were forcing their way out under her eyelids. She couldn't open her eyes.

Marie took her daughter's paws and gave them a little squeeze. "I'm sorry. I really am," she said, quietly.

Jean managed a little smile. "At least...you're wrong about one thing."

"What's that?"

"You might still have grandchildren. Esteban and I could adopt, eventually..."

Marie blinked and fell quiet. Jean opened her eyes slowly, blinking back her tears and looked at her mother again.

"You know...I never even considered that," the older vixen said at last, smiling crookedly. Her eyes had a warm glow to them. "You're right of course. Thank you..."

Jean nodded, just a little. Behind Marie, Esteban was peeking into the room with a look of relief on his face.

"Small steps, mom. Small steps. We don't have to break any Olympic records here. All I need to know is...can you deal with having a daughter instead?"

Marie nodded, slowly. "I could get used to it..." she said and put her arms around Jean at last.

It had been almost seven years since Jean had last felt her mother's arms around her. She shivered from head to toe...then buried her face against Marie's shoulder. She didn't cry. She knew she probably should, but she couldn't remember how. For that long moment, she just let herself be a child again...

...and safe.

###

It was late afternoon. Emma staggered up the stairs, looking like someone had punched her out of senses. She reached a well known door and pushed the doorbell. A moment later, the door was opened and a very confused Lizzy looked at the mink outside.

Confused, that is, for about two seconds before she recovered and pulled Emma inside.

"What on earth happened to you? You look like you haven't slept!" she exclaimed and looked at her friend.

"I haven't..." Emma said, hoarsely. Her throat felt like parchment.

Lizzy blinked. "What's wrong, Emma? Come on...come and sit down, I'll get you something to drink."

Emma shuffled into the living room and fell onto a couch. "I'm...very tired but I can't sleep," she said, drowsily.

Lizzy headed to the kitchen and returned with some lemonade for them both. "Why not?" she asked, confused and quite concerned.

For a moment, the mink wasn't quite sure how to explain. She remembered all the feelings she had experienced when coming back to her apartment the day before, when she had found the graffiti on the walls and on her front door. Mostly because those feelings had never left her in the meantime. Confusion, anger and horror mixed with doubt and self loathing which she fought furiously to avoid submitting to.

"I don't know how to deal with this," she whispered. "I think Jeremy's family and...and whatever friends he had paid a visit to my home while I was at the wedding."

Lizzy prided herself on being quick on the uptake and she immediately narrowed her eyes. "Did those shits vandalize your home or something?" she asked.

"N...not exactly..." Emma tried, searching for every word. "They painted words on my door and...and next to my door and..."

Groaning, Lizzy put her face in her paws. "Bastards. Dirty...rotten...no good, filthy pieces of..." she began and stopped herself just short of something incredibly obscene and vile. "Did you report this to the police?"

"Yeah...after my neighbor found me sitting in front of my door...he called the cops. He said he hadn't heard a thing. I believe him. It's not exactly as if painting messages of hate is a noisy thing. The paint was still wet when I came home. They had done it recently."

"What did the cops say?"

Emma shrugged and looked at the doe across the table. She was still laying on her side. More than anything, she wanted to sleep but she wasn't quite sure if she could.

"They'd look into it. I think they'll probably fine Jeremy's family for it if they did it. But...they got their message across Lizzy. It's not...over yet," she said, swallowing and trying to keep the lump in her throat from choking her.

"Like Hell it isn't!" Lizzy burst out and sprang to her feet. "No way I'm sitting on my one hundred and eleven while my friends are being harassed that way! First of all, Emma, you are not going back to that apartment!"

"I'm not?" the mink asked, a little confused. "But...but I live there..."

Lizzy shook her head. "Leo isn't home, and won't be for a long time. You'll move in with me, right here, until further notice. We'll go hunting for a place for you to live, when I'm not at work, you hear me? You're moving! And we'll get everyone to help with it, too. New home, Emma. Someplace without a history, for you. Someplace where you can have a fresh start."

Emma nodded. That did make sense and...it sounded terribly appealing. "Maybe I should call my parents...?"

"You mean you haven't yet?"

"Erhm...no. Just the cops. You know they live on the west coast..."

Lizzy nodded. Emma almost never saw her parents because of the distance. They did speak on the phone regularly, that much she knew. Mr. Grey had offered to fly to Ohio for the trial but...Emma had told him he shouldn't bother. Lizzy didn't know for sure but she had the distinct feeling that money was quite scarce in Emma's family. She realized she knew very little about the Grey's in general. Of course...she couldn't blame Emma for keeping her cards close to her body. She, herself, didn't talk about her own past or family. Not even Leo knew what her childhood had been like. It was a silent understanding that they never spoke of it.

Perhaps...it was time to stop being so secretive and start putting cards on the table instead.

"Emma...I'll help you, every way I can. I promise. We'll find you a job too, you hear? But you're not going back to that apartment except to pack. And then only in the company of your friends. Jeremy's family won't ruin your life. We won't let them. You won, paws down. There wasn't even a trial. You acted in self defense, and the evidence was so overwhelming the court dismissed the case. A fur died, and the court dismissed the case. Do you have any idea how much evidence that takes?"

Emma nodded quietly. "I know I won. I know I'm not a murderer or anything else that they called me," she said, softly. "I want to be strong again, Lizzy. I just...don't know how to stand up and face the world right now."

Lizzy nodded. "Then you ask your friends to give you a paw up. You'll be strong again, Emma. We've seen how you can be...all of us...and we miss it. Will you let us help you?"

Emma slowly sat up on the couch. She shook her head and managed the weakest of smiles. "You don't understand. I have to stand up on my own. I have to...to prove to myself that I can do it without everyone else fighting my battles for me."

For a moment, Lizzy considered protesting. The problem was that she could easily see the logic in Emma's statement. Finally, she nodded.

"Very well. At least promise me you will ask for help before you go under. We'll let you do this...your way...entirely...but you have a network and you have to promise you'll use it rather than be stubborn and foolish and break down rather than ask for help. Okay? And I'll still help you find a place to live and a job, whatever you say."

Emma nodded and picked up her lemonade and emptied the glass. It singed her dry and raw throat on the way down but she needed the liquid.

"That's okay. I can accept that kind of help," she said. She blinked a few times. It felt like she had sand in her eyes. Her head started falling down on her shoulder.

She was fast asleep before she hit the couch again.