Quitting

Hope was probably right - Scott most likely wouldn't be able to slip away from Domino at all. Not that he wanted to, but he didn't want to ignore Hope either. Her suggestion makes him laugh softly. "Okay." No sooner had he turned with her towards the kitchen and Domino was back on his heels, the toy in her mouth squeaking with every excited breath.

Scott shakes his head and just continues to the kitchen, letting her tag along. Once there, he finds a chair, making sure he didn't get in Hope's way. Something smelled awfully good, and he hoped he'd be able to eat enough so as not to make her feel as though she'd cooked for nothing.

Feeling something against his leg, he looks down to find Domino, once again, begging for attention. Quirking another grin, he pats her head before accepting the toy and tossing it back into the other room so she'd go chase it. Free for a moment, his gaze roams the kitchen before landing back on Hope. "Thanks... for inviting me over. This is nice." His pulse quickened just a little. How was he supposed to ask what he really wanted to?

"I, um... wasn't sure... I mean..." No, he wasn't going to ask. He's interrupted by Domino again, giving him enough time to come up with something different to say. "I didn't know how things were back here. Justin kept me filled in a little, but not much. I wasn't sure about showing up at TJY, but I think I'm glad I did."


Jason blinks. More permanent? As in...always? He gropes again for any sign of feeling Katie, but there is simply none. What he last knew as a raging river was now completely gone. Forever?

"That's... that's good, right?" Wasn't that what he'd always wanted? To be normal again? To not have to worry about not being able to control his emotions? To not have to worry about hurting Katie?

But as his gaze lingered on her eyes, something told him that neither had really realized what it would be like to no longer be connected. He'd thought being on the regular antidote was as separated as they could feel. He'd been wrong. This... this was true separation, and now he knew the difference.

"So... really? We've been...cured?"


Pausing at the door, Justin was rather surprised by Beth's quick kiss to his cheek and then her sudden departure, leaving him with no time to respond. Grinning a little though, he turns and heads for his pickup. It was a good morning. Despite the dread of going to see Jared, he felt better today than he had in ages. Maybe... just maybe it had something to do with the woman who took the time to care...


"Right..." Gunner closes his swollen eyes, quite content to stay right here sitting in the grass. While he really did want to get back on their walk, as dizzy and sick to his stomach as he was at the moment, he figured he better take Bree's advice and take his time. What he should do was go lie down for an hour or two... but that was no good for a camping trip. He didn't want to waste any of this time - at all.

Finding Bree's hand with his, he gives it a little squeeze. "Sorry," he mumbles and pries open his eyes again, still leaning his head on her shoulder. "I was hoping for...a nice quiet...walk."


"Mm..." Wyatt won't commit to an actual answer to Aerith as to whether or not his day had really been that bad. Accepting the coffee and returning her kiss, he nods at her suggestion. "Sounds like the ultimate cure to me." His eyes remain weary though.

Following Aerith to the living room, he finds a spot next to her on the couch and takes a slow sip of coffee. His fingers run over her hand absentmindedly as he stares at the wall...or off into space. Sitting quietly for several moments, it didn't feel awkward. One of the many things he loved about Aerith was that when he needed to talk, she let him, and when he needed silence, she allowed that, too. He appreciated her ability to see deeper than the outside - she read him better than anybody.

Finally though, he knows he needs to get things off his chest lest he explode. Swallowing another sip of coffee, he sighs. He felt hurt and angry, even though his tone remained quiet. "I got put on probation tonight." He shakes his head. "We weren't given all the facts, we did what we thought was right - what was right - and I got put on probation for it."

His finger taps his coffee cup as the wheels in his mind turn. "I'm thinking about quitting."


Hearing Ashlee's explanation and seeing the look on her face, Mick knew she was telling the truth. Though he was still angry, he couldn't deny the innocence in the girl's eyes.

Catching Stacy's glance, he gives her a slight nod. Now wasn't the time for them to discuss anything - it was obvious Ashlee did need help with her ankle, and mother and daughter needed to sort through things as well.

Even after they'd walked away, Mick remains where he is, wandering only to lean on the fence. He needed to cool off before doing anything else and he knew it. He was so very angry with Dylan... and hurt, too. Maybe he'd jumped the gun... maybe he'd come to the wrong conclusion... but the way his son had yelled at him... had emphasized the lack of respect... whether Mick deserved it or not, it still stung.

Growling in frustration, Mick's fist touches down on the fence post. That hurt too. But he didn't care much.

"Were you right?"

Mick spins around to see Sparky. His eyes narrow and he looks back out into the setting sun.

Sparky dares to come closer. "Well? Were you right about Dylan?"

Mick grits his teeth. But he couldn't skirt around the truth. "No."

Sparky nods. He'd thought as much. He'd been sure Dylan wouldn't take advantage of Ashlee. "Heard you guys yelling while I was clear back in the barn," he comments. "Thought you might need a referee there a few times."

Mick didn't find it funny and tosses his brother an annoyed look. "Look, if you wanna say 'I told you so' just say it, alright?"

Sparky sighs and leans on the fence beside him. "I don't think I need to." He waits a moment then gives Mick a sidelong glance. "You okay?"

For some reason, Sparky's calm presence was beginning to defuse Mick's anger, and he shrugs. "Naw, not really."

For what seemed the longest time, the two brothers simply stand and talk, though no one would ever know for sure what was said. The result, though, was Mick being far less angry when walking away, and perhaps kicking himself for having accused too quickly...


"Dylan, we need to talk." Mick raps his knuckles on the bunkhouse door.

Inside, Dylan sat on the floor near his bed with his knees halfway to his chest to act as armrests. His eyes drift to the door, but he doesn't speak.

"Dylan," Mick warns. "Answer me."

Why should he? It was open. If Mick wanted to come in, he could, and Dylan wasn't going to get up. There wasn't much point in saying anything at all. Mick had already made up his mind about everything today, so nothing really mattered.

Mick sighs and finally tries the doorknob, finding it unlocked. Stepping inside, he lets his eyes adjust to the dim light before spotting Dylan on the floor. He lets the door fall shut again and wanders to a chair to sit down. For several moments, the bunkhouse is quiet.

Mick studies his son's quiet demeanor, unsure where to go from here. Part of him was sorry, and part of him felt his actions had been justified. Where was the line? And where did things stand between them? "What happened, today, Dylan?"

Silence.

"Please tell me."

Dylan eventually lifts his eyes, giving his father a dim look. "Why? You didn't believe me earlier, why should you now?"

Mick sighs again. "I'm sorry I was so upset, and I'm sorry for hitting you - I shouldn't have, even if I did disapprove of your language. I don't have any excuse for losing my temper. But you do realize what it looked like out there today, don't you?"

"Sure," Dylan scoffs. "You don't trust me. That's what it looked like. And you can take your apology and shove it. If I'da wanted to hit you back, I would've."

Mick swallows hard. Folding his hands, his fingers tighten around each other as he struggles to remain calm. "Ashlee confirmed you two weren't off doing what it looked like."

Dylan's lips curl into an angry sort of grin. "Yeah... yeah, when she says it, you'll trust it. But not me. Not the guy with the history. I can't be trusted, can I?"

"It's not that simple. I-"

"Really? It sure looks like it to me. Soon as we went missing, you assumed I was off doing a dirty deed because I'd done it plenty times before, right? Figured I found a girl who liked me and would follow me, so she'd make an easy target, right?" Dylan shakes his head. "My word means nothing to you. All you see is the past, and that's all you'll ever see." He scoffs. "And you still wonder why it's not you I'd confide in. Maybe you're not as smart as I thought you were."

In all honesty, Mick felt like pummeling his son for mouthing off, but he remains seated, allowing several more moments to pass. He was hurt and upset and at a total loss as what to do. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions," he admits. "Though I doubt many would blame me, since it was only a matter of putting pieces together. Regardless, apparently there was nothing wrong done, I wanted to apologize for slapping you, and I wanted to make sure you were alright so we could move on."

"Alright? You wanted to make sure I was alright?" Dylan's eyebrows rise in sarcastic surprise. "All you wanted to do was come here and justify your actions even though you were wrong."

Mick bites his tongue from snapping back at him. Perhaps there was some truth there, but part of his actions still felt justified. "What do you want me to do, Dylan? What happened today happened and I can't change it. Whether I was wrong or right really isn't the point anymore. It's time to move on and I want to make sure that this isn't going to affect what happens from here on out."

"You mean you wonder if I'll be cleaning stalls tomorrow like always and not sitting in here sulking."

"That's not what-"

"Look, why don't you just let it drop? You obviously want to forget this ever happened, so go right ahead. Forget it. Go on with whatever it is you were doing and leave me alone."

"I want to-"

"Seriously. Leave." Dylan's eyes narrow. "I want to be left alone."

Mick wanted to argue. He wanted to try and get his son to understand his side of things and work it out to resolve this awful tension between them. But apparently tonight wasn't the night. Sad but knowing he needed to give up for now, he rises from the chair. "Okay. We'll talk more another time."

Watching his father leave, Dylan fights the burning sensation in his eyes. Only after the door is shut does he dare mutter under his breath, "There won't be another time." Today was the last straw. He couldn't take this anymore...

...It was after supper and dark. Dylan hadn't shown up for the evening meal, but had hibernated in his bunk. Only now had he dared emerge, and even then it was only to avoid detection as he headed for Stacy and Ashlee's bunkhouse. He knew Stacy was probably making her after-dinner rounds, so hopefully his timing was right.

Seeing a light on, Dylan comes up under an open window, knowing that it was Ashlee's bedroom. "Psst... Ash?" He was royally embarrassed about the things he'd said in front of her earlier, and if he was, surely she was mortified. He needed to know if they were still friends. Not to mention, he still hadn't found out if her ankle was any worse than sprained. "You okay?" he whispers hoarsely.