Imogen's eyes flutter shut before snapping open again as the boom of her teacher's voice suddenly interrupts the peaceful lull of the movie they're watching in class. She's never been great at keeping herself awake in class, and putting on a movie in the dark is like cruel and unusual torture if they expect her not to drift off to sleep. She picks her head up from off of her desk and blinks blearily, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Have a nice nap?"

Imogen smiles lazily at Fiona, who is smirking at her while doodling in her notebook. Their teacher stops his explanation of a certain scene in the movie and sits back down with his book, not caring what the class is doing now as long as they don't bother him. "Oh, the best five second nap of my life," she retorts. Fiona lets out a quiet laugh, risking a look at their teacher to make sure he hasn't heard before abandoning her notebook and leaning across the aisle.

"So, I was thinking. Do you want to come over to the loft tonight and we can order out and watch a movie?" Imogen can tell right away from the lilt in Fiona's voice that that isn't all she's thinking about them doing, and she grins in response.

"Sounds great, Fi." Fiona smiles back at her and then settles in her chair once more, picking up her pen and chewing on the end of it for a few seconds before attacking the paper with renewed vigor. Imogen spends the next couple of minutes just watching Fiona and the way she moves so effortlessly, doing everything in such a way that Imogen can't even imagine being as flawless as Fiona Coyne. She can tell that the other girl knows she's being studied, since a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she finally flicks her gaze up to Imogen's, mouthing "What?"

Imogen shakes her head slightly and folds her arms on her desk, resting her head on them, and tries her best to focus on the movie again. In mere seconds she can feel her eyelids drooping, and she knows it's a battle she's going to lose.

—

"Moreno!" her teacher barks, and Imogen jolts awake, glasses askew, and raises her hand awkwardly.

"Present!" The class snickers and Fiona leans over to gently lower her hand for her. It's then that Imogen takes stock of her surroundings and realizes that they aren't doing roll call at all, and she smiles sheepishly at their teacher. "Sorry, sir."

"Head to Mr. Simpson's office, Moreno." She frowns, eyebrows dipping together, and wonders what she had done to warrant a call down to the office. She gathers her books slowly and drops them in her backpack, her eyes pulled towards Fiona, who looks equally as confused. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she leaves the classroom and heads down the hall to Simpson's office, still wracking her brain about what might have happened.

The secretary doesn't look up from her paperwork when Imogen enters, giving her a curt "Wait a minute." Imogen does, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and looking all over the office at every little thing. When the secretary's head finally lifts, she takes one look at Imogen and her expression morphs into something that Imogen can't place before her mouth sets into a grim line. She stands, takes her by the elbow, and leads her straight into Simpson's office.

Simpson is on the phone, looking weary and, well, old, when they enter, although he hastily says goodbye when he sees them. The secretary closes the door firmly behind herself when she leaves, and Imogen's stomach takes an uncomfortable tumble. The air in the room is thick with tension and something else she can't identify, and it scares the crap out of her. "Imogen, sit, please." Simpson's voice is kind, pitying, almost, and Imogen takes her seat, grateful because she wasn't sure how much longer her shaky legs were going to keep her upright.

"Why am I here?" Her voice comes out tinier than she expected, catching on the last word. She's not sure what she's so afraid of, but Simpson's expression is not comforting in the least, and it definitely doesn't stop the hammering in her chest. Her fingers scrabble to hold onto something, anything, and they finally catch on the canvas flap of the front of her bag. She holds on for dear life, not even caring that the pins affixed to it are poking through, stabbing into her fingertips.

Simpson lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face, like he's at a loss for words. Just then, there's a knock on the door and the secretary pokes her head in. "They're here," she informs him, and Simpson waves her away. Seconds later two police officers in full uniform enter the room, and Imogen's heart goes into triple time. She's either about to be arrested or she's going to get the worst news of her life, and she doesn't know which she prefers right now.

She turns her gaze back to Simpson, eyes pleading with him behind her glasses. "Imogen, I don't know how to tell you this, but - " He doesn't have to, because one of the police officers takes it upon himself to round the desk and speak for Simpson.

"Imogen, I'm Officer Duarte," he says, businesslike, but not unkind. "And that over there is my partner, Officer Newton. This morning we responded to a call about a crash involving two cars on the highway. There were three victims, two of which did not make it. Imogen, I'm so sorry, but your parents, they were pronounced DOA when they made it to the hospital."

The office is so silent that Imogen can actually hear the secretary staple something from outside the door. Her brain simply isn't processing the information - she knows that she'll go home after school and her mother will be there to listen to her newest story about her classes and ask about how Fiona is doing, and her dad will come home for dinner and be adorably absentminded, and she'll probably walk in one them kissing or dancing or doing something couple-y after 30 years together. There's no way that her parents won't be there. There's no way that her house is empty, no way that her mother isn't singing some ridiculous tune that she made up on the spot, no way that her father hasn't left his shoes in the middle of the living room floor and made her mother roll her eyes in exasperation. There's no way that they aren't going to have their nightly family dinners or their Sunday dinners where Fiona comes over and some of their extended relatives come over and they all just sit around and talk. There's just no way none of that isn't ever happening again.

They had plans to go away for the weekend, for Christ's sake.

Imogen is well aware that she's been sitting there woodenly for the past five minutes or so, and Simpson and the two officers are looking at her expectantly, like she's supposed to cry or yell or throw something. Finally, she nods. "Thank you for telling me." Her voice sounds far away, like it's not coming from her body, and she stands up. "Can I go back to class?"

Simpson looks incredibly surprised. "Imogen, we thought that you would want to leave and go to the hospital and - " He cuts off, not wanting to say what comes next, but everyone in the room knows it. Imogen shakes her head. If she goes and sees them, it'll all be real. She can't. She just can't.

So she runs. She runs from the office, down the halls, and finds the empty art room, locking herself in and sliding down the door. She doesn't cry. She just leans her head back against the door, closes her eyes, and breathes. It's all sinking in now, and her chest feels like it's going to crack open and her heart is going to spill out onto the floor, and she can't stop any of it from happening.

She gets out her phone from her bag and blindly texts Fiona.

—

Imogen isn't involved with the wake or funeral plans at all, instead leaving it to her father's sister and her mother's sister, who are getting along surprisingly well in the face of this tragedy. She spends most of her time at Fiona's loft, feeling incredibly numb about all of this. Fiona seems concerned that she hasn't cried about any of this yet, but Imogen just lifts her shoulders in a shrug in reply.

Fiona has been a godsend during all of this. She seems to know just when Imogen needs a hug and when she needs space. She knows that the cliche words of comfort ("Everything happens for a reason," and "They didn't feel a thing," and "It'll be okay") don't mean a thing to her, and instead she makes up her own, whispering them to Imogen when they lay face-to-face in the dark in Fiona's bed at night. Imogen doesn't sleep very well anymore, finding it hard to fall asleep, and even then she wakes up from nightmares shaken and wary. Fiona doesn't go to sleep until after Imogen does, and she wakes up when Imogen does, too, which means that she's even more tired than Imogen is.

It's around this time that Imogen tells Fiona that she loves her. The two of them are laying in bed, the room lit with a single lamp in the corner, and Fiona is lightly caressing Imogen's forehead, brushing her hair out of her her face and telling her that she's the best, bravest girl that she's ever encountered.

"I love you."

It slips out so effortlessly, so unplanned, that it surprises even Imogen. Fiona's hand stills, her eyes searching Imogen's to make sure that she means it, that this isn't just a knee-jerk reaction to everything that's been going on. Imogen weakly smiles at first, but then it gains power and a laugh bubbles out of her throat. That surprises both of them even more than the admission of love, because Imogen hasn't laughed since that day in Simpson's office. She surges forward and buries her face just under Fiona's jaw, repeating the words over and over, tattooing them in the soft skin of her neck.

It's not until later, when Imogen is drifting off to sleep and she's in that hazy state between consciousness and unconsciousness that Fiona says it back. Imogen is on her back, splayed out in what Fiona calls her "starfish position," and Fiona is laying on her side, one hand serving as a pillow on top of her actual pillow. "I love you too, Im," she breathes, reaching out her free hand to tangle her fingers with Imogen's.

Imogen shifts so that they're facing each other again and smiles, drifting off into the first good night of sleep she's had in a while.

—

The wake is dismal, with Imogen dressed in all black and biting her nails to the quick. She stands next both of the caskets - closed, since she can't even imagine what her parents look like now - and her remaining family members stand along beside her. She monotonously thanks each and every person who files by her, only perking up the tiniest bit when she sees people from Degrassi coming in through the door. Fiona has been sitting in a chair across the room since the very beginning of the wake, waiting for any sign that Imogen needs her, flashing her a little smile whenever they make eye contact.

Imogen swears, she wouldn't have gotten through this if it weren't for Fiona.

Eli and Clare are first through the line. "I'm sorry for your loss," Clare says, and although it's the standard line she genuinely seems to mean it, so Imogen smiles back and her and issues a thank you. Eli says something along the same lines and gives her a tight hug before going to sit down with Clare and talk for a little while.

Adam, Drew, Bianca, Mo, Maya, some other people she's only seen and never talked to before go through the line and tell her how sorry they are, and she can only smile and nod. Smile and nod, smile and nod, pretend your world isn't falling apart, pretend things are all okay.

Fiona must sense that something is wrong, because she's up and out of her chair and crossing the room. Imogen's eyes are downcast now that everyone is away from her, and Fiona cups her cheeks, trying to get her to lift her gaze up to meet hers. It takes a few seconds of convincing, but finally Imogen does, feeling that little shock that always runs through her whenever she and Fiona are this close, and she can see the tiny dark spot on Fiona's left iris.

"Are you alright?" she asks, concern etched in her features, and Imogen just nods, swallowing thickly. Fiona doesn't look convinced, but she knows better than to push the situation, so she settles for kissing Imogen's forehead, lingering just a little. She goes back to her seat, pulling out her phone to check her email, her gaze mostly trained on Imogen.

Imogen feels like she might pass out, but she gets through the rest of the wake without looking at her parents' caskets once.

—

If the wake was bad, the funeral is an absolute disaster in Imogen's mind. It's held in a little church that her parents liked purely because of the aesthetics (their family wasn't religious), and the entire time she sits ramrod straight, with Fiona's hand in her own. She still hasn't cried, curiously enough, and she lets her thoughts wander as the minister recites his speech.

—

"Come on, Immy!" her dad cried, focusing the camera on a seven year old Imogen, who was riding her bicycle without training wheels for the first time. Imogen grinned at him, a gap in her teeth, and turned the bike, still a little wobbly.

"I'm doing it! Mommy, I'm doing it!" Her mom looked over from where she was gardening in the front yard and shielded her eyes from the sun, beaming when she saw how well her daughter was doing.

She stood up and shed her gloves, tossing them to the ground. "Great job, Immy! Well, this calls for a celebration, obviously," she said, wrapping her arms around her husband's waist as he continued to film Imogen as she made her way around the driveway. Imogen's eyes went wide as she focused on her mother.

"Can we get ice cream?" she all but yelled, nearly crashing into the family car but righting herself at the last minute.

Her parents chuckled, her father lowering the camera and turning around to kiss his wife briefly. "Of course we can get ice cream, kid. You did a great job." He tapped her on the top of her helmet before picking her up off of the bicycle.

"Yeah!" Imogen whooped, tearing off her helmet and racing past them. "I love you guys!"

"We love you, too!" they called back in unison.

—

"Mom, have you seen my lace fingerless gloves?" Imogen yelled from the top of the stairs, a frown on her face. A few seconds later her mother's head popped around the corner of the stairs.

"Check your second drawer to the left, honey," she yelled back, and Imogen disappeared for a minute or two. Her mom waited patiently, one hand against the wall, and when her daughter reappeared the articles of clothing were on her hands and she was bounding down the stairs.

"Thanks, Mom! You're the best," she chirped, kissing her on the cheek and heading towards the kitchen. Her father was standing at the counter, a newspaper spread out in front of him and a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand. "Morning, Dad!" She kissed his cheek, too, and he muttered an absentminded good morning in reply, taking another bite of toast.

"Oh, Imogen, don't forget, we're going away this weekend. Bright and early Saturday morning, so make sure you don't stay out late with Fiona Friday night, alright?" her mother said, picking up the laundry basket she had been working on before Imogen had called her away.

Imogen withdrew her head from the fridge, nodding. "Alright! I think we'll probably just be at her loft, so no lateness here!" She closed the door and grabbed a banana off the counter, waving to her parents as she went. "Bye, guys! Love you!"

"Love you, too!" they said in well-practiced unison.

—

The minister is finishing up his sermon by the time Imogen checks back into the real world, and Fiona and the rest of the attendees are standing up to head out and follow the hearse to the cemetery where they would be buried. She stares at the smooth mahogany caskets, realizing that this was the last time she'd ever see her parents. They weren't even her parents any longer, she knows that, and she hasn't even seen the bodies, but those caskets held the people who had raised her for the last seventeen years, the people that she loves so, so much. She is never, ever going to see them again, and it hits her so suddenly that she can feel it as much as a physical blow to the stomach.

The caskets are brought outside and loaded into the waiting hearses, and Imogen just watches, her hand in Fiona's. The hearse closest to her is started up, and she breaks. "Wait!" she screams, letting go of Fiona and putting out a hand to stop the driver. He pokes his head out the window, turning to stare at her. "Don't - don't go yet. I just - give me a few more minutes, please? I don't want to say goodbye yet. I don't want my parents to leave me yet. Please just give me a little more time with them," she chokes out. "I just want them to stay here. Please. Just let them stay. Please? Please! You have to let them stay with me!"

Fiona stands aside of Imogen, biting her lip and trying her hardest to stop the tears that are brimming in her eyes. She's hugging her arms around herself, and when Imogen turns her head just slightly she realizes that her girlfriend is crying. There are tears working their way down her face, and her eyes are red, and Fiona's heart drops straight down into her stomach. "Im," she breathes, her voice shaky. She reaches out to her, touches her shoulder, and Imogen drops.

She drops to the ground, to her knees, and cries. She cries like she's never cried before, cries like she's lost a vital part of herself that she's never going to get back, cries like something Fiona has never heard before - thick, choking, gutteral sobs that wrack Imogen's entire frame and look painful at times. There's so much hurt and pain and grief laced in the sobs coming out of Imogen that everyone around them seems to feel it, too, and they either have to turn away or are shifting uncomfortably, and all Fiona can do is hold Imogen and try to whisper to her and hope that she can cry it out and feel some sort of catharsis at the end. "I just want my parents back," she whimpers, clutching onto Fiona's jacket.

She hopes to any higher being that there is that Imogen can find some kind of closure.

—

After Imogen collects herself and they make it to the cemetery and her parents are finally buried (she wears the stoniest look known to mankind when she throws the first handful of dirt into the grave), the girls find themselves at Fiona's loft again. There's been some talk about where Imogen will stay, who Imogen's legal guardian will be now since there's nothing written in her parents' will, but she doesn't care. She'll be eighteen in three months and then she can do whatever she wants. Maybe she can crash with Fiona until then, if she'll have her.

Just like always, they find themselves tangled together on Fiona's bed, with Fiona curiously quiet for once. Imogen's voice is scratchy from her crying jag earlier, but she still taps Fiona's nose to get her attention. "What are you thinking about?"

Fiona smiles at her, all warmth and love and sincerity, and Imogen almost sighs at her. "Just you," she replies, draping an arm over Imogen's side. "Always you." Imogen screws her eyes shut, tears threatening to escape, because she just loves this girl so much.

Imogen hit the ground hard and shattered, but Fiona was there to pick up the pieces and keep her together. She'll get through this as long as she's given time and as long as Fiona is there to help keep her afloat with her perfectly timed words and way of making Imogen feel like she can conquer the world. Because in the grand scheme of things, Fiona is her calming stop sign in a world of car crashes.