Disclaimer: I own nothing except this one hamster that died a long time ago.

So shout out to Dawnie-7 for making me bring this back. Much love and I hope you like the new chapter.

Tate hadn't left her until dark. They sat together on an old dilapidated wall that curved to nowhere. It stretched only about 30 or 40 feet and seemed to not serve any purpose other than to give two kids a place to sit for a half and hour. Tate and Angela sat in silence as the light of day grew dimmer and cast them into dull afternoon. They sat there until her shiny black shoes melted into the pitch-black dark of evening. She almost for got she had feet. When it was time to go Tate took hold of her hand and led them out past the school and past the outer gate to the street. Neither spoke as they stumbled in the dark back towards the streetlights of the main road that would lead them home.

Angela was so close that she could hear his breath go steady from his body then back in. The smaller girl was already huffing just trying to keep up with his pace. She then remembered that Tate had mentioned joining track team a few days back. He had gotten thinner. His round boyish face had sharpened causing his features to become hard and adult. He looked older than her now even though they were the same age. Angela wondered why she had only noticed now. She blamed it on the fact that she had yet to go see one of his practices. Silently, she promised him that she would be there next time.

She tripped once and the weight of her thin limbs ended up pressed into the soft fabric of his red and green-stripped sweater. She blushed at the queer feeling that turned over in her stomach when she felt the hard muscle of his back and shoulders through the fabric. When he felt her fall he looked back but did not smile. He barely even acknowledged her but he did pull her closer, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

They were so close but she felt a dissonance beginning to yawn between them. A beast was being fed by her unwillingness to be honest and his unwillingness to be forgiving, it's weight and girth pressing down on the tear between them to ripping and shredding them to pieces.

There was such sadness and hardness in him on that walk back to the street. Angela was glad when they stepped out of the dark into the dull orange light of the street lamps. He left her after a moment of hesitation without a goodbye.

Angela realized later that it had been a miracle that she hadn't got jumped on her way back home but at the time she was too lost in a haze.

A song was playing in her mind.

When she got home Angela went straight to her room. She wasn't surprised to find that nobody noticed her absence. She took off her shoes leaving her white socks on and curled up under the covers but her eyes didn't close.

A song was playing in her mind and it told her everything.

The past, dead babies, dead maids and dead everything, were whispering in her ear. They told her about misery, about herself, about Tate. And it told her the future.

It told her how she would die.

October

"So what instruments do you not play?" Tate said sitting on the floor in the middle of Angela's room.

It wasn't the first time he had been to her house. After what happened in the music room he had managed to convince her to let him come around her house. She of course had a strict schedule as to when he could come. He always pushed the limit. Sometimes he'd come too early or too late. He had never seen Angela so distressed when did that so he stopped. He played by the rules for her sake.

The room was a mess even more so than Tate's room and messy it was always was. Tate found it sort of comforting. There was energy in her mess, a vitality that his own world lacked. All he wanted was to swallow that energy whole and let it sit at the center chest and set his insides on fire but he wouldn't do that. He could never to that to Angela of all people. He'd find other fires to devour soon enough, other worlds to shove down his throat.

Tate sat in the middle of her chaos a look of contentment on his face. It felt like Angela there and in the air he could smell the faintest scent of honey and polishing oil. It was like sitting at the center of the world. His world at least.

"There are tons of stuff I haven't learned yet," Angela said from her closet where she was rummaging around for something or other, "I'm sure there are even musical instruments out there that I haven't even heard of."

"I can't imagine that's true," Tate said using that tone that could have been sincere or sarcastic; no one knew.

It was that very same tone that he got him a bloody nose just last Wednesday. Some kid at the mall called Angela chink and Tate had never been good at holding his tongue. The two of them had spent fifteen minutes in the women's restroom trying to stop the bleeding offending every woman who happened to walk in.

"But one day I will hear about them," Angela said continuing to sift through all the junk in her closet, "And I'll find them and learn all about them and play them."

"You will," Tate agreed picking up a book from her desk, which seemed to be the only orderly thing in the whole room besides her bed.

And he truly believed in her. Tate didn't have many things to believe in. His father was gone and religion was a hoax. God had forsaken him and his mother was a cocksucker. So all that was left to have faith in was a little American Chinese girl who collected bruises and shiners like a bible collects dust. Maybe that was his downfall. Tate had too much faith and only one person to put it. Perhaps it was her downfall as well.

It had been nearly two months since her break down in the music room and neither had made much of an effort to discuss it. Angela was too confused and embarrassed by her outburst and Tate was just plain terrified by it. So they avoided the subject like adults.

"That's what I want to do Tate," Angela said halting her progress and turning to look at him, "I want to make music and play it on a big stage, there doesn't need to be an audience. I'd be happy if it was just you."

"I'd like that," he said only taking a short moment to look up from the book and smile.

When he turned back to the book Angela frowned. Ever since the break down Tate had grown clingy but distant at the same time. He skipped classes and he had barely even stepped into his school's library which he used to frequent all the time. Instead he spent his and her time listening to Angela play in the music room at her school. He had even made friends with the security guards.

But despite all the time they spent together Angela felt lonely. Beneath all his smiles and sunny comments there was bitterness. Angela couldn't shake the feeling that he was punishing her. She was lying to him. She had made that perfectly clear. To be fair it wasn't exactly lying. She wasn't telling him a lie but she wasn't telling him what was going on and that was just as bad in his books. And he couldn't trust her. He loved her and needed her but he couldn't trust her.

"How'd you get the wind chimes and stuff all the way up there?" Tate asked quietly as he craned his neck so that he could look up at the high ceiling.

Sure enough forty, maybe fifty mobiles hung from the ceiling dangling down swinging in the light breeze coming from an open sky window. They were all different shapes and sizes. One was made of what looked like metal shavings painted blues and shades of orange all tied to light brown string in a pattern that created the shape of fish, whales and other sea creatures. There was one made out of dead flowers and another made of papier-mâché

Angela didn't catch his question because she was too busy looking but Tate waited patiently in silence just incase she did answer him. Among the chaos of her room he spotted some of the strangest things. There was a collection of tree nuts, walnuts, pine cones and other little trinkets arranged from shade of brown darkest to lightest on her dresser. On the window sill just above the headboard of her bed sat an impressive collection of bird's eggs. Some were speckled in brown, blue and camel, other smooth and without blemish. They came in bright colors and dull ones. For the majority of them he could name the bird to which they belonged. He couldn't imagine how she came across some of them. They didn't even nest in the Western hemisphere.

"Aha!" Angela cried, "I found it."

Tate stood up from the desk he had been leaning on. He would forgive her eventually of course. He found that he could forgive Angela for just about anything but she'd have to come clean first.

Tate walked through her room, which was larger than his own. The ceiling was high sloping diagonally with the slant of the roof of her house.

"Whatcha got there," Tate inquired trying to be patient but she had been digging in that hole for nearly twenty minutes.

All the while, ignoring him. He wanted to see what the fuss was about.

"It's my very first," Angela said holding the thing out to him, "this is Stella."

It was a kazoo.

"That's a kazoo."

"Well yea," Angela said obviously disappointed with his lack of enthusiasm, "but not just any kazoo. This was my very first kazoo."

"You have more," Tate said both horrified and amazed at the idea.

Tate hated kazoos.

"Of course I have more," Angela said, "I have a ton, I also have a violin that I nicked from school, a French horn I found in someone's trash and a whole bunch of other stuff. I thought you realized that."

Of course he had. Tate noticed everything about her. From the way her fingers twitched just before she began to play her viola to the queer sound she made as she inhaled sharply just before she laughed.

When he first entered the room he instantly began to catalog everything his greedy little eyes could see. He took notes in his mind about the things she already had and the things she'd need. Tate had become quite the musical enthusiast since meeting Angela. Most of the books he borrowed from the library were on musical instruments about their care, variety and accessories. He planned out birthday gifts, Christmases etc all in those few moments. Without even realizing it he had already planned out a whole life with her in it.

Tate smiled brightly as Angela showed him her fish tank, which had no fish in it but rather was filled with her collection of Coca-Cola memorabilia. After that she could barely contain her excitement at sharing her first piano instructional book with him. She was practically raving as she pointed out her favorite songs humming the tune of each one for him.

"You're so funny, Ang," Tate said shaking his head and dropping his eyes to the wood floor, "you just don't know how to be normal. It never even crossed your mind."

From his lips that sounded more like an accusation than a endearing statement. Angela tried to smile back but the left corner of her mouth just wouldn't cooperate. It drooped ever so slightly below its counterpart on the right side of her face creating a happy grimace to mar her face.

"Nope," she whispered hoping to catch his eyes or see the expression on his face but no such luck.

She meant to say more add some clever quip or a kind of humorous anecdote. She meant to at least scream at him to stop fucking ignoring her but the air got stuck in her throat. She knew he was angry. It wasn't that she wanted to lie. Angela wanted to tell him everything but something curling and unfurling in her stomach kept her from it. It was like pain and fear and exact force of steel toe boot flying forward at a speed of two feet per second.

"You can take that," Angela said referring to the book still in hand, "I knew you'd like it so I put it out where you could see it."

That got his attention. He looked up at her through his blond hair the curls of it curving just over his eyebrows almost into his eyes. His stare made her uneasy but she smiled regardless this time both corners of her mouth rising in tandem.

Angela had learned after many years of training how to smile right the second time. Because if you didn't get it right the second time then you'd never get it right on your own. You'd need some help and help always came swiftly and painfully across her cheek or in her gut.

His glare softened at the sight of her smile. Tate knew he'd have to forgive her eventually. He was sure he'd die if he didn't but she was lying. Lying was one of the worst things a person could do in Tate's book but being Angela was also the best. One of those things would have to win out eventually but until it did Tate and Angela were stuck in limbo.

"Thanks," he said another dull smile flashing across his face but settling immediately.

He went back to his book and left Angela standing with her box of Kazoos in hand. Her frame looked infinitely lonely against the lively scenery of the chaos of her room. Her bones looked brittle from beneath her tanned skin like they would break under the weight of her sadness.

Tate kept his eyes on the book. He turned a page never once glancing up at Angela to see her sadness. His skin felt cold and he couldn't make sense of any of the words but he couldn't forgive her just yet.

"Look at me," Angela said softly at first but Tate caught it, "please will you just-"

Her tongue halted when his eyes met her own.

"Ang, don't," he said gently but with a warning.

He went back to reading the book but Angela wasn't having it.

"Don't tell me to stop," she said her voice growing, "you haven't looked at me since forever! Why are you doing this to me?"

She gripped her box of kazoos to her chest as if trying to draw some comfort from the pieces of plastic. They gave her nothing.

"Why? WHY?" Tate said quickly losing his cool, "Why the hell do you think? You're lying to me, Angela. To me! How can I look you in the face knowing that?"

The box of Kazoos slipped from her hand. She didn't even notice Stella falling from her fingers to ground. The impact of it created a crack all the way through the cherry red plastic.

"Then leave," Angela said not raising her voice.

Tate didn't move. He stood his ground but made no reply.

"I'm never going to tell you," she said her voice growing nearly to a scream, "so just leave because I can't ever tell you!"

Angela should never have to shout, Tate thought to himself, she should never have to raise her voice to get her way. It should just come to her.

"I'll never ever tell you!"

"Why not Angela?" Tate screamed in reply, "what are you scared of? What could possibly happen?"

She sucked in a breath and made to reply but stopped suddenly when she realized the answer. She was scared of Tate. She was afraid of what he'd do.

"I can't tell you," she said, "I just can't."

There was silence after that. She didn't mean to be afraid of him. Angela loved Tate but there were things that she learned. As much as Tate had watched Angela, Angela had watched Tate and she had listened. He was in the Song and music had never lied to Angela before. She knew things now.

"This isn't fair," Tate mumbled thankfully breaking the silence, "I need you but how am I supposed to trust you? How long are you going to make me stay angry at you?"

"I dunno," Angela said her hands moving in that anxious way that they tended to move when she wanted to hold something or someone.

She wanted Tate. She wanted to be close to him again but she couldn't tell him. Angela promised right there and then that she would never tell him. She would take her secret to her grave.

"You're never going to tell me are you," Tate said as if reading her mind and hearing her vow, "I'm never gonna crack you."

Angela shook her head 'no'. Tate sighed when he saw her gesture. He had always been so indulgent towards the ones he loved and levi had broken. He couldn't ignore her any longer.

"Then I guess I'm defeated," he said.

There was a moment of hesitation and disbelief but Angela couldn't hold back for long. She ran headlong into him almost knocking the poor boy over. Tears nearly fell. Angela was sure that the world had stopped for her in that moment. And in that moment Angela allowed herself to believe that the song had lied. They were going to survive. They would live forever, just the two of them.

No such luck.

A/N: So I don't think I ever explained why this isn't really an AU fic. That's because nothing in the canon is going to change because of this fic. Nobody gets saved and nobody gets out alive. Well except Constance and she was pretty much dead from the start. Think of this a prequel to the canon storyline.