A/N: tw: a little bit of blood and Oscar calls someone a jackass because of course he does

Title taken from "The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy.

It'd happened slowly, or, at least that's what she told herself. Since moving back home – she'd started referring to it as home now, wasn't that strange – she'd had a little bit of a cough. Most of the time, she'd been able to disguise it or write it off as a lingering cold, especially during flu season. If she was being truly honest with herself – not something she liked to do a lot – she had noticed it was getting worse, even before the petals showed up.

The flower petals. That had been the point where she had realized it was really that bad. It had just been the two of them in the gas station sniping at each other, or, rather, her sniping at him and him not always realizing her insults. And then he'd turned to leave, giving her a small, real, smile. Not his usual grins, but a gentle, genuine smile.

She'd coughed hard and long, worse than usual and when she'd lowered her fist there was a flower petal in it. "Oh, crap," she rasped. "It's that bad."

The small, purple petal didn't look like anything she'd ever seen. Lying there in her palm, it didn't look like it could cause that much trouble. She coughed once or twice more to try and get the taste of plants out of her mouth. It didn't work.

She kept the petal. Not for sentimental reasons, but because she wanted to know which flower it came from. Not that she bought into all that flower language crap, just because she was curious. It was her internal botanist coming out, so sue her. Not that she had ever had the slightest interest in botany before this, but if this plant was going to kill her, she could at least figure out what the hell kind of plant it was.

Her search didn't yield any results, despite her staying up half the night trying to find some, so, by the time she came in for work the next day she was cranky. Well, crankier.

"Usually it's me groaning at customers like that."

Brent noticed.

"You look tired. Coffee's on the house today, okay?"

Lacy noticed.

"You look like crap."

Emma noticed.

"If you fall asleep on the job, I promise I won't tell."

Davis noticed.

"Hey, I don't pay my taxes for you to fall asleep on the job, jackass!"

Even Oscar noticed.

"Fine," Wanda sighed, totaling up Oscar's purchase of a bag of chips and two sticks of gum. "Tell you what, I'll go home in fifteen minutes." She paused. "That'll be three dollars."

"Highway robbery!" Oscar griped, digging in his picket for change. "And you'd better be heading home soon! I never tolerated these kind of shenanigans before, and I won't now!"

"Dad? What are you doing here? It's almost five," Brent pointed out, walking in the back door from the Ruby.

"Your mother told me to invite you for supper. Do you know how much your employees are charging for gum now? It's outrageous!"

"It's inflation, Dad. Simple economics – never mind. Tell Mom I'll be there soon."

Oscar walked out, grumbling under his breath the entire way, almost running into Hank coming into the gas station.

"Because that's what this day needed," Wanda muttered with more venom than usual in her tone.

Brent glanced over. "Something wrong?"

"No, I'm doing just fine," Wanda answered, suppressing a tickle in the back of her throat.

"Well, okay, then," Brent shrugged, either ignoring her sarcasm or not picking up on it. "Hey, Hank. What's up?"

Hank held out his hands, and, with more than his usual level of theatre, announced. "I'm in love."

"Who's the lucky girl?" Brent asked, definitely deliberately ignoring Wanda's coughing fit. "Or guy, I suppose."

"That's just it!" Hank exclaimed. "I don't know!" He coughed into his elbow. "I've been going around town all day trying to figure it out!"

"Poor town," Wanda said.

"So, uh, how do you know you're in love?" Brent asked. "Is this like that time you tried to read Mary Pratchett's tea leaves in the sixth grade?"

Hank scoffed. "'Course not, Brent! This is serious!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a petal that looked identical to Wanda's. "I coughed this up this morning!"

"And that's my cue to leave!" Wanda said loudly, sliding off her stool. She left Brent and Hank debating over the possible origin of the flower petal, trying to ignore the dusty feeling in the roof of her mouth.

She thought about it long and hard that night after putting Tanner to bed. The universe was telling her she belonged with Hank Yarbo. It was insane, no, more than that, it was illogical. Even if he had nice eyes and a beautiful smile, even if he was much more intelligent than he let on, even if Wanda ignored the fact that she had a very strong reminder of exactly what she thought of him sleeping upstairs, it wouldn't work. Couldn't work. She, Wanda Dollard, had burned her bridges long ago and never looked back.

Hank had never told anyone about their – relationship was too strong a word – and Wanda would always be grateful to him. He had never played that card either, never held it over her head no matter how justified he was, which was just another reason why she could never hate him, no matter what she told everyone else in Dog River.

But, to be coughing up flower petals for him? No. Wanda had never let anyone decide her fate for her, and she wasn't about to start now. She did not love Hank Yarbo and nothing was going to change that.

"Has Hank been acting weird?" Lacy asked.

"Do you mean weird, or Hank weird?" Wanda asked, breathing through the tickle that speaking Hank's name brought about.

Lacy looked confused. "Well, he's hanging out around here a lot more the last few days. It's almost like he's avoiding Corner Gas." She laughed. "I mean, that's ridiculous but it's how it seems." Leaning closer, she dropped her voice. "I'm worried about him."

Wanda didn't laugh the way she would have a week ago. "I'm sure he's fine," she said, downing the last of her coffee. It was cold. Hank wasn't the only one practicing avoidant behaviours. "Maybe talk to Brent about it?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lacy brightened. "Thanks, Wanda!"

"No problem," Wanda answered, heading back through the connecting door.

Giving into the coughing fit she'd been suppressing for a while, she ducked into the bathroom, hacking and coughing until it felt like she was dredging up the bottom of her lungs. She had a handful of petals in her hand when she was done, not just one or two. Swearing viciously at her reflection, she threw them in the garbage can and washed her hands.

"You okay?" Brent asked when she emerged. "That sounded nasty."

Wanda shrugged, taking up her crossword puzzle. "Well, it's not bubonic plague."

Brent shrugged. "Okay." He picked up his comic book before putting it back down. "Hey, maybe you caught what Hank has."

"Maybe," Wanda grumbled, trying to find a five-letter word for ignoramus.

"Except for the flower petals," Brent said, going back to his comic book. "That's just Hank being Hank." He flipped a page. "Wonder where he got them, though?"

Wanda managed to avoid crossing Hank's path for another two days. Her cough didn't get worse, but it didn't get better. She still tried to identify the flower petals, but with a little less effort than before. After all, she had already decided this wasn't going to get the better of her. Why should she try to buy into the superstition? As long as she didn't talk to or think too much about Hank, she wouldn't get worse.

She didn't let herself think about how difficult avoiding one person in a town like Dog River would be. She didn't need that kind of negativity in her life.

Instead, she kept to herself more than usual and tried to fend off questions about her health and wellbeing as much as possible. It usually wasn't too hard.

"Did you hear about the Dog River flower show?" Lacy asked, refilling Wanda's coffee cup.

"No," Wanda answered truthfully. "Should I have?"

"It's an important social event," Davis said, sitting down beside Wanda. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

"It wasn't a conversation," Wanda started.

"More like a question and answer," Lacy finished her sentence. "Are you going, Davis?"

"Of course," he said with a grin. "Everyone who's anywhere will be there."

Everyone who doesn't have anything better to do, Wanda translated mentally. She might not consciously think of Dog River as home most of the time, but she had learned a thing or two after living in it for as many years as she had. Which, come to think of it, was strange all on its own. Why hadn't she moved? She was practically the only college graduate in town, so surely she could have found something better to do with her life than working at the only gas station within sixty klicks with just her and her kid. Swiftly, she shut down the train of thought that would remind her that she could have more than just Tanner in her life.

" – and of course Emma grows the best nasturtiums. Right, Wanda?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah," Wanda agreed, tuning back into Davis' question.

"You weren't paying a lick of attention to the conversation," Emma said. "I don't even grow nasturtiums!"

"You got me," Wanda admitted. She hadn't even noticed Emma sit down on the other side of Davis. "Anyway, I've got to get back to work. I think I hear the gas bell."

She escaped as quickly as possible, ignoring Emma's, "That's Brent's excuse. Come up with your own next time."

"See you at the flower show!" Davis called after her.

Brent raised an eyebrow as she sat down back behind the counter. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Wanda said defensively. "I may have gotten roped into attending the flower show, though," she said, taking out her crossword.

"Was it my mom?" Brent shook his head. "Tricky woman."

"No, Davis," Wanda sighed. "I didn't want to disappoint him."

Brent hummed and flipped a page in his comic book. "That doesn't sound like the Wanda I know. Too sentimental."

No. Nope. Sentimentality was not something anyone could accuse Wanda Dollard of. "It's not that," she said. "I just – he's a cop, y'know? I want to stay on the good side of the law."

"I don't think not attending a flower show is illegal," Brent said with a frown. "Otherwise I'd've been arrested a few times."

The bell over the door jingled and Wanda looked up, grateful for the distraction, before immediately retracting the thought.

"What's illegal?" Hank asked.

"Nothing," Brent answered. "Although wearing too much cologne should be. Jeez, Hank, you smell like an Axe factory exploded downwind of you."

Hank shrugged, leaning on the cash register. "It's a two-tiered plan," he started to explain. "First of all, those flower petals. I don't want to smell like a girl in case my true love doesn't like that." Ignoring Brent's snort of disbelief, he continued. "Two, I figured wearing cologne would up my chances of finding my true love anyway."

"Not unless your true love is into guys who smell like a high school locker room," Wanda commented, wrinkling her nose.

"Is it that bad?" Hank asked.

"Is what that bad?" Karen asked, walking into Corner Gas with Davis trailing her. "Oh, wow."

"Yeah," Wanda said, "it is."

"I think I need a guy's perspective on this," Hank decided.

"You've got one," Brent objected. "Mine."

Hank ignored him. "Hey, Davis, do you think I'm wearing too much cologne?"

Davis frowned, looking between Wanda, Karen, and Hank. "Oh, definitely," he said after a slightly too-long pause. "Anyway, Karen and I wanted to know if you guys were going to the flower show."

"I told him it wasn't a mandatory event," Karen explained, "but he wants to 'encourage community participation'."

"Nice air quotes," Wanda complimented her.

"Thanks. So, are you going?"

"Are you buying gas?" Brent asked.

Davis frowned. "Is that a trick question?"

"I'm going," Hank said cheerfully. "Maybe I'll find my true love there," he mused.

Karen stared at him. "Your true what?" she asked.

"Love," Hank answered. "See, I started coughing – "

"And that's my quota of crazy for the day," Brent declared. He set down the comic book. "I'll be at the Ruby if anyone needs me."

"You should come to the flower show," Hank said, shifting topics easier than blinking. "It'll be fun!"

"What the hell," Wanda replied. "Put me down." Maybe it was masochism, maybe it was some desire that Wanda didn't want to admit even to herself, and maybe it was the look in Hank's eyes – no. Wanda was just a masochist and self-analysis was overrated.

Karen and Davis left, satisfied with their answers and leaving Hank and Wanda alone. "So," Hank asked after a moment, "do you think I'm right?"

"No, the cologne is still awful."

"Not that." Hank paused, before quietly asking. "About the love thing."

Wanda started coughing. Correlation did not always equal causation, but sometimes it did, and Wanda figured those statisticians didn't know what they were talking about anyway. She coughed more, nearly bending double behind the desk. Hank reached over to help, but she waved his arm away. "Don't touch me," she croaked.

Finally, after coughing for several long minutes, there was a large – something in her mouth. Wanda spit it into her hand and leaned on the counter. "You were saying?" she asked hoarsely, ignoring the tears in her eyes.

"Um," Hank looked away, "well, you're one of the smartest people I know, and I figured if there was anything to this whole flowers thing, then you'd know."

Wanda groaned, the compliments making her taste petals. "You shouldn't need some kind of flower voodoo to tell you if you love someone," she said bluntly, keenly aware of her hypocrisy.

"But what if they don't love me back?" Hank asked.

Wanda sighed. "I don't know. What am I, Cupid?"

Hank stood there in silence, shuffling his feet. "Sorry," he finally said, quietly leaving the gas station.

Wanda stared at the counter without seeing it. What if her feelings were unreciprocated? What would happen?

Death. Wanda stared at her computer screen, the single word commanding her full attention. Unreciprocated affection would result in death. There was a surgery for it, but all of the doctors who would or could perform the operation lived in other countries, and the procedure was too expensive by far.

Wanda breathed slowly, refusing to cry. She kept reading. "Symptoms worsen as affections grow. By the time the subject is coughing up full flowers, they may have less than a month to live." Wanda remembered the thing in her mouth back at Corner Gas, and she shoved her hand into her pocket with a curse.

It was a flower. Small and purple, like the petals, it lay fully formed in her palm. Wanda stared. "Screw you," she whispered, not knowing whether she was talking to Hank or the universe or herself. She was a walking time bomb and her only chance at survival had a success rate of fifty percent.

The weather was perfect on the day of the Dog River flower show and Wanda hated it. If it had been cloudy and drizzly, she might have been a little happier about it, but the blue sky and green fields seemed to be mocking her.

She made her way down Main Street, mostly ignoring the showcases. There was one person she was here to see and it wasn't Wes, no matter how pretty his peonies were.

She coughed into her fist, stuffing the petals into her pocket. No matter how tiny the cough, at least a couple of petals came with it nowadays and it felt like almost every night she was left with one or two flowers in her palms. They were starting to be streaked with blood, another sign that she was closer to the end than she'd like to admit, and she could taste the copper tinge in the back of her throat almost all the time.

"Wanda! You made it!" Emma's voice interrupted her musings. "Come take a look at our booth."

Wanda made her way over to a small table where various plants and flowers were laid out in beautiful patterns. Oscar sat behind the table, scowling.

"Don't you think of nabbing any of these," he warned. "Coupla' kids already tried that!"

"He means the Girl Scouts who were taking pictures," Emma explaining, glaring at her husband.

Wanda nodded, barely hearing the two bicker as she focused on not coughing flower petals all over Emma's azaleas.

"Hey, do you know what I can do to improve growing conditions for my alyssum's?"

"Well, we live in a type 2 climate, so…"

Wanda's eyes widened. "Just a minute," she said, excusing herself from the Leroy's table. They didn't even acknowledge her as she walked away towards Hank's voice.

She found him at a cobbled-together booth talking to someone about soil types. "Excuse me," she said, grabbing Hank's elbow and walking him around the corner of the church.

"What was that?" Hank asked.

"I need to talk to you," Wanda said, ignoring his question.

Hank coughed into his hand for a long moment before answering. "What?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You're good with flowers," Wanda said, clearing her throat. "What is this?" She held out one of the first flowers she'd coughed up, one without the bloodstains.

Hank took it from her, his eyes widening. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter. Just answer the question," Wanda said, crossing her arms. She swallowed hard, tasting blood and flowers.

"It's a delphinium," Hank mumbled.

"Oh," Wanda said, pausing. She had no idea what it meant or its significance, or why Hank was looking at it like it was a chunk of gold. "What's that?" she asked brusquely.

Hank shrugged. "No idea what it means," he confessed.

Wanda sighed, feeling extremely irritated with herself, Hank, and the universe. She opened her mouth to say something, but her lungs chose that moment to betray her. It was the worst coughing fit she'd had yet, and she doubled over, hacking.

"Whoa, hey, hey!" Hank's hands were there supporting her. "Are you okay?"

Wanda had no breath to say anything. Blood spattered the ground mixed with flower petals. I'm dying, she wanted to say. I love you and I'm dying because of it. She gagged, and a full delphinium hit the ground in the mess at her feet. Carefully she breathed through her teeth, forcing herself not to cough.

"I'm okay," she croaked.

Hank didn't say anything, which was somewhat of a first for him. He reached into his pocket, producing a handful of very familiar flower petals along with a delphinium.

Wanda groaned, sitting down hard. "How long?" she asked.

Hank sat down next to her on the ground. "It started a – a while ago. The flowers, um, like a day ago."

Whatever it meant, Wanda figured, it couldn't be good. Either Hank's feelings weren't for her, or they were but not as strong, or it wasn't progressing as fast, or – well, whatever it meant, Wanda was dying. That was the important information.

"Do you know who it is?"

"I have my suspicions," Wanda said.

"Tell me?"

"No."

"Please?"

Wanda closed her eyes, breathing as deeply as she could. Either way she was dying. What was a little more disappointment? "What the hell," she breathed. She turned to stare at Hank, the sight of his deep brown eyes hurting her chest. "It's you."

He nodded, more serious than usual, before his breath caught and he lurched forward, coughing. They were deep coughs, like the sort that came with pneumonia. The first thing to come out of his mouth was a shower of petals, then three perfectly formed flowers. A few more petals drifted out of his mouth and then Hank's coughs subsided. He stood up shakily, and Wanda scrambled to her feet.

"What was that?" she demanded, feeling irrationally annoyed.

Instead of answering, Hank looked at her with his soft smile she had always been a sucker for. He leaned in and kissed her, tilting his head to fit his mouth to hers. The kiss tasted like flowers and copper and it was the single most irrationally romantic moment of Wanda's life.

Until she pushed him away and coughed blood all over her shoes. Blood and flowers and petals cascaded out of her mouth until Wanda was sure she would die from pure suffocation. Finally, with one last, wrenching cough, a tiny branch with two flowers attached worked its way free and landed on the ground.

Wanda coughed experientially, just to make sure no plant matter was left in her respiratory system and then took her first deep breath in days.

"Feeling better?" Hank asked.

"Yeah," she said. "You?"

"Yeah."

Wanda stared at the mess on the ground. "Why was it so much worse for me?"

Hank shrugged. "You do have a habit of thinking about stuff way too much."

"Are you saying I'm a chronic overthinker?"

"No," Hank said very unconvincingly.

Wanda shook her head, pulling him in for another kiss. Maybe she'd get him back for that, maybe she wouldn't, but for now this was all she cared about.