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For all the DxC fans everywhere.
This takes place immediately following 'Greece's Pieces'.

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"This ain't a silly little moment. It's not the storm before the calm.
This is the deep and dying breath of this love that we've been working on.
Can't seem to hold you like I want to—just to feel you in my arms.
Nobody's gonna come and save us; we've pulled too many false alarms"
-Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, John Mayer

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Contrary to what Chris and the team named after him often insinuated, Cody was still a guy. And as a guy, the smallest total drama boy still had in his masculine genome a deeply ingrained aversion to crying girls.

However, with a dreaded 10 hour flight in front of them and enough intra-team tension to make first class actually feel crowded, Cody was seriously starting to consider overriding his genes for the sake of his frayed nerves.

"Maybe someone should go talk to her," he whispered to Heather when Courtney's crying in the bathroom started shredding the very last of his shredded nerves. Sierra was sleeping beside him—using his earplugs, his eye cover and his blanket from home—and all the blinds were pulled down for a pseudo-night effect to convince them to rest through the changing time zones. This was made infinitely more difficult and confusing by the bright and blazing sun outside.

Heather lifted her eyes from the magazine she'd been reading by overhead light and glanced behind her to where Gwen was sitting with her headphones on, hugging her knees to her chest in the dark. She was staring at the toes of her boots with half lidded eyes, looking dismal. Not quite sleeping but not completely aware either.

"I'm not talking to Weird Goth Homewrecker, thank you very much," Heather replied, leisurely turning a page of her tabloid, returning her attention to the glossy pages. "You are free to carry your torch for her until it eventually lights you on fire but do not expect me to assist."

"Not her," Cody corrected, casting a quick glance at Gwen and then away before his stomach twisted into too many painful knots. Leaning a little across the row to Heather in front of him, he whispered a little lower, "I meant Courtney. She's been in there for hours now. Don't you think someone should go…talk to her? Or something?"

Now the queen bee drew her gaze to Cody, a critical and withering look she had perfected over many years that made Cody feel very small and his question sound very idiotic. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked you were still Team Gwen, weren't you? Or are you switching sides faster than the dickweed delinquent?"

"Huh? No! I mean—it's not…" Cody scratched the back of his neck, glancing away uncomfortably as he struggled for a way to present his point without sounding like a guy. Or like Duncan. "I just thought…she and Gwen were really buddying up before London and…well, now she doesn't have anyone to talk to and…um," He faltered for a moment.

"…You're a girl too, right?" he finished awkwardly, not actually wanting to say what he was thinking. That if he and Courtney's positions had been reversed (and in a parallel timeline, they easily could have been), he would have wanted someone to talk to. But not acting like a guy was one thing; admitting that he would have wanted to 'talk about his feelings' was the kind of emotional cannon fodder people like Heather knew how to use best—and Cody knew better than to just hand it over.

Heather was still giving him that razor sharp glare that made it very difficult for him to talk with her. "Last I checked, I wasn't a guy if that's what you were asking," the girl across from him replied sharply, sarcastically. A moment later though, to Cody's great surprise, she dropped her eyes hastily to her pages and held the magazine up to herself in a manner that looked almost—defensive. "And I'm not exactly an expert in girl heart-to-hearts," she added, voice lower than her usual pitch.

"I'll go talk to Courtney!" Sierra said suddenly, startling Cody. He jumped and turned to his personal stalker who was wide awake, earplugs out, and eye cover holding her loose hair back like a headband. "I don't really like her all that much—especially since she keeps making fun of my Cody," she added fiercely, shaking a fist in the general direction of the confession can (and Courtney).

"Buuuut," she went on a moment later, touching a finger to her lips and giving Cody a coveting look, "If my Cody can forgive her, I can go talk to her for him!"

"I thought you were asleep!" Cody exclaimed in a hushed voice reflexively, even though there wasn't anyone sleeping anymore.

"The sound of your voice has been my alarm clock for two and a half years," Sierra gushed proudly, crushing Cody's head to her chest enthusiastically and almost yanking him out of his seat.

"Fine, it's settled then. Sierra will go deal with Courtney," Heather announced without looking up from her magazine.

The super-fan let out a small squeal and released Cody to unbuckle herself and head over to the airplane bathroom where the crying could still be heard.

"Wait! Wait!" Cody hissed, waving his arms before Sierra made it a row in the direction she was going. The purple haired girl stopped in her tracks immediately, turning back to the love of her life; Heather's eyes darted back up to him, plain annoyed now.

He realized he was still whispering, even though he knew Gwen was wearing earphones and their voices couldn't carry past the confession lavatory to the economy class. It was more the nature of his words that he didn't want to say too loud. Cody exhaled a huge sigh. He couldn't believe he was saying it at all, but…

"I'll go talk to her," he said decidedly. Then, unbuckling his own seatbelt and dusting off some of Sierra's hair glitter that had rubbed off on him, Cody walked the few steps over to the girls, hoping that his excuses would be enough to stave them off.

"I appreciate you offering, Sierra," he explained, holding his palms out and picking his words carefully to not upset and/or enrage his biggest fan, "but you're just so, uh, energetic and…" –be tactful, be tactful— "full of life," he complimented, "that Courtney might not appreciate the gesture as much. I think this calls for a more subdued approach, okay?"

Sierra looked thrilled at the high praise for all of about four seconds before Heather, eyeing Cody suspiciously, slowly lowered her magazine and commented pointedly, "You sure seem awfully concerned for the well-being of the newly single enemy of the girl who won't give you the time of day."

It took Cody a moment to catch Heather's meaning. After a brief moment of processing (and mercifully before Sierra caught on), Cody immediately began shaking his head and hands rapidly in an attempt to wave off Heather's accusation. "No! What? No! Naw, it's nothing like that!" he insisted, still shaking his head vigorously then clutching at his hair. "I just can't stand the crying anymore! I can't bear another minute of it, let alone another nine hours!" Admitting the partial truth, he decided, was way better than having Heather and Sierra think he was making a move on any part of that Total Drama Love Triangle. (Uh, any part that wasn't Gwen, that is.)

"Honest!" he added, when Heather's gaze didn't waver and Sierra's was still trying to decipher Heather's accusation. Cody then went on to explain, "Guys are prone to avoid crying girls at all costs. And on a plane like this, where we can't go anywhere, it's just—"

"All right then," Heather said suddenly, slapping her magazine shut and tossing it into the seat next to her. "You go 'talk' to Courtney," she instructed smoothly as she unbuckled and stood up, "and I'll keep watch at the door." She sent another look his way, implying a dual purpose to her offer that was meant to slide by Sierra who was still trying to process something in her head. I'll be keeping an eye on you, it said. "Sierra, sit. Stay."

Looking at Cody instead of Heather as she sat compliantly, Sierra called in a low voice, "Go be chivalrous, my knight in shining armor! And if she makes a move on you, let me know and I'll hack her to pieces in her sleep!"

"Um, okay…" Cody muttered as he and Heather headed to the confessional/bathroom, brushing by Gwen who didn't move or react in any way to say that she had noticed them at all. She could have already fallen asleep for all he knew.

In the two seconds it took them to pass by her, however, Cody briefly entertained the thought of resting a hand on her shoulder, just for a moment. Maybe petting her head, asking her what was wrong, offering her water; he imagined her gratitude at his compassion, imagined him holding her in his arms as she cried. Then a second later he realized that doing so would only escalate his main problem by adding another crying girl to grate on his nonexistent nerves. So he passed by unnoticed. But he let his gaze wander as he passed her, at the colored strands of her hair as they fell down her neck and over her face like waves on the dark ocean of her mind. (Oooh, that was a good line. He had to remember to add that to the Drama Brothers song he was writing for her.)

Heather's shove snapped him out of his Gwen obsessing. "Let's just get this over with," she hissed at him, herding him towards the lavatory, "so I can try to get some sleep tonight. Today. Whatever."

"You do know you don't have to come," he reminded her as they shoved into the little hallway where the plane's only bathroom was with a broken door and a crying Counselor in Training behind it.

Heather scoffed. "Yes I do," she shot back. "This team doesn't need any more drama than it's already getting and since I'm the only sane person on it," she stressed, "it's my responsibility to keep it that way."

"Well, uh, since you're here anyway…" Cody hedged, grinning sheepishly as he asked, "could you talk to her?" He was clinging to the smallest hope that he could still find a way out of his awkward predicament.

"No," Heather said simply, glaring again. "I told you, I'm not good at—" she started, then faltered, backtracked, and changed her argument. "Her crying isn't bothering me, now is it?"

It was a lie simply by the fact that Heather had slipped up because otherwise, the words flowed sleekly past her lips in a practiced manner. The thought that Heather could lie so well concerned Cody but was nowhere near the matter at hand.

"Now go in there and do whatever it is you plan on doing," the queen bee commanded, pointing to the busted door. "I'll keep watch in case Team Chris is a Douchebag tries anything."

Cody really looked at the door for the first time: light was spilling out into the dark hallway all around the edges and through the busted door lock which was stuck between the green 'Vacant' and red 'Occupied' signs. Courtney's crying was actually a lot louder up close than he thought it was. He sure hoped for Courtney's sake that the economy class was all asleep.

Plucking up his nerve and swallowing hard (while still wishing for any near-death scenario to either save him from what he was about to do or get the girl inside to stop crying), Cody knocked lightly on the door.

Before he could identify himself or ask anything, there was a BANG! on the side of the door that made both Cody and Heather jump. "I don't care who you are or what number you need to do! Go away!" Courtney's voice yelled angrily from inside, thick with tears and breaking on every other syllable. "I have pepper spray and unless you want me to use it, pee in your pants!"

"Um, hey Courtney. It's Cody," the boy outside said meekly because he couldn't think of another single thing to say. Oh dear. This wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped it would be. "Are—uh, are you okay?"

"No!" the voice from inside spat out in between two heavy sobs. "Leave me alone," she reiterated miserably, the full fledged crying commencing once more.

At a loss for what else to do to remedy his problem, Cody looked to Heather whose gaze only narrowed as she indicated to the door with her head. The buck-toothed boy sighed. "Just—just don't go too far," he implored her, eyes pleading for backup he knew he would need.

"Wouldn't dream of it," was the raven head's reply, eyes sharp as glass.

Very quietly and very slowly, Cody started to pull the unlocked door open just enough that he could see a little inside the bathroom bathed in white by a florescent light bulb. He couldn't see the crying girl; though her presence was obvious in the ocean of tear filled tissues and toilet paper littering the floor. "I, uh, kinda need to wash my hands, Courtney," he tried again, scrambling for an excuse to be there and finding one. "Can I come in without being sprayed?"

"I don't CARE!" her voice replied, jumping up a pitch with the 'care' before crying even harder.

He stepped into the small bathroom (small in general; it was large as far as airplane bathrooms went) and to his surprise saw that Courtney was sitting on the floor instead of on the toilet. She'd removed the wastepaper basket and was huddled in the tiny corner, wedged between the wall and the toilet itself, hugging her legs to her chest, pressing her face into her knees, in a way that was so familiar that in Cody's mind's eye, her brown hair briefly flashed to teal.

He noted that she was decidedly out of view from the confession camera. Above him, the mike that usually hung low to record their voices was a frayed mess of wires.

Not knowing what to say or how to say it even if he did, he shuffled through the small flood of tissues to the sink and turned the faucet on full blast. If fate felt like being favorable on Courtney, maybe the roar of the plane's engines plus the roar of falling water would be loud enough to drown out the crying from Heather and the cabins outside. Cody took his time to wash his hands, lathering slowly as he listened to Courtney crying wretchedly, blubbering something to herself every few seconds. He was begging his brain to think of something to say. Anything would have done at that moment. Maybe he should have just let Sierra come talk to her because he really wasn't getting anywhere.

Another thing he'd never admit aloud was that he had a fair share of friends in his high school of the opposite sex—girls who had in one way or another shot him down nicely, agreeing to the cursed "just friends" contract which, while disheartening at first, actually turned into the advantage of having a pretty decently stocked reservoir of X chromosome advice. Most of which he did not, would not, and could not understand (no matter how many ways it was kindly rephrased for him) and the remainder of which he had never managed to employ successfully.

He sighed and turned slowly, drying his hands on his pants and not turning off the faucet. He had something that might have maybe resembled a comforting sentence in mind when he caught sight of something in Courtney's grip that froze the blood in his veins.

"Whoa, uh, wow. Courtney? Um, hey…" he started nervously, taking a step towards her with his palms held out. "Look, I get that Duncan turned out to be a total creep and everything, but we make mistakes all the time! You know, we, uh, all make mistakes. Often! And, um—a lot." Cody inched towards her a little more, "This isn't something that requires such—such drastic action. Kay?"

Courtney lifted her head from her knees. He hadn't really noticed that Courtney wore eye makeup until he saw it streaking down her cheeks. She stared at him through red, puffy eyes, hiccupping for a second before replying with an earnestly confused, "What?"

"We can…we can talk about this! Okay?" Cody insisted, panic propelling him another small step closer to her. "There's no need to do anything we…might regret later—right?"

Courtney looked to him a moment longer as he gestured for her to give him the switchblade, then at the folded knife itself. When her gaze returned to Cody, she'd somehow managed to throw him an extremely irritated look while still looking pathetic and miserable at the same time.

"I'm not going to use it, you idiot," she snapped, her voice sounding insulted (but surprisingly even). She gripped it tighter and looked at it again when she sniffled and said, "It's—It was, Duncan's."

"Oh, um—"

"He gave it to me. At the end of TDI, when we were leaving Playa de Losers. He said…" For a second it looked like she wasn't going to be able to finish because the tears were going to overpower her but she rushed, "He—He said he wanted me to have it because—because he wasn't always going to be there to take care of me and—and—and—!"

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"And I'm not always gonna be around to be watching your behind. Fine as it is."

"Well, you sure have an interesting taste in…gifts…" she hedges, putting down a suitcase to accept the folded blade cautiously.

He huffs, looking annoyed, maybe exasperated.

"C'mon, cut me some slack here! We're stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere. It's not like I can go out a buy you something decent. It was this or the tiny shampoo bottles in my bathroom."

"You really are hopeless, aren't you?" she sighs, rolling her eyes at this. He manages a smile, mood brightened, more at her response than anything else.

Turning the folded knife in her hands, she weighs it and asks, "Don't you need this? What if you come across a convenience store and just have to break into it? Or what if you come across some tree you must defile?"

"Ha ha," he snarks, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. "Don't worry about it. I've got like six more."

He pulls out another one and twirls it in his hand like a baton, smirking. "We notorious criminals are always prepared."

For a moment, her face falls, the significance of the gift decreased, before she forces the smile again and goes to put the blade away.

She readies a nonchalant comment but he quickly stalls her hand and takes the blade back from her.

Her face shows more than she knows because he goes on to explain, "But I've always been partial of My Girl Friday."

An eyebrow hikes. "You name your switchblades?" It was such a guy thing to do.

He sends her a playful 'Who doesn't?' smirk that leaves her wanting to kiss him.

"See, Friday's a little heavier than my other blades, kinda temperamental too." He twirls her. "Never does anything I tell her to and when she does, it's never when I want it."

As if to demonstrate, he tries to flick the blade out but it stalls. Scowling at it, he bangs it a few times against the wall beside them to no avail.

She can't help but giggle at the look on his face.

"So yeah, she's got something of a personality. Kind of a bitch," he adds, smirking at her glare in response to that comment. He hands the blade back to her. "She's my second favorite of them all."

"So the gift isn't just a switchblade. It's a defective switchblade?" she clarifies testily even as she accepts it back from him, eying it wearily.

But his next words are all he needs to say to win her over. "She helped me carve your other gift. The skull?"

Examining first the boy across her and then the jammed switchblade again, she flicks it near the base. The blade immediately flips out.

"Aw, she likes you," he croons, his eyes playful. She rolls hers as she grabs her suitcase and pockets the knife.

"I expect jewelry and/or makeup when we're back on the mainland. Got it?"

"Yes, your majesty."

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Now Courtney resumed crying, worse than even before Cody had arrived. He cringed, every reflex he possessed begging him to get the heck away, but he forced himself to creep a little closer to pat her head, ever so gently. He tried to say something comforting but only managed a meek, "Um, there, there…"

"I hate her!" Courtney shouted, body shaking with sobs even under Cody's (not very helpful) hand. This wasn't new, though. Cody had been hearing that statement pepper her tears for almost the entirety of the evening. What was new, however, were the words that followed. "I hate him! I—I hate me! I hate me…"

She forcefully buried her face in her knees again, looking like she was trying to will the universe to swallow her whole. "It's all my fault!" she screamed, the sound muffled by her legs.

Cody pulled his hand back quickly, startled by the sheer volume of the exclamation. But also to some degree because he never expected condescendingly confident and prissily proud Courtney to somehow be remotely capable of self loathing, even with all things considered. "C'mon, Courtney. You, ehm, you know it's not your fault," he attempted to console as he slowly lowered himself down onto the seat of the toilet just beside her—albeit, on the furthest end possible from Courtney and the nerve-frying crying.

"It is!" she sobbed. "I—I knew it!"

Cody sighed. He knew for a fact (because he'd tried) that he was incapable of finding it in himself to hate Gwen. Or be mad at her. Or even look upon her with anything other than adoration, under any and all circumstances. But he had more than enough animosity for Duncan, and for a kaleidoscope of reasons outside of these most recent developments, and had no qualms about pinning the entire mess on him.

"Courtney, Duncan—"

He was unable to get any further as Courtney talked over him, seemingly forgetting Cody was even there.

"I mean, I never even knew why he liked me in the first place! He…he never should have liked me in the first place! If he hadn't, I never would have—have cared about him at all!" she sobbed.

Burrowing her face further into her legs, she was making it difficult for Cody to make out what she was saying. After catching a few words here and there and feeling unreasonably guilty about it, Cody realized he probably wasn't meant to hear what she was saying at all. Which made his situation all that more awkward…

But as Courtney went on rambling to herself, Cody scrambled through all that useless girl advice he'd received to find something to say to remind her of his presence. That would hopefully get her to stop crying too. And maybe lift her spirits. Also make her forget about Duncan. (Though in the state Courtney was in, he knew he would be lucky enough just to remind her that he was sitting next to her.)

"I mean, I know I'm not the kind of girl guys date!" she was blubbering, voice muffled. "I'm too headstrong and—and pushy and a perfectionist at everything! And I know boys abhor that in a girl!" Then, an octave lower, she mumbled miserably, "I'm not even all that pretty."

"Eh, um, look," Cody started half heartedly as Courtney took a pause to breathe and cry some more. He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he struggled to find some non-cliché words of comfort. "I, uh, guess this probably doesn't mean much coming from me and all but, um," he checked the door, hoping against hope that Sierra had gone back to sleep or that his sink water diversionary tactic would drown out his voice. He choked down his male pride, feeling the blood pooling in his face, and said in a low voice, "you really are. Pretty, I mean! Not, un-dateable or…whatever it was you were saying before. Because I kinda missed some of that…"

Instead of being cheered up by the stumbling words of praise, or flattered—or at least appreciative enough to stop crying so much—Courtney huffed at the comment through one of her sobs, sounding like a ghost of the prideful person she'd been yesterday. "No I'm not," she spat angrily, like Cody had insulted her. "I have freckles everywhere. And my hair is different shades of brown all over the place. And one of my boobs is bigger than the other, and—"

Cody stopped her there, the blood really pooling in his face now. He lied, "Guys—hehe—guys don't really care about those sorts of things. It's, um, who you are that really—"

"I'M A SHREW!" she wailed, throwing her head up and startling Cody so badly, he fell off the other end of the toilet seat. "I'm a bitch and a horrible person! I fight with people on purpose to keep them off their f-feet so they don't get close to me because if—if they did, they'd hate me!"

Courtney released the death grip she'd had on her legs, her forearms red and marked with the fabric of her capris in testament to her strength, and pushed her fisted hands, one still holding the switchblade, against her eyes. She stomped her feet, exclaiming as she cried, "And I knew this would happen! I—I knew it! The second he really saw me, he was going to—to pack up his bags and hightail it! So I had to push him away! Oh, don't give me that look!" she said abruptly, yanking her hands from her face to glare viciously at a confused and slightly frightened Cody who was peeking up from the other end of the toilet seat where he'd fallen. (And who honestly hadn't been giving her any look at all.) "I had that defense mechanism up and running long before he came around!"

"But…I don't…get it," Cody hedged slowly, fully aware that he treaded in the deep, untested, and possibly lethal waters that were the currents of Courtney's unpredictable temperament. No matter how he tried to descramble her words in his mind, his brain just wasn't wrapping around the thought. He decided to take a chance as he so very slowly pulled himself up from the floor, suggesting as carefully as he could, "You were…mean to him…so that he wouldn't see how…mean you were?"

"No!" Courtney shouted at him, reprimanding and he flinched at this, ducking back behind the toilet. But then, she whimpered as her anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flourished and the sorrow seemed to rush in on her again.

She started crying again, curling in on herself once more. Like if she was small enough, she would disappear entirely.

"I was—I was mean to him so he would—oh god—so he wouldn't see that I wasn't—worth it! That I wasn't—oh god!—w-worth his time or his inexplicable dedication or worth—worth him! And that's not even the worst part," she went on, the crying slowing to a stutter and a hiccup as Cody looked on, absolutely at a loss for words (but secretly grateful to the powers that be that Courtney seemed to be running out of energy to cry all by herself—because he surely hadn't been getting anywhere.) "The worst part was that he convinced me! It took two whole damn seasons and three breakups for him to convince me that maybe he wasn't completely crazy. Crazy in…"

Courtney trailed off, running a hand through her hair but leaving it buried in her auburn tresses. Cody thought he should have said something then since the available pauses in their conversation (if it could even be called one) were few and far between, but Courtney finished her thought a moment later, and in a low voice, whispered, "Crazy in loving me."

Here she closed her eyes dejectedly, hiccupping one more time, before adding, "I should have never told him I loved him too."

Though it should have been impossible, hearing her say those words surprised Cody more than anything else Courtney had said to him (or yelled at him) since he'd intruded in on her wallowing. As a result, he couldn't stop himself from just…staring at her a bit. Like he'd never seen the girl across the toilet seat from him before.

Because, yeah, sure, he knew Courtney and Duncan had been on and off, and hot and cold, and flirting, and dancing around each other since day one on Wawanakwa, but he'd never stopped to think at any point that the two might have actually loved each other. In fact, he actually felt slightly naïve for it. All he, all anyone ever saw was the arguing and the bickering and the oddly fitting animal magnetism between them. But anything else?

Cody eased himself up from the floor, taking his seat on the far end of the lid once more, and tapped his forefingers together as he thought of something to say to counter the unanticipated news and the even more unanticipated quiet. He tried to focus on the feeling of his finger pads touching briefly and lightly as Courtney, finally silent at last, stared off into space. The same way he knew not to reveal his thoughts to Heather earlier, his 'Common Sense' Sense told Cody that he was in the worst situation to voice aloud what he was really thinking now: That he actually found it hard to believe that Courtney had honestly thought she and Duncan, with all their innumerable differences, were ever going to make it at all. Because apparently, everyone else had seen it coming.

Even Duncan. And Courtney hadn't.

"You…loved him?" Cody asked at last. The words sounded like a different language coming from his mouth.

"Of course I do," she snapped in present tense, with her signature ire. "I mean, I didn't get around to actually telling him until we were on that cross country, rat-ass race to the Orpah Studio and our bus landed in the ravine where we had to spend the night, but yeah," she amended, not even sparing a glance at to the boy beside her. Cody noted that she conveniently skipped over the part where she was the one who drove them into the ravine in the first place but wisely decided not to bring it up.

Courtney was staring at her exposed toes in her wedges when, after taking a deep breath, she whispered, "I honestly thought we were going to die. Really die. Die in a way so horrible, so grousomely real, Chris McLean would've been spitting mad he didn't think of it himself…and there would've be no contract on earth that could save me from it.

"But I'd kissed him," she added oddly, smiling a little. Very little. Kind of sorrowfully. But enough that Cody noticed. "And we were together again. And the last thing we were going to remember about each other wasn't going to be the other's face screaming across a courtroom. So while we camped out in the freezing desert that night next to the useless bus, I told him how I was going to call off my sharks, and how happy Britney was going to be to have us both together again, and how I really, really, really believed—"

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"—we can honestly make it work this time. As long as you think about doing something with your wardrobe, like washing it occasionally."

"Uh-huh," he replies monotonously. His voice betrays no emotion but she feels the rumble of his baritone across her pillow which is his chest.

"And refrain from eating in any place people might be able to see you," she adds, voice testy.

Even then, she snuggles herself closer to him. "And try to keep a better lid on your hormones when we're places where there are adults present. Yes?"

His reply is distracted, unimportant. "Yup."

And she's trying not to pay attention to the little circles he's rubbing over the small of her back.

She tries to ignore how amazing it feels to have his skin on hers again, to find herself back in his arms again, after so long a war.

The happiness scares her; she presses on.

"And don't think I've forgotten that you promised me you were going to try and get a part time job before the school year and/or the next season, whichever comes first. Got it?"

This time, the response is delayed by a heavy sigh. She rises with it and falls with it just the same, revels in it. And she wishes, illogically, that he do it again.

She dreams that she never again has to be anywhere he is not breathing beneath her.

His voice sounds a hundred years older and a million kilometers more tired when he replies, "Yes, your majesty."

"Good."

More than the joyous contention does, more than the few seconds of free fall ever did, his resigned submission frightens her.

It's unnatural and unexpected when she wants an argument, is trying to pick a fight with him. When all she needs is a guarantee that they've returned to the status quo.

Despite the objections of her soul and heart, she pushes herself up off him, hands on either side of him, though his hand stays just where it is on the smallest of her back.

The glare is on her face before she can even see past his chin.

"And furthermore—" she starts. But she stops at the sight of him. He's not even looking at her.

Staring up at the sliver of night sky visible above them between the canyon walls, a perfect sky without a single city light to disrupt the endless dark peppered with lights, he is lost in thought.

She thinks of that video clip, the last one she saw on the last studio show she was a part of. The only other time she ever saw that look in his eyes.

You think Courtney might be looking at the stars now?

She thinks that she hadn't allowed herself to think about him.

Thoughts of him either only clouded her judgment of the show or fueled her envy towards Gwen. She'd wanted to tell him, then, that she never had a chance to see the stars because she was stuck in the stupid studio half of her time and pacing her hotel room on the phone with her lawyers the other half.

But she can look up at the stars now. Tilt her head right up. There is nothing to stop her. Nothing at all.

Except she can't take her eyes off his face.

"I love you."

The words are simple, said lowly, so much so that for a second she believes she only imagined herself saying them.

The circles on her back stop. In the span of a single blink, his eyes are fixed on hers, and she swears they make the rest of him look infinitely more beautiful in the distant lights.

Irises so ice blue. Like how the sky would look on the best day of your life.

She can't even begin to imagine what her own face looks like. "You…know that, though. Right?"

Still he stares at her though she can't make out his exact expression. Regret wriggles to life inside of her but she beats it down mercilessly before it does more than hatch.

"I mean, I just assumed you weren't completely dense and would be able to figure it out," she adds, her voice picking up its natural tone, and picking up speed with her sudden anxiety.

The words keep coming, her defenses triggered. "Not that I'm always so lenient, mind you. Most of the time I can't even figure out if you have working brain capacity let alone—"

Then, her rambling all he needs to confirm the authenticity of her words, he smiles. It's little, but a real smile. A really happy grin. It's more than she expected.

"—and most days I…What?" she snaps, interrupting herself.

He trails his hand up from her back, over her shoulder, brushing past her throat to cup her face.

In the near-nothing light of the stars, she sees a dark shape under the yellow sleeves of his shirt and her heart flips on itself.

Because he'd never gotten rid of his tattoo.

In the same place on her arm, a scar tingles uncomfortably.

He leans up on his other arm slowly, smoothly, and she swears he secretly feeds off the suspense.

Pulling her face to his when he can't stretch any further, he places a kiss on her brow and the spot burns like a brand.

Unsatisfied, she tilts her face up, against the push of his hand, languidly capturing his lips with hers.

And though she knows it's physically impossible, she swears the Earth stops moving beneath them when he kisses her back.

Soon, it's over. He settles back down, both hands behind his head this time. A moment delayed, she decides to do so as well, one hand wrapped around him like he was a stuffed animal.

It takes her more effort than she expects to keep her mouth shut and let the moment live.

She tangles her legs with his, deflecting her mind's immediate excuse that it's just to stave off the cold.

No objections arise from his end. The sigh he makes now is content, though his torso shakes a little at inhaling all that cold air.

Laying there on his chest, she can't imagine why she hadn't insisted on doing this every waking and sleeping moment they spent together.

Finally, Duncan speaks. The words rumble in his chest, in her ears, as he articulates the words. She finds herself wanting to purr in response as she drifts to sleep.

"I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that, Princess."

Description
For all the DxC fans everywhere.
This takes place immediately following 'Greece's Pieces'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This ain't a silly little moment. It's not the storm before the calm.
This is the deep and dying breath of this love that we've been working on.
Can't seem to hold you like I want to—just to feel you in my arms.
Nobody's gonna come and save us; we've pulled too many false alarms"
-Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, John Mayer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Contrary to what Chris and the team named after him often insinuated, Cody was still a guy. And as a guy, the smallest total drama boy still had in his masculine genome a deeply ingrained aversion to crying girls.

However, with a dreaded 10 hour flight in front of them and enough intra-team tension to make first class actually feel crowded, Cody was seriously starting to consider overriding his genes for the sake of his frayed nerves.

"Maybe someone should go talk to her," he whispered to Heather when Courtney's crying in the bathroom started shredding the very last of his shredded nerves. Sierra was sleeping beside him—using his earplugs, his eye cover and his blanket from home—and all the blinds were pulled down for a pseudo-night effect to convince them to rest through the changing time zones. This was made infinitely more difficult and confusing by the bright and blazing sun outside.

Heather lifted her eyes from the magazine she'd been reading by overhead light and glanced behind her to where Gwen was sitting with her headphones on, hugging her knees to her chest in the dark. She was staring at the toes of her boots with half lidded eyes, looking dismal. Not quite sleeping but not completely aware either.

"I'm not talking to Weird Goth Homewrecker, thank you very much," Heather replied, leisurely turning a page of her tabloid, returning her attention to the glossy pages. "You are free to carry your torch for her until it eventually lights you on fire but do not expect me to assist."

"Not her," Cody corrected, casting a quick glance at Gwen and then away before his stomach twisted into too many painful knots. Leaning a little across the row to Heather in front of him, he whispered a little lower, "I meant Courtney. She's been in there for hours now. Don't you think someone should go…talk to her? Or something?"

Now the queen bee drew her gaze to Cody, a critical and withering look she had perfected over many years that made Cody feel very small and his question sound very idiotic. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked you were still Team Gwen, weren't you? Or are you switching sides faster than the dickweed delinquent?"

"Huh? No! I mean—it's not…" Cody scratched the back of his neck, glancing away uncomfortably as he struggled for a way to present his point without sounding like a guy. Or like Duncan. "I just thought…she and Gwen were really buddying up before London and…well, now she doesn't have anyone to talk to and…um," He faltered for a moment.

"…You're a girl too, right?" he finished awkwardly, not actually wanting to say what he was thinking. That if he and Courtney's positions had been reversed (and in a parallel timeline, they easily could have been), he would have wanted someone to talk to. But not acting like a guy was one thing; admitting that he would have wanted to 'talk about his feelings' was the kind of emotional cannon fodder people like Heather knew how to use best—and Cody knew better than to just hand it over.

Heather was still giving him that razor sharp glare that made it very difficult for him to talk with her. "Last I checked, I wasn't a guy if that's what you were asking," the girl across from him replied sharply, sarcastically. A moment later though, to Cody's great surprise, she dropped her eyes hastily to her pages and held the magazine up to herself in a manner that looked almost—defensive. "And I'm not exactly an expert in girl heart-to-hearts," she added, voice lower than her usual pitch.

"I'll go talk to Courtney!" Sierra said suddenly, startling Cody. He jumped and turned to his personal stalker who was wide awake, earplugs out, and eye cover holding her loose hair back like a headband. "I don't really like her all that much—especially since she keeps making fun of my Cody," she added fiercely, shaking a fist in the general direction of the confession can (and Courtney).

"Buuuut," she went on a moment later, touching a finger to her lips and giving Cody a coveting look, "If my Cody can forgive her, I can go talk to her for him!"

"I thought you were asleep!" Cody exclaimed in a hushed voice reflexively, even though there wasn't anyone sleeping anymore.

"The sound of your voice has been my alarm clock for two and a half years," Sierra gushed proudly, crushing Cody's head to her chest enthusiastically and almost yanking him out of his seat.

"Fine, it's settled then. Sierra will go deal with Courtney," Heather announced without looking up from her magazine.

The super-fan let out a small squeal and released Cody to unbuckle herself and head over to the airplane bathroom where the crying could still be heard.

"Wait! Wait!" Cody hissed, waving his arms before Sierra made it a row in the direction she was going. The purple haired girl stopped in her tracks immediately, turning back to the love of her life; Heather's eyes darted back up to him, plain annoyed now.

He realized he was still whispering, even though he knew Gwen was wearing earphones and their voices couldn't carry past the confession lavatory to the economy class. It was more the nature of his words that he didn't want to say too loud. Cody exhaled a huge sigh. He couldn't believe he was saying it at all, but…

"I'll go talk to her," he said decidedly. Then, unbuckling his own seatbelt and dusting off some of Sierra's hair glitter that had rubbed off on him, Cody walked the few steps over to the girls, hoping that his excuses would be enough to stave them off.

"I appreciate you offering, Sierra," he explained, holding his palms out and picking his words carefully to not upset and/or enrage his biggest fan, "but you're just so, uh, energetic and…" –be tactful, be tactful— "full of life," he complimented, "that Courtney might not appreciate the gesture as much. I think this calls for a more subdued approach, okay?"

Sierra looked thrilled at the high praise for all of about four seconds before Heather, eyeing Cody suspiciously, slowly lowered her magazine and commented pointedly, "You sure seem awfully concerned for the well-being of the newly single enemy of the girl who won't give you the time of day."

It took Cody a moment to catch Heather's meaning. After a brief moment of processing (and mercifully before Sierra caught on), Cody immediately began shaking his head and hands rapidly in an attempt to wave off Heather's accusation. "No! What? No! Naw, it's nothing like that!" he insisted, still shaking his head vigorously then clutching at his hair. "I just can't stand the crying anymore! I can't bear another minute of it, let alone another nine hours!" Admitting the partial truth, he decided, was way better than having Heather and Sierra think he was making a move on any part of that Total Drama Love Triangle. (Uh, any part that wasn't Gwen, that is.)

"Honest!" he added, when Heather's gaze didn't waver and Sierra's was still trying to decipher Heather's accusation. Cody then went on to explain, "Guys are prone to avoid crying girls at all costs. And on a plane like this, where we can't go anywhere, it's just—"

"All right then," Heather said suddenly, slapping her magazine shut and tossing it into the seat next to her. "You go 'talk' to Courtney," she instructed smoothly as she unbuckled and stood up, "and I'll keep watch at the door." She sent another look his way, implying a dual purpose to her offer that was meant to slide by Sierra who was still trying to process something in her head. I'll be keeping an eye on you, it said. "Sierra, sit. Stay."

Looking at Cody instead of Heather as she sat compliantly, Sierra called in a low voice, "Go be chivalrous, my knight in shining armor! And if she makes a move on you, let me know and I'll hack her to pieces in her sleep!"

"Um, okay…" Cody muttered as he and Heather headed to the confessional/bathroom, brushing by Gwen who didn't move or react in any way to say that she had noticed them at all. She could have already fallen asleep for all he knew.

In the two seconds it took them to pass by her, however, Cody briefly entertained the thought of resting a hand on her shoulder, just for a moment. Maybe petting her head, asking her what was wrong, offering her water; he imagined her gratitude at his compassion, imagined him holding her in his arms as she cried. Then a second later he realized that doing so would only escalate his main problem by adding another crying girl to grate on his nonexistent nerves. So he passed by unnoticed. But he let his gaze wander as he passed her, at the colored strands of her hair as they fell down her neck and over her face like waves on the dark ocean of her mind. (Oooh, that was a good line. He had to remember to add that to the Drama Brothers song he was writing for her.)

Heather's shove snapped him out of his Gwen obsessing. "Let's just get this over with," she hissed at him, herding him towards the lavatory, "so I can try to get some sleep tonight. Today. Whatever."

"You do know you don't have to come," he reminded her as they shoved into the little hallway where the plane's only bathroom was with a broken door and a crying Counselor in Training behind it.

Heather scoffed. "Yes I do," she shot back. "This team doesn't need any more drama than it's already getting and since I'm the only sane person on it," she stressed, "it's my responsibility to keep it that way."

"Well, uh, since you're here anyway…" Cody hedged, grinning sheepishly as he asked, "could you talk to her?" He was clinging to the smallest hope that he could still find a way out of his awkward predicament.

"No," Heather said simply, glaring again. "I told you, I'm not good at—" she started, then faltered, backtracked, and changed her argument. "Her crying isn't bothering me, now is it?"

It was a lie simply by the fact that Heather had slipped up because otherwise, the words flowed sleekly past her lips in a practiced manner. The thought that Heather could lie so well concerned Cody but was nowhere near the matter at hand.

"Now go in there and do whatever it is you plan on doing," the queen bee commanded, pointing to the busted door. "I'll keep watch in case Team Chris is a Douchebag tries anything."

Cody really looked at the door for the first time: light was spilling out into the dark hallway all around the edges and through the busted door lock which was stuck between the green 'Vacant' and red 'Occupied' signs. Courtney's crying was actually a lot louder up close than he thought it was. He sure hoped for Courtney's sake that the economy class was all asleep.

Plucking up his nerve and swallowing hard (while still wishing for any near-death scenario to either save him from what he was about to do or get the girl inside to stop crying), Cody knocked lightly on the door.

Before he could identify himself or ask anything, there was a BANG! on the side of the door that made both Cody and Heather jump. "I don't care who you are or what number you need to do! Go away!" Courtney's voice yelled angrily from inside, thick with tears and breaking on every other syllable. "I have pepper spray and unless you want me to use it, pee in your pants!"

"Um, hey Courtney. It's Cody," the boy outside said meekly because he couldn't think of another single thing to say. Oh dear. This wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped it would be. "Are—uh, are you okay?"

"No!" the voice from inside spat out in between two heavy sobs. "Leave me alone," she reiterated miserably, the full fledged crying commencing once more.

At a loss for what else to do to remedy his problem, Cody looked to Heather whose gaze only narrowed as she indicated to the door with her head. The buck-toothed boy sighed. "Just—just don't go too far," he implored her, eyes pleading for backup he knew he would need.

"Wouldn't dream of it," was the raven head's reply, eyes sharp as glass.

Very quietly and very slowly, Cody started to pull the unlocked door open just enough that he could see a little inside the bathroom bathed in white by a florescent light bulb. He couldn't see the crying girl; though her presence was obvious in the ocean of tear filled tissues and toilet paper littering the floor. "I, uh, kinda need to wash my hands, Courtney," he tried again, scrambling for an excuse to be there and finding one. "Can I come in without being sprayed?"

"I don't CARE!" her voice replied, jumping up a pitch with the 'care' before crying even harder.

He stepped into the small bathroom (small in general; it was large as far as airplane bathrooms went) and to his surprise saw that Courtney was sitting on the floor instead of on the toilet. She'd removed the wastepaper basket and was huddled in the tiny corner, wedged between the wall and the toilet itself, hugging her legs to her chest, pressing her face into her knees, in a way that was so familiar that in Cody's mind's eye, her brown hair briefly flashed to teal.

He noted that she was decidedly out of view from the confession camera. Above him, the mike that usually hung low to record their voices was a frayed mess of wires.

Not knowing what to say or how to say it even if he did, he shuffled through the small flood of tissues to the sink and turned the faucet on full blast. If fate felt like being favorable on Courtney, maybe the roar of the plane's engines plus the roar of falling water would be loud enough to drown out the crying from Heather and the cabins outside. Cody took his time to wash his hands, lathering slowly as he listened to Courtney crying wretchedly, blubbering something to herself every few seconds. He was begging his brain to think of something to say. Anything would have done at that moment. Maybe he should have just let Sierra come talk to her because he really wasn't getting anywhere.

Another thing he'd never admit aloud was that he had a fair share of friends in his high school of the opposite sex—girls who had in one way or another shot him down nicely, agreeing to the cursed "just friends" contract which, while disheartening at first, actually turned into the advantage of having a pretty decently stocked reservoir of X chromosome advice. Most of which he did not, would not, and could not understand (no matter how many ways it was kindly rephrased for him) and the remainder of which he had never managed to employ successfully.

He sighed and turned slowly, drying his hands on his pants and not turning off the faucet. He had something that might have maybe resembled a comforting sentence in mind when he caught sight of something in Courtney's grip that froze the blood in his veins.

"Whoa, uh, wow. Courtney? Um, hey…" he started nervously, taking a step towards her with his palms held out. "Look, I get that Duncan turned out to be a total creep and everything, but we make mistakes all the time! You know, we, uh, all make mistakes. Often! And, um—a lot." Cody inched towards her a little more, "This isn't something that requires such—such drastic action. Kay?"

Courtney lifted her head from her knees. He hadn't really noticed that Courtney wore eye makeup until he saw it streaking down her cheeks. She stared at him through red, puffy eyes, hiccupping for a second before replying with an earnestly confused, "What?"

"We can…we can talk about this! Okay?" Cody insisted, panic propelling him another small step closer to her. "There's no need to do anything we…might regret later—right?"

Courtney looked to him a moment longer as he gestured for her to give him the switchblade, then at the folded knife itself. When her gaze returned to Cody, she'd somehow managed to throw him an extremely irritated look while still looking pathetic and miserable at the same time.

"I'm not going to use it, you idiot," she snapped, her voice sounding insulted (but surprisingly even). She gripped it tighter and looked at it again when she sniffled and said, "It's—It was, Duncan's."

"Oh, um—"

"He gave it to me. At the end of TDI, when we were leaving Playa de Losers. He said…" For a second it looked like she wasn't going to be able to finish because the tears were going to overpower her but she rushed, "He—He said he wanted me to have it because—because he wasn't always going to be there to take care of me and—and—and—!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And I'm not always gonna be around to be watching your behind. Fine as it is."

"Well, you sure have an interesting taste in…gifts…" she hedges, putting down a suitcase to accept the folded blade cautiously.

He huffs, looking annoyed, maybe exasperated.

"C'mon, cut me some slack here! We're stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere. It's not like I can go out a buy you something decent. It was this or the tiny shampoo bottles in my bathroom."

"You really are hopeless, aren't you?" she sighs, rolling her eyes at this. He manages a smile, mood brightened, more at her response than anything else.

Turning the folded knife in her hands, she weighs it and asks, "Don't you need this? What if you come across a convenience store and just have to break into it? Or what if you come across some tree you must defile?"

"Ha ha," he snarks, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. "Don't worry about it. I've got like six more."

He pulls out another one and twirls it in his hand like a baton, smirking. "We notorious criminals are always prepared."

For a moment, her face falls, the significance of the gift decreased, before she forces the smile again and goes to put the blade away.

She readies a nonchalant comment but he quickly stalls her hand and takes the blade back from her.

Her face shows more than she knows because he goes on to explain, "But I've always been partial of My Girl Friday."

An eyebrow hikes. "You name your switchblades?" It was such a guy thing to do.

He sends her a playful 'Who doesn't?' smirk that leaves her wanting to kiss him.

"See, Friday's a little heavier than my other blades, kinda temperamental too." He twirls her. "Never does anything I tell her to and when she does, it's never when I want it."

As if to demonstrate, he tries to flick the blade out but it stalls. Scowling at it, he bangs it a few times against the wall beside them to no avail.

She can't help but giggle at the look on his face.

"So yeah, she's got something of a personality. Kind of a bitch," he adds, smirking at her glare in response to that comment. He hands the blade back to her. "She's my second favorite of them all."

"So the gift isn't just a switchblade. It's a defective switchblade?" she clarifies testily even as she accepts it back from him, eying it wearily.

But his next words are all he needs to say to win her over. "She helped me carve your other gift. The skull?"

Examining first the boy across her and then the jammed switchblade again, she flicks it near the base. The blade immediately flips out.

"Aw, she likes you," he croons, his eyes playful. She rolls hers as she grabs her suitcase and pockets the knife.

"I expect jewelry and/or makeup when we're back on the mainland. Got it?"

"Yes, your majesty."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now Courtney resumed crying, worse than even before Cody had arrived. He cringed, every reflex he possessed begging him to get the heck away, but he forced himself to creep a little closer to pat her head, ever so gently. He tried to say something comforting but only managed a meek, "Um, there, there…"

"I hate her!" Courtney shouted, body shaking with sobs even under Cody's (not very helpful) hand. This wasn't new, though. Cody had been hearing that statement pepper her tears for almost the entirety of the evening. What was new, however, were the words that followed. "I hate him! I—I hate me! I hate me…"

She forcefully buried her face in her knees again, looking like she was trying to will the universe to swallow her whole. "It's all my fault!" she screamed, the sound muffled by her legs.

Cody pulled his hand back quickly, startled by the sheer volume of the exclamation. But also to some degree because he never expected condescendingly confident and prissily proud Courtney to somehow be remotely capable of self loathing, even with all things considered. "C'mon, Courtney. You, ehm, you know it's not your fault," he attempted to console as he slowly lowered himself down onto the seat of the toilet just beside her—albeit, on the furthest end possible from Courtney and the nerve-frying crying.

"It is!" she sobbed. "I—I knew it!"

Cody sighed. He knew for a fact (because he'd tried) that he was incapable of finding it in himself to hate Gwen. Or be mad at her. Or even look upon her with anything other than adoration, under any and all circumstances. But he had more than enough animosity for Duncan, and for a kaleidoscope of reasons outside of these most recent developments, and had no qualms about pinning the entire mess on him.

"Courtney, Duncan—"

He was unable to get any further as Courtney talked over him, seemingly forgetting Cody was even there.

"I mean, I never even knew why he liked me in the first place! He…he never should have liked me in the first place! If he hadn't, I never would have—have cared about him at all!" she sobbed.

Burrowing her face further into her legs, she was making it difficult for Cody to make out what she was saying. After catching a few words here and there and feeling unreasonably guilty about it, Cody realized he probably wasn't meant to hear what she was saying at all. Which made his situation all that more awkward…

But as Courtney went on rambling to herself, Cody scrambled through all that useless girl advice he'd received to find something to say to remind her of his presence. That would hopefully get her to stop crying too. And maybe lift her spirits. Also make her forget about Duncan. (Though in the state Courtney was in, he knew he would be lucky enough just to remind her that he was sitting next to her.)

"I mean, I know I'm not the kind of girl guys date!" she was blubbering, voice muffled. "I'm too headstrong and—and pushy and a perfectionist at everything! And I know boys abhor that in a girl!" Then, an octave lower, she mumbled miserably, "I'm not even all that pretty."

"Eh, um, look," Cody started half heartedly as Courtney took a pause to breathe and cry some more. He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he struggled to find some non-cliché words of comfort. "I, uh, guess this probably doesn't mean much coming from me and all but, um," he checked the door, hoping against hope that Sierra had gone back to sleep or that his sink water diversionary tactic would drown out his voice. He choked down his male pride, feeling the blood pooling in his face, and said in a low voice, "you really are. Pretty, I mean! Not, un-dateable or…whatever it was you were saying before. Because I kinda missed some of that…"

Instead of being cheered up by the stumbling words of praise, or flattered—or at least appreciative enough to stop crying so much—Courtney huffed at the comment through one of her sobs, sounding like a ghost of the prideful person she'd been yesterday. "No I'm not," she spat angrily, like Cody had insulted her. "I have freckles everywhere. And my hair is different shades of brown all over the place. And one of my boobs is bigger than the other, and—"

Cody stopped her there, the blood really pooling in his face now. He lied, "Guys—hehe—guys don't really care about those sorts of things. It's, um, who you are that really—"

"I'M A SHREW!" she wailed, throwing her head up and startling Cody so badly, he fell off the other end of the toilet seat. "I'm a bitch and a horrible person! I fight with people on purpose to keep them off their f-feet so they don't get close to me because if—if they did, they'd hate me!"

Courtney released the death grip she'd had on her legs, her forearms red and marked with the fabric of her capris in testament to her strength, and pushed her fisted hands, one still holding the switchblade, against her eyes. She stomped her feet, exclaiming as she cried, "And I knew this would happen! I—I knew it! The second he really saw me, he was going to—to pack up his bags and hightail it! So I had to push him away! Oh, don't give me that look!" she said abruptly, yanking her hands from her face to glare viciously at a confused and slightly frightened Cody who was peeking up from the other end of the toilet seat where he'd fallen. (And who honestly hadn't been giving her any look at all.) "I had that defense mechanism up and running long before he came around!"

"But…I don't…get it," Cody hedged slowly, fully aware that he treaded in the deep, untested, and possibly lethal waters that were the currents of Courtney's unpredictable temperament. No matter how he tried to descramble her words in his mind, his brain just wasn't wrapping around the thought. He decided to take a chance as he so very slowly pulled himself up from the floor, suggesting as carefully as he could, "You were…mean to him…so that he wouldn't see how…mean you were?"

"No!" Courtney shouted at him, reprimanding and he flinched at this, ducking back behind the toilet. But then, she whimpered as her anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flourished and the sorrow seemed to rush in on her again.

She started crying again, curling in on herself once more. Like if she was small enough, she would disappear entirely.

"I was—I was mean to him so he would—oh god—so he wouldn't see that I wasn't—worth it! That I wasn't—oh god!—w-worth his time or his inexplicable dedication or worth—worth him! And that's not even the worst part," she went on, the crying slowing to a stutter and a hiccup as Cody looked on, absolutely at a loss for words (but secretly grateful to the powers that be that Courtney seemed to be running out of energy to cry all by herself—because he surely hadn't been getting anywhere.) "The worst part was that he convinced me! It took two whole damn seasons and three breakups for him to convince me that maybe he wasn't completely crazy. Crazy in…"

Courtney trailed off, running a hand through her hair but leaving it buried in her auburn tresses. Cody thought he should have said something then since the available pauses in their conversation (if it could even be called one) were few and far between, but Courtney finished her thought a moment later, and in a low voice, whispered, "Crazy in loving me."

Here she closed her eyes dejectedly, hiccupping one more time, before adding, "I should have never told him I loved him too."

Though it should have been impossible, hearing her say those words surprised Cody more than anything else Courtney had said to him (or yelled at him) since he'd intruded in on her wallowing. As a result, he couldn't stop himself from just…staring at her a bit. Like he'd never seen the girl across the toilet seat from him before.

Because, yeah, sure, he knew Courtney and Duncan had been on and off, and hot and cold, and flirting, and dancing around each other since day one on Wawanakwa, but he'd never stopped to think at any point that the two might have actually loved each other. In fact, he actually felt slightly naïve for it. All he, all anyone ever saw was the arguing and the bickering and the oddly fitting animal magnetism between them. But anything else?

Cody eased himself up from the floor, taking his seat on the far end of the lid once more, and tapped his forefingers together as he thought of something to say to counter the unanticipated news and the even more unanticipated quiet. He tried to focus on the feeling of his finger pads touching briefly and lightly as Courtney, finally silent at last, stared off into space. The same way he knew not to reveal his thoughts to Heather earlier, his 'Common Sense' Sense told Cody that he was in the worst situation to voice aloud what he was really thinking now: That he actually found it hard to believe that Courtney had honestly thought she and Duncan, with all their innumerable differences, were ever going to make it at all. Because apparently, everyone else had seen it coming.

Even Duncan. And Courtney hadn't.

"You…loved him?" Cody asked at last. The words sounded like a different language coming from his mouth.

"Of course I do," she snapped in present tense, with her signature ire. "I mean, I didn't get around to actually telling him until we were on that cross country, rat-ass race to the Orpah Studio and our bus landed in the ravine where we had to spend the night, but yeah," she amended, not even sparing a glance at to the boy beside her. Cody noted that she conveniently skipped over the part where she was the one who drove them into the ravine in the first place but wisely decided not to bring it up.

Courtney was staring at her exposed toes in her wedges when, after taking a deep breath, she whispered, "I honestly thought we were going to die. Really die. Die in a way so horrible, so grousomely real, Chris McLean would've been spitting mad he didn't think of it himself…and there would've be no contract on earth that could save me from it.

"But I'd kissed him," she added oddly, smiling a little. Very little. Kind of sorrowfully. But enough that Cody noticed. "And we were together again. And the last thing we were going to remember about each other wasn't going to be the other's face screaming across a courtroom. So while we camped out in the freezing desert that night next to the useless bus, I told him how I was going to call off my sharks, and how happy Britney was going to be to have us both together again, and how I really, really, really believed—"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"—we can honestly make it work this time. As long as you think about doing something with your wardrobe, like washing it occasionally."

"Uh-huh," he replies monotonously. His voice betrays no emotion but she feels the rumble of his baritone across her pillow which is his chest.

"And refrain from eating in any place people might be able to see you," she adds, voice testy.

Even then, she snuggles herself closer to him. "And try to keep a better lid on your hormones when we're places where there are adults present. Yes?"

His reply is distracted, unimportant. "Yup."

And she's trying not to pay attention to the little circles he's rubbing over the small of her back.

She tries to ignore how amazing it feels to have his skin on hers again, to find herself back in his arms again, after so long a war.

The happiness scares her; she presses on.

"And don't think I've forgotten that you promised me you were going to try and get a part time job before the school year and/or the next season, whichever comes first. Got it?"

This time, the response is delayed by a heavy sigh. She rises with it and falls with it just the same, revels in it. And she wishes, illogically, that he do it again.

She dreams that she never again has to be anywhere he is not breathing beneath her.

His voice sounds a hundred years older and a million kilometers more tired when he replies, "Yes, your majesty."

"Good."

More than the joyous contention does, more than the few seconds of free fall ever did, his resigned submission frightens her.

It's unnatural and unexpected when she wants an argument, is trying to pick a fight with him. When all she needs is a guarantee that they've returned to the status quo.

Despite the objections of her soul and heart, she pushes herself up off him, hands on either side of him, though his hand stays just where it is on the smallest of her back.

The glare is on her face before she can even see past his chin.

"And furthermore—" she starts. But she stops at the sight of him. He's not even looking at her.

Staring up at the sliver of night sky visible above them between the canyon walls, a perfect sky without a single city light to disrupt the endless dark peppered with lights, he is lost in thought.

She thinks of that video clip, the last one she saw on the last studio show she was a part of. The only other time she ever saw that look in his eyes.

You think Courtney might be looking at the stars now?

She thinks that she hadn't allowed herself to think about him.

Thoughts of him either only clouded her judgment of the show or fueled her envy towards Gwen. She'd wanted to tell him, then, that she never had a chance to see the stars because she was stuck in the stupid studio half of her time and pacing her hotel room on the phone with her lawyers the other half.

But she can look up at the stars now. Tilt her head right up. There is nothing to stop her. Nothing at all.

Except she can't take her eyes off his face.

"I love you."

The words are simple, said lowly, so much so that for a second she believes she only imagined herself saying them.

The circles on her back stop. In the span of a single blink, his eyes are fixed on hers, and she swears they make the rest of him look infinitely more beautiful in the distant lights.

Irises so ice blue. Like how the sky would look on the best day of your life.

She can't even begin to imagine what her own face looks like. "You…know that, though. Right?"

Still he stares at her though she can't make out his exact expression. Regret wriggles to life inside of her but she beats it down mercilessly before it does more than hatch.

"I mean, I just assumed you weren't completely dense and would be able to figure it out," she adds, her voice picking up its natural tone, and picking up speed with her sudden anxiety.

The words keep coming, her defenses triggered. "Not that I'm always so lenient, mind you. Most of the time I can't even figure out if you have working brain capacity let alone—"

Then, her rambling all he needs to confirm the authenticity of her words, he smiles. It's little, but a real smile. A really happy grin. It's more than she expected.

"—and most days I…What?" she snaps, interrupting herself.

He trails his hand up from her back, over her shoulder, brushing past her throat to cup her face.

In the near-nothing light of the stars, she sees a dark shape under the yellow sleeves of his shirt and her heart flips on itself.

Because he'd never gotten rid of his tattoo.

In the same place on her arm, a scar tingles uncomfortably.

He leans up on his other arm slowly, smoothly, and she swears he secretly feeds off the suspense.

Pulling her face to his when he can't stretch any further, he places a kiss on her brow and the spot burns like a brand.

Unsatisfied, she tilts her face up, against the push of his hand, languidly capturing his lips with hers.

And though she knows it's physically impossible, she swears the Earth stops moving beneath them when he kisses her back.

Soon, it's over. He settles back down, both hands behind his head this time. A moment delayed, she decides to do so as well, one hand wrapped around him like he was a stuffed animal.

It takes her more effort than she expects to keep her mouth shut and let the moment live.

She tangles her legs with his, deflecting her mind's immediate excuse that it's just to stave off the cold.

No objections arise from his end. The sigh he makes now is content, though his torso shakes a little at inhaling all that cold air.

Laying there on his chest, she can't imagine why she hadn't insisted on doing this every waking and sleeping moment they spent together.

Finally, Duncan speaks. The words rumble in his chest, in her ears, as he articulates the words. She finds herself wanting to purr in response as she drifts to sleep.

"I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that, Princess."