Disclaimer: All I see when I look for "Total Drama" fanfics are the same old pairings. Very few people want to venture outside the shipping crate. Kind of depressing, really.

It was a peaceful June night in Vancouver.

The Ferrari was a tangled mess by the side of the road. Perhaps, there were a few too many drinks consumed by the two occupants at the party they left not fifteen minutes ago. Given how much the driver had imbibed, it's a wonder the car hadn't crashed earlier. Luckily, there was a lamppost to stop the vehicle from incurring any further damage.

The handsome blade at the wheel groaned as he awoke and grabbed his head, more because of the accident than any remorse over the drinking. The effects of the alcohol seemed to be playing tricks on him, as he was sure he saw a flash of lightning a few minutes ago, and yet, there was no thunder, or even a hint of rain.

He glanced over at his passenger. Just as unconscious as he had been only moments ago. He had to admit that, when she wasn't talking, she was like a brunette angel.

The sound of sirens burst to life in the distance. Mustering as much consciousness as he could, he struggled out of the driver's seat. Making his way out of the car, he winced at the pain in his leg. He hobbled around to the passenger's seat and released the girl from her patent leather prison. 'Isn't that perfect?', he thought. 'Not a mark on her'.

The girl started to groan.

Time was of the essence. He carried her, bridal-style, toward the driver's seat, placed her hands on the steering wheel and buckled her in. He glanced behind him. Red and blue lights. The young man hobbled around to the passenger seat and eased himself in.

"Ah, mi amor", he sighed as he buckled his seatbelt. "There comes a time in every person's life where they must face the consequences of their actions…" Sirens roared in the distance as he brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. "…but this time, that person will be you."

"Your honor, the defendant was disoriented." The comb-over of the young man's court-appointed attorney seemed to stand on end even with his constant movement about the courtroom. "She'd had quite a bit to drink that night, so of course she'd claim that she wasn't driving. My client is lucky to be alive."

And so, he was. A cast on his leg and a neck brace (which, really, he didn't even need) could attest to that. The angelic defendant had only bandages…and a scowl that could melt glass.

The plaintiff smiled when he was sure she wasn't looking and feigned sadness when he knew she was. Neither the jury nor the peanut gallery happened to catch these facial tics.

The young woman rose from her seat, eyes full of fire. "This is ridiculous! I wasn't driving! He was! Just ask anyone at that party."

The judge adjusted his glasses. "Do you really think me so ignorant to believe that he carried you out of the passenger's seat, put you in the driver's seat and seated himself in your place?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, dammit!"

The judge pointed his gavel at the young woman. "One more word out of you, young lady, and you'll be held in contempt of court."

The girl opened her lips to speak.

"One…more…word."

She closed her mouth and sulkily took a seat. The judge nodded before turning to Captain Combover.

"Does counsel have any closing statements?"

The plaintiff's lawyer shook his head. "No, your honor."

The defendant's lawyer, a sharp young man, stood up. "Your honor, this is my client's first offense. Despite her attitude, she has never committed any criminal offenses prior to this. Hopefully, the jury will take that into consideration." He sat back down. The young woman sat back in her seat with a sigh.

The brunette slumped down the hallway of the courthouse, her attorney at her side.

"200 hours of community service?"

"Be grateful. You could've ended up in a woman's correctional facility."

"For an accident? No one got ran over. I'm not even at fault here. It was that son-of-a-bitch's fault." The girl crooked her hands and choked the air. "If I ever get my hands on him..."

The lawyer put his hand up. "I think it's better you didn't. The jury might not show leniency for first-degree murder."

"What about self-defense? I was defending myself against character assassination."

The lawyer rolled his eyes.

"So, what am I doing? Picking up trash by the side of the road? Bathing the homeless? Swimming with dolphins at Marineland?"

"Nice try. It's some kind of youth center in Toronto."

The young woman paled.

"Is there a chance that I could bathe some homeless people? I mean, I'm sure they wouldn't mind some attention from a beautiful girl."

"Right. The judge pulled up your file. You're from Toronto, aren't you?"

"Kitchener."

"Close enough."

The girl got down on her knees, assuming a begging stance. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"I'm sensing you have history there?"

"You're very good."

"Good enough to keep you out of jail." The lawyer glanced down at the girl, who was crying a little. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Look, whatever you're running from can't be all that bad. Who knows? You might find something there that you've been looking for."

The girl shrugged. "I guess." She rose to her feet and smiled coquettishly. "You know, maybe you and I could continue this chat over lattes and maybe dinner."

The lawyer laughed a little. "Sorry, but you're not my type."

The girl gazed at him indignantly. "Not your type? What are you, gay?"

"Well, yes, actually."

The girl blushed bright red. "I didn't know."

"Don't sweat it. You're not the first, and you're probably not the last." The girl sat down on a bench. The lawyer parked it next to her. "Look, your faulty gaydar aside, you seem like a good person."

The girl stared in disbelief. It was a long time since anyone referred to her as 'a good person'. "Do you watch 'Total Drama'?"

"No. My boyfriend tried like hell to turn me on to it, but I'm not into reality shows."

"But you know of me?"

"All that crap is staged and re-edited to within an inch of its life. I doubt you're as bad as that show makes you out to be."

The girl blanched, but the lawyer made a good point: was she as bad as the show made her look?

"You want my advice?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Nope. What you've done isn't as important as what you can do. Before you know it, the 200 hours will be up like that and you can get back to your life."

The girl started to smile in relief. The moment lasted three seconds before she retreated into despair.

"What's wrong?"

"Sooner or later, my mom's gonna find out. You probably haven't heard of her."

"Up next, on 'Real Housewives of Vancouver'…"

A quartet of fortyish women in designer dresses sat around an outdoor café. Despite the setting, they all seemed to be in argument mode, their fancy salads wilting by the second.

A woman whose hair was as blonde as her skin was bronzed pointed a finger at the others. "I don't think you're getting it."

"Don't tell me what I'm not getting, "whined a brunette through Botoxed lips.

"You are all jealous!", the redhead blurted out, thrusting out her enhanced breasts.

One of the women - a scrappy, dark-haired firebrand - leapt from her seat. "That is so childish!"

The girl threw open the door to her hotel room. She wiped away sweat from her brow. Exercising in the gym was a pastime she indulged in during downtime.

The phone on her bed buzzed. A few buzzes later, the girl begrudgingly picked up.

A phone to her ear, the girl extended her leg onto the bed and stretched forward. She didn't look happy.

"What is this about you crashing a car and getting community service?" The tone of the woman's voice let anyone within earshot hear that she was very much the same person off-screen.

"Mom, it's a frame-up. Don't you watch any movies?"

"The last one I saw that was any good was Marley and Me. That poor puppy."

"Mom, focus!" The girl switched legs and continued to stretch.

"On you? That worked out so well the first time."

"I really don't feel like arguing."

"Then why did you call? By the way, just what do you have to do?"

"It's a youth center in Toronto."

"You taking care of children?" The girl's mother started to laugh. "Good luck!" The laughter resumed with more force.

With a snarl, the girl hung up.

The girl's arrival at the youth center was greeted with a passel of photographers. She shielded her eyes to hide her shame…and to protect from the blinding flash of the cameras.

She muscled past the photogs and fell into the center, landing at the feet of a scowling old woman: Mrs. Halloway. At five feet, she was as bitter as she was short.

The girl looked up. "So, you must be the new girl?" The rasp in her voice was noticeable.

"Yes."

"Well, you can't spend all day on the floor." The girl stood up. Mrs. Halloway glanced past her and toward the photographer who wormed his way through the front door.

He snapped a number of shots on his phone, even as the older woman was approaching him.

"Whatever you want to say to her, you can say to me and Mr. Remington." She pulled up the front of her shirt, revealing a gun handle tucked down the front of her shorts.

The photographer backed toward the door and hurried out. Mrs. Halloway picked up his phone.

The girl glanced at Mrs. Halloway. An impressed smirk crossed her face. "A loaded gun in a youth center. Nice."

"Watch it, girlie. This thing hasn't been fired since the Civil War. If it still works, I'd be very impressed."

"…and here is the girl's changing room. You'll have to look in on the girls, make sure there's no horseplay." The girl glanced in on the gymnasium. The kids were engaged in a game of dodge ball. "Girlie…"

The girl turned back around. "Me?"

"No, I mean Lady Di. Come on."

"…and this is where the balls are. Football, dodge ball, baseball, stickball…"

The girl exhaled.

"…thus concluding the tour. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be doing this alone, would I?"

"Of course not. There are other counselors, as well as kids your own age here for college credit." Miss Halloway led the girl toward the gym. "You'll need to get changed, of course."

The girl stepped inside the gym. Her street clothes replaced with regulation T-shirt and shorts. Her short hair tied back with a rubber band. Her punishment had barely started and she was already hating it.

[1d, 0h, 10m, 34s]

She took a seat on the bleachers and folded her arms. Her eyes darted around at the kids tossing balls at each other.

She glanced at a figure behind her. He was buried in a book: "The Picture of Dorian Gray".

He took the book away long enough to turn the page. That little second was all the girl needed to register shock at seeing who was sitting a couple rows up from her.

"Noah?"

The young man set the book aside and glanced in the direction of the person calling his name. The surprise on her face was nothing compared to his at seeing her.

"Heather?"