So…Several people requested a one-shot about the bit in "Burdens & Boynado" where Trish and Dez both come into the Music Factory all roughed up.

Assuming other things went down, rather than what they said happened.

Enjoy!

"Let me get that for you." The dark-haired girl pushed the boy's red locks out of his face, gently caressing the side of his cheek before pulling her hand back. "There we go."

"Thank you, Patricia." He winks; his cocky smirk doing things to her. She shudders as he lifts her chin up with his index finger, only to pout as it moves away, going back to adjusting his camera.

"Trish, please. Just Trish." It amazes her that she had let him call her that without any repercussion coming to him. But she lets it slide, for now. He's cute, after all. Two years ago, she would have never admitted this to anyone – not even herself. Two years and some puberty later…He's certainly matured; his vibrant locks lengthened elegantly, and then there's that cute goatee he had grown. Not to mention how well-mannered he is now. She cannot say the same for some other boys she knows.

The other redhead watches the two flirting teens – seething. Heat creeps up Dez's face, his volcano of a top threatening to blow. So what if she likes that guy? It's not like he should be bothered – right? The boy doesn't seem threatening in any way. Where is this overwhelming feeling of protectiveness even coming from? And it's not like Trish cannot defend herself. What is it about this other redhead that's bothering him so much? He used to like this boy, too, after all. Perhaps it was the reminder that he used to be friends with Trent? That didn't bug him so much before, though…

"Dex, stooop it," she whimpers coyly after he had whispered something into her ear, snapping Dez out of his thoughts. She shoves Dex lightly, giggling as she pulls him back towards her. Dez's eyes widen and his jaw slacks, his face losing all its tension in a state of shock. Trish – giggling? What happens next could not be helped. He marches over to them, fists clenched. He's never been one for starting anything violent – especially towards someone who's done absolutely nothing wrong. It takes everything he's got in him to control himself. His blood boils unrelentingly, regardless.

"Trish," he addresses the girl, donning a tight-lipped smile. "Can I see you for a sec?" The girl waves her hand in the air, shooing him away. Dex's brows pucker together, befuddled as to why the redhead that had approached them seemed so upset. Had he done something?

"Go away, Dez. Can't you see Dexter and I are talking here?" Trish responds, not even bothering to turn around and face her friend. This response doesn't help his situation at all. He grapples her upper arm and drags her away from the other boy. "Dez! Let go! What the heck?!" They had gotten several yards away when Dez finally loosens his grip, letting the girl free.

"We need to talk."

"Dez, I already talked to the Boynado boys. They said no more autographs for you. You've got plenty already." Exhausted by this conversation already, she groans, pushing some hair back out of her face. What is it about this small action that prevents him from looking away? He shakes his head.

"It's not about that…Well, yes, I still want more autographs, but…" He takes in a heavy breath, exhaling slowly. "Look, I just…I don't trust this Dex guy. He comes out of nowhere and volunteers to be Boynado's videographer? What's up with that?"

"Dez – he applied for this job. He's getting paid for this. We hired him because he's good at what he does."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Because you keep on trying to steal locks of Devin's hair, bottle Rupert's sweat, and take pictures of Nigel without him looking. You know how much they hate that."

"But why did you have to get him?"

"I thought you liked Dex." Her brow raises. "What's going on, Dez? Are you…Jealous?"

"Wh – I. No!" he asserts, finding his fists clenching once again, even as he fights his body to relax.

"Dez, trust me. This has got nothing to do with your videography."

"That…That's not it…" He bites his lower lip. "I...I don't trust him. He was friends with Trent, remember?"

"Yes, I do. But Dex didn't even know what went down between me and Trent until I told him. He was more than apologetic. Besides, that didn't bother you before." She eyes him, questioning his every movement. The way he stands, the way his hands are moving. Something's off. Something's wrong. She cannot pinpoint exactly what, however.

"I just–" he begins, before she cuts him off.

"–Do you have a problem with me flirting with him?" She tenses as the thought dawns on her. Could it be that Dez was perturbed by the flirtations between her and the other boy?

"I…" he huffs. "Yes. It's…It's weird."

"Why?"

"Because…Because, look at him! He's exactly like me!" he shouts. Dex looks over at the two of them from his spot, scratching his head in confusion. He shrugs it off, then continues fiddling with his camera.

"What? No way!" she retaliates, the very idea of her flirting with anyone even remotely like Dez being very off-putting to her.

"You even said so yourself two years ago!" he continues accusing. "You said that there were two of me, and that it was your worst nightmare."

"Well, he's changed – a lot. You haven't." She maintains her cool as the boy escalates.

"You only say that because you see me every day, and you haven't seen him in years." His posture droops, his eyes no longer meeting hers. "I mean, he's a videographer, he wears bold clothes, he likes Zaliens movies, he provides comic relief with his oddball observations, he's got red hair, his name is Dex…"

"Dez – what exactly are you afraid of?" she takes him by the upper arms, forcing him to face her. "Why is this bugging you? Tell me the truth." He folds in his lips; worry lines crease into his forehead. He can't lie to her.

"I…I'm…Worried that you're going to replace me." His eyes, shining as they had lightly glazed over, meet hers. Trish releases him from her grip, taking a step back.

"What?"

"You've found another Dez. A better Dez. You don't need me anymore." He slips his hands into his pockets and stares at the floor, kicking it lightly. Trish frowns. What is she even supposed to say to that? He had to know that would never be the case. They were friends – best friends even. Replace him? Where would he get such an idea?

"Dez, there's only one you. No one can replace you." She holds her hands out to him. He looks up at her and takes them, and she gives his hands a slight squeeze of reassurance, eliminating the pout on his face. Relief. He exhales the stress out of his body.

"But there's still something I don't get…" he starts, looking down at their hands.

"What's that?"

"What's he got that I don't? He seems a lot like me – but you like him, so that can't be right. What is it?" He looks her in the eyes once again, taking a small step towards her. She releases his hands, her body reacting strangely to his proximately. She wonders about her shaking – about the palpitation of her heart. The question had caught her off-guard, and no matter how much she wracks her brain searching for it, she cannot come up with a single answer.

"I…I don't know. It's more…Something you have that he doesn't."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"…My friendship." Her voice has solidified, but her body continues to shake. She had just stated the first thing she could think of – she couldn't find a proper excuse. The boys are practically the same person. Almost. But Dez isn't Dex.

No. He's better.

"I don't–" he begins, only to be stopped by her hands being held out in front of her.

"Enough. I don't want to talk about this anymore." She drops her hands, turns around, and makes a bee-line for the door backstage without another word – walking as quickly as her legs can carry her. Dez trails behind her, still wanting answers. Nothing she had said explained anything to him. He had to know.

She pushes through the door, lengthening her strides until her legs ached – just wanting to get away as fast as she can without making a scene of it. She barely makes it across the empty field of grass before she feels two hands grab her by the arms from behind.

"Let me go!" she demands, wrenching herself from his grip as she turns to face him. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it!"

"Why not? Whatever this is, it's clearly bothering you. Why do you like him like that, and not me?" The whole situation doesn't seem to add up. There has to be something he's missing. Something he's not seeing.

"Why do you care?!"

"I…I don't," he affirms, not expecting this to turn around and attack him.

"Then why do you need to know so badly?" she huffs.

"Because he's just like me. But you're flirting with him. And…That's weird."

"What do you want me to say? That I know he's just like you? That maybe…" her voice trails off, and she shifts her gaze off of him.

"Maybe…?" he coaxes her, tilting his head as he tries to meet her downcast eyes.

"Nothing. It's nothing. He's not you. He's not like you. I don't know why I'm even defending myself to you!" She meets his gaze with ferocity in her eyes. She's had enough.

"Trish, why can't you just tell me, then? What makes him so different?" His voice had softened. He's grown tired of this pointless arguing. As much as he yearns to know the truth, he feels he won't be able to keep this up much longer.

"Well, he's…Got longer hair than you. And he's a little shorter…And he's got facial hair," she tries, knowing just how superficial she sounds. None of those reasons has anything to do with what draws her to this boy. It was his likeness, both in looks and personality, to the boy before her that pulled her in.

"Is that all?" His brows rise, expectantly.

"He's also…Nice to me. And he likes me," she appends, not that she figures it would convince him. She has no real argument.

"I'm not? I don't?"

"You know what I mean." Exasperated, her eyes shift down to her shoes. "He's different."

"Better?"

"No. He…" She shakes her head. "He reminds me of you. But he isn't you."

"And not being me makes him…?"

"Not good enough."

"Excuse me?"

"I've gotta go…" She turns around, her legs taking her into a full-fledged run. She doesn't even care anymore. She has to get away.

He stands still, watching the girl run off. Idle, dazed – perhaps a tad pleasantly surprised? But why? He would never hold this over her head. He's her friend, after all. So why does this feel so right? Why isn't he completely repulsed? Shouldn't he be? The girl who had called him "doof", and many variations of the word, for the past four years had just indirectly admitted to having feelings for him. Why did her words make him feel so warm? Why did the stress that was weighing down on him suddenly vanish?

It takes him a few seconds to realize that he had begun moving, racing towards the girl – his longer legs producing bigger strides, enough for him to catch up to her before she manages to disappear from his sight. Upon closing in on her, he takes to air, tackling the girl to the ground. Clearly, he hadn't thought this all the way through. Or at all.

"Oof!" The girl hits the ground, groaning as she shoves the redhead off of her. "Dez! What the hell?!" She picks herself up and dusts off her outfit. The boy stands up, as well, grabbing her by the shoulders so she wouldn't run away again.

"Trish, why'd you run?" he asks her, the innocent look on his face that usually melts her heart only managing to make her angrier.

Is he serious? She grows nervous under his stare. "Why do you think I ran, you doof?"

"You're embarrassed." Dez answers his own question. Trish's eyes look down in silent admission. He lifts her head up by the chin. "You shouldn't be."

"Really?" She challenges him, pushing away. "What – isn't the idea of me having a crush on you making you want to vomit? Doesn't it make you want to stop talking to me altogether? Won't it make everything really weird betw–" she stops. Not willingly, though. She could no longer speak. Not while her lips are occupied. Not while he had his pressed against hers.

He grips the sides of her head, gathering bunches of her curls between his fingers as he pulls her in closer. He tilts his head, deepening the lip-lock as he feels her requite. She wraps her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to reach him. He had leaned down for her, too, but cannot keep up the position much longer. He releases her for a moment, only to pull her down onto the grass with him. He hovers above her, leaning down and giving her a few more kisses on her flushed lips before moving on to her neck. She emits some giggles, the action tickling her more than anything else, initially. After a while, she settles, the feeling of him sucking on the tender areas of her neck spreading heat virally across her body. She rakes her fingers through his copper locks, pulling his lips back up onto hers. He pushes her white, sleeveless coat off her shoulders and puts it to the side. She unbuttons his cardigan sloppily. Too impatient to even take it off of him, she goes ahead and slides her hands under his shirt, around to his back, pulling him in closer to her. He shudders as he feels her cool hands against his bare skin. He presses a full kiss against her lips as his own hands slip under her floral-print dress. His fingers glide up her outer thighs gently before they make their way around to the back. He gives her ample cheeks a firm squeeze. Her moans snap them both out of it.

Trish pushes him off, being the first to pull away. "What the hell are we doing?!" She grabs her white coat vest and gets up on her feet. Dez picks himself up, as well, the reality of the situation slowly setting in.

"That…Just happened," he speaks frankly.

"Dammit, Dez! What about Carrie?!" she rebukes him, furious at herself for having forgotten that the boy has a girlfriend on the other side of the country. She slips on her coat and adjusts her dress.

"Oh. Right." He bites his lip, ashamed that he had forgotten something that important. "Well…I guess we could…" He rubs the back of his neck.

"–Pretend this never happened?" she finishes.

"Right." He looks down at his disheveled self. "But uh…How're we going to explain this? We both need to head back to the Music Factory, like, now."

"Your hair's a mess, too." She smirks. He glares.

"Yours isn't much better." He crosses his arms. She rolls her eyes.

"Here's what we do. I enter first. If anyone asks, I'll tell them I was trying to break up a fight between Devin, Rupert, and Nigel. Boynado gets into a lot of fights, so they'll definitely believe me."

"What about me?" he asks. "I don't have time to go get fixed up, I have a class to teach soon!" Trish ponders for a moment, looking down at the grass. She bends down and uproots a bunch of blades, then proceeds to smear them over all over his cardigan, and onto his bright yellow pants.

"Wh–Hey! How is this helping?! This is one of my favorite outfits!"

"You say that about every outfit of yours, you doof." She scoffs, dusting off her hands. "There. Just tell people you were rolling around in the grass or something."

"Okay, but what's my motivation?"

"What?"

"I'm rolling in the grass – but why?" he touches his fingers together, his tone completely serious.

"I don't know! Looking for ladybugs or something?"

"Ooo, that's good." He snaps, pointing a finger at her. "I actually happen to have one in my back pocket!" He grins proudly. She stares at the boy a few moments before shaking her head, disregarding it.

"Whatever, Dez. Look, let's head over to the Music Factory. Make sure to wait a little while to go in after I do, so it won't look so suspicious," she instructs. He nods, following her as she leads the way.

Dex, now long forgotten.

The bliss they had just engaged in? Never.

Happy Thanksgiving!