AR:NA:Making Up is Hard to Do (1/1)
TIME:  Tuesday night November 9, 2001
After "One Canadian's Trash..."
PLACE: Shrine Construction Site
By Christy Stillman

Christy stepped out of the trailer, finally clean and smelling of
freesia and cinnamon instead of garbage.

“Ahem!”

Startled, her head swiveled toward the sound.  There, leaning against
her trailer was a familiar tall, athletic form.

“Rob??  I thought you’d gone home.”

The Ohio native crossed his arms and glared down at her, obviously
still upset.  “I considered it.  In fact, I considered just getting in
that car, heading to Pearson, and saying…well, you know what I would
have said, but for some reason it won’t come out of my mouth.”

“PG-13 war,” came the answer.

“Instead,” he uncrossed his arms and came closer, brows knit with
concern mixed with more than a trace of hurt and resentment, “I
decided that you must really need me here if there’s some reason that
you want me to leave.”  His green eyes looked levelly into hers as he
demanded, “Well, is there a reason?  Do you need me to stay?”

Christy bit her lower lip.  He was one of her best friends, and there
was a great deal of trust between them.  It really would be kind of
nice to have him here, but did she dare risk his sanity by having him
stay?  Wait a minute.  This was her friend…someone who hung around her
by choice and actually enjoyed it.  It wasn’t like he was that sane to
begin with.

“It’s hard to explain, Rob.”  The short redhead looked up at him,
struggling for words.  “You know how every now and then I talk about
the vampire cop show?”  He nodded.  “Well, you’ve crossed over into
fictional Toronto where those vampire characters live or un-live or
whatever.  This is a world created by the collective imagination of
dozens of FK fans, past and present.”

“Yeah,” Rob said with a growl, “I got the lo-down during the flight
here.  Paul’s Mom was talking to Shelly about it on the plane.  I
found it pretty damned unbelievable.”

“You already KNEW?” Christy stammered.

“Yeah, I just needed to hear it from your lips.  What in the world
have you gotten yourself into here, Queenie?  We need to talk.”

She smiled wryly up at her Favored Drone, “Well, for one thing, it’s
not really IN the world as we know it.  As for what I’ve gotten myself
into, well, fun for one thing.  Insane, silly, goofy, slightly
dangerous fun.  That’s why I wanted you to go home, hon.  You’re not
familiar with this world.  It can be dangerous for people who don’t
know what’s what and who’s who, and sometimes the blending of the two
realities can have disastrous results."

“I’m willing to take that chance and be here for you if you need me,”
Rob replied, his stiff body language softening a bit. "All I ask is
that you trust me enough to let me."

"Of course I trust you," Christy said earnestly.  "You wouldn't be one
of my best friends if I didn't."

"Then act like it.  Let me stay.  I have a feeling you're going to need
me."

She shook her head and relented with a smile.  "Sometimes, my Favored
One, I think you take advantage of your status."

"Would you expect less of me, my Queen?" Rob said, with a slowly-
spreading smile. “So, do I finally get a proper hello or what?”

Laughing, Christy threw her arms around his waist and hugged him hard.
“That better?”

“Much.”

“Good.,"  She pointed toward the restaurant.  "I don’t know about you,
but I’m hungry, dude.  I hear Cabon has something really special
whipped up for dinner tonight.”

“Great!  I could eat a horse,” Rob replied.  His stomach growled for
emphasis.

“Better not say that too loudly around here, hon,” Christy drawled.
“Never know what might happen.”

She slipped an arm around his waist and steered him in the direction
of the wonderful scent wafting on the air.  A long arm draped itself
over her shoulders as they walked.  “Ya know, hon,” Christy said with
a sideways look at her friend.  “Cabon makes a really mean tiramisu.
We could have some for dessert.”  She smiled in what she considered a
winning manner.

“As long as you’re willing to give me 100 crunches after dinner, you
have a deal.”

“You’re an evil man,” she pouted.

“Why, thank you.”

**

End