Sorry for any canon inaccuracies.

Challenges by the Dozen: Level Five [Write five post-canon fics] #4

CP MOC: "Write me something beautiful. Make me cry."

The funeral had happened a year ago, and Number Two still visited his grave every week to give flowers.

She wished she had somebody to go with, though. Number Two hadn't seen Rhonda Kazembe since Mr. Benedict's funeral a year ago. They had been living together in Mr. Benedict's house before, but... Number Two didn't want to face her feelings yet, and so she ran and bought herself a small cottage close to the ocean.

The flowers were carefully placed on the gravestone, and Number Two just stood there for a moment, remembering Mr. Benedict. Remembering the kids. Remembering Rhonda...

Caring for Mr. Benedict had been her entire life, basically. That house had been her home. And now that he was gone, what else had she in life besides her yellow wardrobe?

Her sleeping schedule had gotten even worse, and some nights she just stayed up all night, thinking.

She regretted not ever letting somebody warm her bed beside her.

Number Two had always liked Rhonda, but kept quiet no matter what. She didn't want to face it. There was no way Rhonda could like her back.

And yet, right after the funeral, when Rhonda confessed, she had pulled away from the kiss that could have brought her happiness again. And now she didn't even have contact with Rhonda. She had tried calling Mr. Benedict's house a few times to see if anybody was living there, but apparently Rhonda had moved away.

Number Two did the same thing, too. She had moved away. She hadn't been able to face the memories.

I am a coward, she told herself, just like she did every day. I am an absolute coward. I ran away from my real name, away from my home, away from my friends, away from love, and away from my memories.

The kids—Reynie, Sticky, Kate, and Constance—had all finally grown up to become successful and happy professionals. They were doing something meaningful with their lives.

Meanwhile, Number Two was stuck running around in circles. She, the older adult who was supposed to be a responsible role model, was not doing anything with her life. She was a mess and a coward.

In fact, the flowers might have been the only grounded thing in her life. She wanted to push back and away completely, but she was too weak, and allowed herself to come to Mr. Benedict's grave every week and place the flowers.

If only Mr. Benedict was here right now, then he could have—and most definitely would have—helped Number Two out and give her advice. He would understand, just like he always had. She felt like more than just his assistant. He was like her father; the father that she had never had and always wished for and now needed more than ever.

But now he was gone and there was nothing more to do but walk around in circles and place flowers on his grave every week.