Chapter 2

Jason wasn't in class the next day, or the one after that. When Bruce had asked his fellow associates, they had only shrugged it off and told him Jason tended to disappear for long periods of time without warning.

And yet, his homework showed up on his desk, completed and perfect, without so much as a hint of how it got there.

Rumors spread very quickly, of course. When he'd asked a student, they had coyly responded that Jason was probably off selling or taking drugs. Another had said he was probably running from the cops. Yet another claimed he'd been behind the recent string of attacks that had been happening in Gotham targeting young women.

Bruce did not know much about the boy, but something in his gut told him he'd never be the perpetrator of these kinds of crimes.

So where was he then?

Bruce continued to try to glean what little information he could from students and staff, though figuring out which pieces were actually true was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. However, he had many resources at his fingertips, and he had a feeling he knew where to start.

"Dick," he called, rising from the plush armchair that was resting in front of the unlit, dark fireplace. He'd been reading a book, but as he looked at the page, he realized he'd been staring at it blankly for the last half hour without a single word registering into his brain. It was a shame really, not giving such a rare, classic book his full attention. The page edges were foiled with gold and the binding was a perfect crimson, almost scaly to the touch. It was a beautiful, lost art that was being rendered inert with technologies revolutionizing the way people absorbed their data. Reading a book on a handheld computer was nothing short of the perfect convenience on the go, but it would never measure to the sensory craft resting in his palms.

"Yes?" The reply was muffled by the long hall that separated them from each other. It took a moment for Dick to even be able to pop his head through the doorway. "What is it?"

Wayne manor was entirely too large for only the few people that resided within its walls to have a conversation if they weren't in the same room. The rooms, themselves, were gigantic with lofty ceilings and a constant chill that never quite dissipated, even during the summer. Yet, this is the way Bruce preferred it. He'd grown up within its walls and any change made him feel uneasy, as if any shift in the atmosphere would taint or crack the delicate memories of his parents who once roamed the corridors with him like a crumbling wall under too much pressure.

"You talk to him often, don't you? Do you know anything about his life?"

"Huh?" It took a moment for Dick to respond, confusion washing over his features. "You mean… Jason?" He asked, incredulous as it finally hit him. "You're still worried about him?"

Bruce didn't answer, and Dick just sighed.

"Well, I don't know that much, really. We don't actually 'talk,' it's more like I talk and he glares at me." Was that amusement in the older man's eyes? Dick frowned a little, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame. "No one knows anything about him," Dick started. He wanted to add 'and I see why that would make you uncomfortable' considering Bruce had some major control issues, but he didn't feel like pressing his luck. "But," he continued, "everyone seems to think he's some criminal with some serious issues, and they're probably right."

"Do you think that's true?"

Dick hesitated.

"…Not really." He sounded unsure of himself, and the raised eyebrow he received from his companion was an unspoken question. "I mean, I don't know. If you haven't noticed, the guy is about as personable as a brick wall." Although, Dick mused, he could have just as well been describing Bruce, but at least the older man could pretend when he wanted to. "I don't know," he said again, shrugging. "There are people who claim to have seen him hanging out at graveyards and beating up people in alley ways and stuff, real weird, creepy things. But who knows if they're actually telling the truth. When he disappears, we always think it's the last time we'll ever see him. I'm always surprised when he shows up again for class. The guy acts like he hates school, so why do you think he even bothers to come back at all, you know? He's just a really strange kid. I feel kinda bad for him because I hear his parents died or something when he was young."

Dick stopped talking, not really knowing what else to say, and Bruce had a strange look on his face that he hadn't seen very often but he had no idea what it meant. Both he and Bruce had also lost their parents when they were young, but Dick had been lucky enough to have this older man step up and take care of him, plucking him from an orphanage that was receiving donations from the Wayne Foundation.

"I think it's best you leave him alone…" He trailed off, a little defensive. He was starting to understand why Bruce had taken an interest in the kid. "I know what you're thinking, Bruce, but this isn't the same. He's not the kind of person who would accept help from anyone. He's always carved his own way through anything, even school rules."

Dick watched Bruce for a while longer, but it was becoming clear that he was not going to get anything else out of his guardian. He wanted to shake Bruce, honestly, maybe even slap him across the face to jolt him out of whatever weird thought process he was falling into.

On Thursday, Jason finally showed up.

The first indication was the motorcycle in the parking lot. Bruce would never forget the bike, watching Jason turn his back on him after requesting he stay in school and revving it in defiance as he sped from the parking lot. Its red and black exterior was rather slick and impressive, though part of him wondered if he had stolen it. He noted the sputtering of the bike while he drove away, inferring that perhaps the boy had bought it for a bargain because it was older and had broken down before. This was very intriguing indeed. Though Jason portrayed himself as aloof and uncaring, Bruce could see that he did, in fact, take pride in his work, so the sputtering bike was something of a mystery to Bruce…

Strangely, Jason was half an hour early, his feet propped up on his desk and arms crossed over his chest. Their eyes locked and neither of them moved for a moment. The tension between them was palpable and he didn't know why he was feeding into the challenge like two alphas fighting over territory.

However, he was incredibly relieved that the boy was here and not as the rumors suggested as dead in some ditch or in a dank room with a needle in his arm…

"Welcome back," he said smoothly, breaking the ice between them as he set his briefcase on the desk. He opened it, pulling his lecture from its folder and glancing at it before turning his attention to the green board behind him and picking up the chalk he so desperately hated. He could feel the stare behind him like a burn that practically seared the flesh off his back. The sound of the squeaking chalk was all that filled the room for a few minutes, and it almost made him miss the small sigh that drifted from the corner of the room.

"I imagine this all must be terribly boring for you," Bruce said, turning to wipe his hands on a towel, the sarcasm unhidden in his tone.

Jason leaned forward, swinging his feet to the ground and replacing them with his elbows, gently resting his chin on his linked fingers. He fixed his teacher with a smirk, but said nothing.

"Then you won't mind that I've prepared something special for you." More sarcasm, but the piqued eyebrow he received gave him an unnecessary satisfaction.

"For me? You shouldn't have," Jason purred, but Bruce could see the dare written across the younger man's face. It made him want to wipe the smile clean off his lips. He pulled some papers from his files and walked towards Jason with an ease and grace that seemed to unsettle the boy, noting he sat up straighter as Bruce peered down at him. He slid the papers to Jason, but Jason didn't look at them.

"Just for you." Jason narrowed his eyes. It seemed like he'd finally gotten under the boy's skin, just as the student had done to him. It was rewarding and petty all at the same time. "This counts for half of your grade."

"Excuse me?" The astonishment crystallized in his eyes before it turned right back to fury.

"I don't like repeating myself."

Jason was livid. Bruce would not be surprised if the boy lashed out at him, frankly. But just as he thought he'd gotten the upper hand, Jason slowly relaxed and his lips melted into that agitating smirk that Bruce hated so much.

"Well then, I guess I'm going to need a teacher. You know a guy?"

The insult was hardly clever, but for some reason it dug into him deeper than any sour word thrown at him before. However, if he knew anything about subduing the wild, it was to beat them at their own game.

"3:30. Don't be late."

Jason's little game had backfired. He'd just roped himself into an extra class.

"Tsk," he clicked his tongue, lifting one of his hands towards his face to inspect his nails, as if they were far more interesting than the man standing in front of him. "And what makes you think you can force me to show up?"

"I can't," Bruce said matter-of-factly. Jason eyed him suspiciously. That was obviously not the answer he was expecting. It appeared he was just at the precipice: the limn between defiant and sheer rage.

"You're punishing me for knowing more than these idiots? Unbelievable." The frustrated growl he received was his victory song. He'd won. Jason begrudgingly slid the papers closer to himself to take a gander.

"You can either fight me and lose, or do as I ask and win."

"Are you actually asking?" The question bothered him. It wasn't the snarky tone or the way Jason stared into his narrowed eyes. He didn't quite comprehend why, really, but it gave him pause.

"No."

And just like that, the challenge was back in Jason's fiery eyes and Bruce had no idea what to make of it.

The end of the day couldn't come quick enough. But the end wasn't really quite the end, he mused, as he stared at the black ink on the papers in his hand. It dictated the time of his "new class" simply as 3:30.

Or rather, 15:30. Pretentious ass hole.

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He must really get off on power trips to pull a stunt like this. In his experience, rich folk were all the same and enjoyed toying with the commoners of the world, and this guy probably wasn't any different.

The halls of the school were mostly empty now, with a few loitering while waiting for their rides or going to club activities or something equally unimportant. The stares cast in his direction did not go unnoticed, though he didn't acknowledge them openly either. He was used to it by now, and he enjoyed the vast chasm his reputation dug between him and the rest of the kids at this school.

The laminate floor beneath his feet was so polished and smooth beneath his feet that it was almost blinding when the fluorescent lighting caught it just right. It was just another illusion of class and perfection, just like the gaudy private school itself with its antiquated brick structure and looming ivory towers. The exterior was beautiful, but the interior was rotting like the people inside of it. The immaculately painted walls felt more like the insides of an insane asylum than a place for the power of knowledge and creativity. Perhaps he'd just hoped for more than this…

His feet had taken him directly to the green door that was all that stood between him and a waste of his time. He could leave right now if he wanted. He could turn and walk out the front doors and never come back… But he wouldn't let what was beyond this door stop him from what he'd worked so hard for.

He reached forward and grasped the brass handle, turning it and pushing the door open. Bruce Wayne was there of course, but he hung back in the doorway defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The moment his eyes met Jason's, a frigid chill ran up his spine. He wasn't nervous or scared… but thrilled? Something kept his feet from moving, even as Bruce's eyes trailed down his body, all the way down to his shoes, then back up. He hated that look, like every inch of him was an open book that gave away every secret he wanted to keep to himself. Even as Bruce approached him, he stood his ground.

"I'm glad you came."

Jason's lip twitched, begging to snarl, but he kept his chin up and his eyes focused on Bruce, even as the man looked down at him.

"Great to be here," he returned sarcastically.

"Please," Bruce said, reaching beyond Jason's side to grasp the door knob, his chest brushing against one of Jason's arms as he stepped to the side to allow him passage through. "Come in."

He prickled, forcing his shoulders down and sliding past him towards the empty rows of seats. He heard the click of the door behind him as he threw his backpack onto a chair and sat on top of a desk, letting his legs dangle and his fingers tightly gripped the edge.

Bruce mirrored his movements, he noticed, but instead of sitting on top of the teacher's desk, he merely leaned against it directly in front of Jason.

"What are you doing with your life?"

"If you've come here to lecture me on life after school, it would save us both a lot of problems if you just let me leave."

"I'm asking because I'm curious."

Jason tilted his head just slightly in confusion. Was this guy for real?

"Why does it matter," he quipped, gripping the desk even tighter.

"Because you're an incredible individual."

He bristled. He didn't like where this conversation was going, not that he knew where it was actually headed. This was uncharted territory and he had absolutely no idea why anyone would say that to him. Much less why it made him feel… strange. He'd never been praised before like that.

"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Jason purred, attempting to make the older man uncomfortable.

"Something tells me you already know more about me than you let on," Bruce retorted.

Well, he wasn't wrong. Jason had done his research.

"Anyone can do a Google search, Bruce. Can I call you Bruce?" The lack of amusement in his stare filled him with life.

"So you've been doing research on me." It was more of an observation than a question, and it suddenly made Jason feel irritated. He'd just revealed he'd be thinking about him, enough to actually search on him and waste his free time looking into him. He grit his teeth.

"Wouldn't want my fellow students being taught by some criminal. I thought I'd take one for the team to make sure our teacher wasn't a creep." The thinly veiled lie sounded more pathetic than anything and he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

"I thought you didn't care about anyone here?"

This was really starting to get on his nerves. But part of him just wanted to give in and get this over with.

"I have a reputation to uphold. I'd appreciate it if you cut the shit and just get to the lesson," Jason said, his steely gaze locking onto Bruce's again. The teacher seemed to contemplate his words, neither of them breaking eye contact for a long moment.

"You never answered my question."

Jason growled in frustration.

"I don't know, ok? I don't really care. I can do whatever I need to get by. Stay out of my business."

"I'd like you to join a club. You can't graduate without joining one."

Jason made to grab for his bag. Enough of this shit. This was absurd.

"Find someone else to harass."

"Jason…"

Why? Why did the sound of his name in that voice stop him in his tracks? He turned just enough to send him a glare.

"Your bike," he started. Jason's glare turned slightly more to curiosity and confusion. "I know how to fix it."

"I don't need your charity, old man," Jason scoffed.

"The air to fuel ratio is off. If you're not careful, it will die on you in the middle of a ride."

Jason's lip twitched. "You spying on me or something?"

"Hard not to hear it when you're the only one in the school with a motorcycle." He had a point…

"You want to fix my bike?" Jason asked in disbelief, but it was more of an angry and impatient tone, as if to say 'what's the catch?'

"No. I want to show you how."

Jason didn't quite know what to make of it. Should he be suspicious? Did he know just how little money Jason had and that's why he was trying to pity him with some Gracious Deed ™? Somehow, though, against his mind's wariness, Jason could feel the sincerity in his voice. His body language was relaxed, not standoffish like normal. He was telling the truth. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat, resisting the urge to lick his chapping lips while he thought hard on the subject. He never accepted help from strangers, but he had to admit that he was very interested. He smirked, a little idea striking him.

"Ok, I'll bite," he said, letting his gaze trail down Bruce's form in thought. "Count it as my club activity, and I'll do it." He lifted his eyes again to gauge the teacher's response.

Was he imagining the small smile? He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well?"

"Deal."

Friday came and it seemed like Thursday had just been a figment of his imagination. Bruce hadn't so much as looked at him all day and it made him want to do anything just to get under his skin. At one point, he'd childishly contemplated spit balls until he realized how ridiculous he was acting and settled for glaring out the window the rest of the day. He was fidgeting with his pencil, twirling it between his fingers in deft disinterest.

He was actually excited.

It had been so long, he hardly remembered what it felt like. He was dying to get his hands on some tools and fix his bike. He wanted to know its inner workings, its clicks and ticks, everything. Being self-sufficient had always been part of his way of life, and when he'd learned the clubs here were nothing more than sports and useless ways to fill time, he'd be sorely disappointed. It felt like nothing at school was actually prepping him for the real world. He'd already seen the real world, lived it and knew it. What the hell was physics going to do for him? What the hell was history going to do for him? But automotive? Now that was something he could use for the rest of his life. A smile crept onto his lips. Maybe this Wayne guy wasn't so bad after all.

He still pissed really him off, though.

He knew he was just giving Bruce the satisfaction of his Gracious Deed™. Rich dudes really enjoyed playing god or charity like they actually gave a damn. But if it truly worked in his favor, he'd get more from the deal than this rich freak, right?

The last bell of the day rang and sprung him from his seat, practically racing down the steps to get out of the god forsaken history class. He appreciated books, very much so actually, but history class made him want to burn textbooks more than cared to admit.

He caught himself, slowing down to leisurely pace and slapping his own face just to remind himself to play cool. He'd be damned if he'd let Wayne see him like this. He may have won the battle, but Jason would win the war.

He fished a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket as he neared his locker, reading the address while he unlocked the metal door and removed his leather jacket. The garage was close by. He wondered if Wayne owned it or called in a favor? He shoved the paper back in his pocket, sliding his arms into the holes of his jacket and then promptly sticking his helmet under his arm. He shut the locker and practically ran towards the parking lot.

He slung his leg around to straddle the bike. He sat there for a moment as he pulled his helmet on, tugging at the strap and pulling gloves from his jacket pocket. He entwined his fingers, pushing the material between his digits to get a nice, firm grip, then securing the Velcro at his wrists. The engine roared to life. He finally felt relaxed. The vibrations of the bike reminded him that freedom wasn't so far away, anymore. If he stuck with this, he wouldn't be indebted to anyone in the future. A warm breeze curled around the back of his neck and over his exposed knuckles, making his eyes flutter shut. He took a deep inhale, and released it slowly as more of his tension melted away.

When the engine was suitably warm, he pulled on the throttle gently and rolled towards the exit, turning right onto the rough road towards his destination.

When he got there, he already saw the out-of-place expensive car that was parked outside the otherwise worn-out looking shop. The garage was open, though Bruce was not inside that he could see. He pulled around and turned off the bike, kicking the stand down and pulling the helmet from his head. He slid gracefully off the machine, boots hitting the ground with a loud crunch, and he crept warily up to the building. He saw the cracked open door that led inside the shop, but he allowed his eyes to stray along the inside of the garage first. It was actually pretty big. He saw a car hoisted up into the air with no wheels on it. It was a real classic car, maybe from the fifties, with wing backs and chipping paint. It was otherwise perfect, no dents or apparent body damage. And to the left there was another bike. It didn't really look anything like his, but he supposed the concept was more or less the same.

The smell of stale oil was kind of refreshing. It was much better than smelling the castile fragrances that lingered around the school, constantly making him feel like he was one minute away from a headache. He set his helmet on the tool bench, shedding his jacket next, then finally laying his gloves on top of the heap. He stepped carefully up the step and past the cracked door, pushing it open and looking for wigns of life.

He heard rummaging and followed it.

He found Bruce, his back to him, in weathered jeans and a tee shirt, peeling through parts in a box. Jason went very still as his eyes moved down the toned back, perfectly outlined by the black cotton that clung to it like a second skin. And his biceps… Jason was a weight lifter, but those biceps put him to shame. When Bruce bent over, Jason's head tilted slowly, eyes fixated right on his ass. He hadn't realized his lips had parted in shock until he cleared his throat to pull himself, and Bruce, back to awareness.

Bruce turned, his already dirtied hands gripping some tubing. Bruce frowned and looked at Jason's clothes. He was still wearing his school uniform, though untucked and wrinkled as it may have been.

"Did you bring different clothes…?"

He felt stupid. Of course he should have brought different clothes. His lack of answer was enough for the teacher to get the picture.

"First rule of auto mechanics," he started, unzipping a duffle bag on the counter and pulling clothes from its depths. "Don't wear clothes you like, or need elsewhere." He handed Jason the bundle of clothes, pushed past him to give him privacy and went back into the garage.

Jason shed his backpack to the floor and began to change. He pulled the long sleeved, cotton-spandex shirt over his head, and he inhaled sharply. It smelled really good. Not quite fresh laundry, but like Bruce had worn it before, and maybe a hint of motor oil.

He slithered back out to the garage. "Not too bad, eh, Brucey?" He was referring to himself. "They're kinda big." His teacher watched him carefully. "I gotta say," he smirked, "I like getting into your pants."

The look on Bruce's face was priceless. It truly said, without words, that he could not follow Jason down this dirty, dark road. He wouldn't be Jason if he didn't make the man uncomfortable, now was he? The guy may have roped him into a "club activity," but he would give him hell the entire time.

The older man's face told him he didn't think it was funny, but in that moment, he saw him think about it, just a tiny moment, and suddenly his face faltered and Jason caught the self-doubt, the crack in his mask as he turned away.

Oh?

What was that?

"Get your bike…" his tone was stern, unwavering and more of an order than a request. Jason obliged, a wide, sadistic grin spreading across his lips as he grabbed the handles of his bike, kicked up the stand, and pushed his bike up the shallow driveway.

Once they got going, Jason was fascinated. He watched, absorbing every little thing that he could. He knew basic motorcycle terminology, so when Bruce pointed out this and that, it was easy to remember and associate its purpose. He instructed him to start the bike, and he did, then left it idling and crawled back down onto his knees to follow Bruce's line of sight. They had already stripped the engine cover to reveal a section under the tank with a hose. Bruce pulled on the hose a little and they both heard a very faint hiss of air escaping.

"Sounds like there's a leak…" Bruce mused, more to himself, but it didn't sound like he was convinced that that was the problem. "Turn it off?"

Jason did as he was told, letting the bike die and stopping next to the older man again. This was… a little more fun that he'd thought it would be. A lot more, actually. He found his eyes drifting from Bruce's hands to his face, watching him mumble to himself as he looked at the hoses he'd brought out from the shop earlier. With the lack of proper ventilation in the garage, the heat had likely coiled throughout the day to bring them to their current unpleasant warmth that was just enough to cause a thin sheen of sweat to dew at their foreheads. He felt like he was actually seeing the real Bruce. It kind of annoyed him that he wasn't the arrogant rich boy he'd thought him to be. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. He knew a real man's hard labor. The older man lifted the back of his hand to his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Jason watched as a small clump of hair fell from its normally perfect placement to hang down, just above his eyebrow. He was staring. Jason grit his teeth, forcing his eyes from an incredibly unfair jaw line back down to the hoses that Bruce was changing.

"I have a feeling this may be an electrical issue," Bruce continued to muse, unaware.

"Spark plugs?" Jason offered.

"Most likely. There's a box full of them next to the bench," and Jason was already grabbing it and sliding it over. Who knew if they even had the right spark plugs?

"Don't pull the wire, because you might damage the connection," Bruce said, showing him carefully. "Pull carefully at the base where the boot is…" he trailed off and wiggled it free, setting the wire aside. He lifted a wrench. "If you have a spark plug wrench, like this, it's better than say a flat wrench." He covered the protrusion of the spark plug and gave it a few turns until it was loose enough to turn the rest by hand. He pulled the plug from the bike and held it next to the ones in their hands for comparison until they found one that matched.

Jason fished out a few others just in case and set them aside, then shoved the box out of the way.

"Here," came the deep voice that was right next to his ear. He took the spark plug and reached forward.

He screwed it in until the washer was touching the cylinder, then took the wrench from Bruce.

"Just a half a turn. The plug is steel, but the body is a lighter alloy, which is not as strong."

"Right," Jason hummed. "So it could damage the alloy and mess up the cylinder."

He learned fast, and he could see it on Bruce's face. He turned the wrench, checked the washer with his bare fingers, then reached for the boot attached to the wire. He secured it in place and set the wrench down.

"Shall we?" Jason asked, a grin on his face.

"Go ahead." They both stood and Bruce took a step back while Jason threw a leg over and started the engine. They both listened for a while, neither of them hearing the sputtering that was previously apparent before. He revved the engine some, testing it's bearings and looked at Bruce.

It sounded good. Really good.

"I'm going to test it out!" He had to speak a little louder over the rumbling. Bruce gave a small nod and picked up a towel to wipe his hands. Jason wiggled his way down the driveway carefully before revving and taking off.

It felt so good being on the bike. His stomach churned with excitement as he rolled along and turned about the block. Without his helmet, the wind caressed his face and blew his hair every which way. It was like flying.

He carefully guided himself back to the garage, pulling up and shutting the engine off once he reached Bruce. He was drinking from a bottle of water and tossed one to Jason once he was off the bike. He gladly accepted it and opened it quickly to take a long drink. He sighed heavily after, leaning against the tool bench and staring at Bruce.

"So you're not just a pathetic ass hole who likes to pick on kids." It was actually a compliment, but it was delivered in the only way he knew how to give them.

"Thank you." He flinched. Was he so transparent that the old man could read him like a book?

He could let him have all the fun, now could he? He wouldn't go down without a fight. He wouldn't give the older man the pure satisfaction of his accomplishment. He pushed himself off the tool bench, leaving his water bottle behind and advancing towards his teacher like a cat on the prowl. Bruce shifted his weight.

"You're pretty good with your hands…" Jason smirked. "What else can you do with them?" He really enjoyed making Wayne uncomfortable. He imagined it was rather hard to do, as even though he was suggesting very blatantly inappropriate things, he hardly got anything from the man. It was infuriating really, but he wasn't deterred in the slightest. If anything, it only made him want to push harder.

He stopped in front of him, the distance between them far too narrow to be proper. He brushed Bruce's arm with his fingers as he reached up to take the towel that was draped over his shoulder, not moving an inch as he wiped his fingers and stared up at the man in front of him.

Bruce stared down the bridge of his nose at him, his blue-grey eyes locked on his own, but the man didn't move at all. He'd never back down from a challenge, would he?

He smirked, carefully reaching up to touch his jaw and smeared some oil on cheek with his thumb.

"You've got some oil there…" Jason purred. He watched as he clenched his jaw, the only indication that Jason was getting to him. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" The man's self control was really something else. Though perhaps he was just at the end of his limit…

He snickered and put the towel back on his shoulder, noting every muscle in his body was tense and hard as he just watched Jason closely.

"See you Monday." He grinned, leaning away, breaking the tension between them. He shrugged his jacket on, pulled his helmet over his head and started the bike. He looked over his shoulder at Bruce, enjoying the sight.

How far could he push until Bruce Wayne broke?

Note: Thanks for reading! I know it's been ages. I love this story, but I'm not sure I have the strength to finish it. They're so complex and difficult to write in AUs. -sob- I will do my best. Please review.