Breakups sucked. Getting cheated on sucked. Pretty redheads with freckles and accents sucked. (Okay, maybe that one was not a general rule, but it was applicable to her current situation, so Vanessa would ignore her own logical inconsistencies.)

Everyone had a different process for bouncing back from heartbreak, and Vanessa handled it by moping. She did not want to mope, of course, but so much of her energy and motivation was linked to her mood. Currently mood: s****y. Until she worked through that feeling, she lacked any drive for productivity. Nessa already reached out to Gian, her "supervisor" at The POW Block Party, and asked if she could take a few days off for mental health. There were other members of the team who could fill in for a few videos, so he teased her but let her off the hook to process.

Processing was not easy, because Nessa had no energy to perform activities that could take her mind off of Rebecca. Leaving the apartment seemed like an impossibility, and when she tried to pick up a game controller or a sketchbook, either task felt like it required more effort than she could commit. Most of her time for three straight days consisted of laying in her bed, laying on her couch, watching television, and wishing delivery people would bring her food to her bed and/or couch.

That day, she had bravely left her room to curl up on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket and laying on her side. The lights in the apartment were off, and the television was playing some show, (Rumor Chick, she believed.) Nessa felt like she was only paying partial attention. It felt like she was interacting with the show and the world through a dense mental fog.

When was this supposed to get better?

Though Booker was a paragon of good tidings and cheer, the flip side of that was that he didn’t like to see other people suffer through it. He was the kind of man who would grin and crack a joke or make a funny face or just become all-around obnoxious just at the chance to making the victim of sadness see a bright ray of sunshine. It didn’t always work, though. Some people were so nestled into their anger and denial against the world that even the pure puffball that was Booker B. Bookman couldn’t snap them out of it. And while it was true that he hated to see such a thing happen to strangers, it was even worse when he saw it happen to his own sister.


Booker had been protective of his sister for many, many years. Watching her endure what their parents put her through, the young man could hardly just set back and let the world beat her down. He did his best to support her, to protect her, to be by her side, but eventually the young woman would have to find her own way. Booker was an advocate of that, after all. So he let go when he needed to – but that didn’t mean he was going to let her continue to wallow.

The break up with Rebecca Grey had been a tough one for her to handle. Booker could see it in his sister’s face as the days ticked on. For the most part she moped and scarcely took an interest in any of the things that he knew she would have loved to wrap herself up in. Video games didn’t shine as bright, busty redheaded porn was ignored, and alcohol…well…it was probably best for the both of them that he kept the alcohol out of her hands.

He loved his sister but watching her suffering like this was absolute torture. He knew that it wasn’t something that was going to be fixed in a day, but damned if he wasn’t going to at least try planting the seeds of rehabilitation. The world needed Nessa Bookman! Not the transient-looking wraith with seven-day-old god-I-hope-that’s-cheese stain on her pajamas that CLEARLY needed to be washed, burned, or exorcised.

So, thus begins operation “Bear NESSA-cities!”

---

He was subtle as he opened the front door to his sister (and technically his) apartment. Pulling the book bag strap from across his chest, it echoed with a loud RIIIIIIIIP of one side of the Velcro strap being torn from its other half. Strolling into the room, he was struck by the scent of day old take out and depression. It didn’t take the man long to find the source of this…memorable aroma, as he turned a corner and found his sister curled up on the couch, with all the appearance of a certain fantasy icon crying over his lost “Precious”.

Setting his bag down on the side of a table, near his door, Booker slowly approached the fallen woman, as one would approach any other hurt animal. Eyebrows raised as he surveyed the young woman, he sighed as he tilted his head. He couldn’t allow her to go on like this. It was time to initiate the twelve-percent of a plan that had in mind. Didn’t seem like much but it was better than eleven-percent, wasn’t it?

Without a word to her, Booker turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. There were the sounds of moving things, grunting, toppling boxes, and even a muttered ”Ouch!” before things quieted down. For the moment it almost seemed as if Nessa would have gotten away from her big brother but, before long, his shadow darkened his doorway. If she were to turn, she would find him, there, tuning his ukulele with a grin on his face.

No words needed to be said – they only needed to be sung.

” Do you ever feel like a plastic bag…
Drifting thought the wind…
Wanting to start again…?”

He slowly approached his sister, his voice drowning out whatever drama filled nonsense she was clearly not engaged in. There was no way she could deny the power of Katy Perry for long.

Vanessa’s phone was on the armrest of the couch, and proved to be her greatest temptation. If she opened it, she could kick around the internet or social media, but it was the classic slippery slope. Maybe she went onto her FaceSpace account, just to look and see what the happier people were up to while she wallowed. Sure, she made sure Rebecca’s updates were not going to show up on her feed, but all it took was a moment of curiosity to click over to her profile. The best-case scenario ended with her pining for a girl she was not over. The worst-case scenario involved a post (or god-forbid, a relationship status update,) tagging Rebecca and the new old love of her life, Agnes. If Nessa was serious about avoiding more alcohol, she could not risk stumbling on news like that.

The loud RIIIIIIIIP registered on Nessa’s radar like a faint blip; her head lifted slightly to confirm that her brother was home, rather than an intruder-slash-robber. Once she put forth the minimal effort of ensuring she was still safe, her head returned to the throw-pillow. Acknowledging Booker seemed unimportant; he knew she knew he was there, so why waste breath on more words?

Booker was giving Vanessa the requisite amount of space needed to mourn and mope after a breakup, but even she knew her window of privacy was coming to a close soon enough. Her eyes were set on the television she was tuning out so she could avoid making eye contact with her brother. Her powers were useless around him, of course, but eye contact might be seen as an invitation to talk. Somehow, Booker walked past the couch to his room, and Nessa breathed a silent sigh of relief. She needed him soon; she always did when things got rough. In the moment, she could not think of how she could get out of her funk and into the right headspace to talk things out.

Dead to the world around her, Nessa was oblivious to the sounds of pre-mischief coming from Booker’s room; they were common enough to be considered white noise to her now. She considered turning off the television to lay there in true silence, reflecting on what happened, when familiar plucky notes approached from her brother’s room.

Generally, Vanessa liked her brother’s ukulele music, even if she was not keen on letting him in on that news. Some days, whether it was her mood, or her brother being obnoxious, it was just not the right option. On that day, both factors were in play.

And yet...

Nessa’s head lifted from the couch as she watched her brother serenaded her with his (admittedly) lovely voice and warm smile. Trying to stay upset in the presence of such an over-the-top tune was like trying to fight the sense of awe from a sunset. She grinned; a weak one, but it was there. ”You didn’t even bring Left Shark? It’s like you’re not even trying.”
There was a pause. Followed by Vanessa’s throaty laugh at her own joke.

Followed further by the fog around her regathering, reminding her why she was on the couch in the first place. ”This sucks, Book,” she admitted, feeling her smile vanishing. ”This is probably how a plastic bag feels. And it sucks.” She was bad for the environment and she was being dragged along by powers outside her control. There was also a good chance she smelled like garbage.

Booker had a bit of a clock in his head when it came to Nessa being upset. He knew that she needed her time to stew and the mope, but he also knew that there had to be a time limit on it or she was going to go on and on in that state. While they shouldn’t necessarily depend so much on one another, fact is that that was just who they were. Booker was there for Nessa and vice versa. Eventually that will change but for the time being, the man was more than happy to take part.

And that was what he was doing. Standing off to the side, tuning his ukulele, Booker began to play without so much as another word of warning to the woman. There was no point to it because she knew exactly what he was going to be doing. So with a grin the librarian began to play and sing a song that he hoped was going to lift his sister’s spirits.

His fingers danced expertly over the strings, plucking in person tone as his voice matched, singing from the immortal words of Katy Perry. It was probably one of the most uplifting songs that he knew that it was perfect for this situation. Vanessa was an absolutely great person and she deserved every bit of happiness that came her way. While it was a sh*tty thing that happened to her, she couldn’t let it define her reality for the rest of her life. She was would get over it, she would move on, and she would persevere – he knew it.

All she needed was a little nudge.

>> ”You didn’t even bring Left Shark? It’s like you’re not even trying.”

She tried to deflect him with her usual snark, a stubborn attempt to remain in her cocoon of self-loathing. However her comment was met with him merely advancing further, singing just a bit louder so that he could drown out her voice.

” You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July

'Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what your worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y”

At this point Booker knew that he had her. He saw the tiniest flick of a grin on her lips. Small, miniscule, she may have very well just been passing gas, but he was willing to accept that it was a smile and that he was getting through to her. So he continued on, he sang his song, he pressed his message through ukulele and voice as best he could, relentlessly because he was not going to lose his sister to grief and sadness any longer.

” Baby you're a firework
Come on let your colors burst
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
You're gonna leave 'em fallin' down down down
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon”

By the time he came to the end of his song, Booker began to last first by sitting at the edge of the couch, which she had graciously pulled her legs in to keep from him from sitting on them. Booker continued to smile at her, his voice ringing with the words, putting as much honestly and genuine belief in them as he could. She was his sister and he wasn’t about to let her continue to suffer like this. When he plucked the last string and belted out the last word, Booker sighed, closed his eyes, and like a rock star lifted both arms to the sky like a figure in victory.

”Nailed it.” He grinned wide. Sitting there, he tilted his head as he eyed his baby sister, seeing that she was coming around but she was far from one hundred percent. He understood but he got her to smile once – that was all he wanted.

>> ”This is probably how a plastic bag feels. And it sucks.”

”Actually, I think if it were a plastic bag she’d be more ‘Arrrrgh! What the f**k is happening to me?! Why am I sentient?! How am I thinking?!?!’” Booker acted all this out, a terrified look on his face, arms flailing as he flopped back onto the couch, returning to a normal posture. Her face turned into an expression with a bit more sympathy. ”It does suck. It sucks, like, so much its face has probably collapsed from so much suckage.”

Booker had had his own fair share of break-ups in the past. He knew that they were never easy and, more often than not, he had been in the exact same boat that Nessa was in. Hell, his last relationship had left him reeling to, even had him scuttling back to move in with his sister (which he still was). Booker knew just how bad it could get but to him that meant he was all the more responsible to make sure that Nessa didn’t suffer alone.

He turned on the couch, facing her, quietly strumming names tunes on his ukulele as he addressed her. ”You haven’t been looking at her FaceSpace right?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. ’You know there’s a reason we put a No FaceSpace After Break-Up Clause into action whenever one of us goes through a break up?”

Booker had a long history of being the one to pick Nessa up from the dark places she stuck herself in. When they were teenagers, he was the rock for her to cling to when her family was giving her a hard time. As they got older and Vanessa became an adult in her own right, she did what she could to repay the favor when necessary. Both siblings struggled to deal with heartache, so when Booker was hurting, Nessa would push outside her introverted comfort zone to help him. The offer for him to move in after his last breakup was the least she could do, even knowing what she was signing herself up for. Helping him get back to his feet was well-worth the cost off his occasional displays of obnoxiousness.

Occasionally, those displays were enough to make Vanessa smile. His heart-warming rendition of Firework hit its mark; she was sad, but she was smiling, and that was a start. He ignored her clever commentary to sing the rest of the song, so she curled up in her blanket and let him finish his performance. He was always the entertainer of the two, making himself the center of attention at parties. No one in high school would have guessed Vanessa would be the one joining some big internet production company, but most of their high school friends did not know the “real” Vanessa.

Nessa acknowledged her relation to a plastic bag, but Booker had his own ideas of how a bag might feel. The silliness of a sentient bag was one thing, but he really sold it with the pantomime. The younger sibling was laughing as her brother plopped next to her on the couch. It felt good to laugh again.

With the ice broken, Booker could empathize with Nessa without her shutting down. He knew what she was feeling, and the pitfalls to look out for. Nothing needed to be said for him to know how close shew as to checking Rebecca’s FaceSpace. Morbid curiosity was a familial trait, so it was important to hold one another accountable. ”Yes. Because you got weepy about Derek’s new haircut.” All rules started with a precedent-setting event.

Vanessa rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. ”Why do I bother dating people? It’s starting to feel like a losing prospect.”

It was painful to watch his sister sit stewing in her depression but that small bit of a laugh and a crack of a smile was all he needed to know that she was on her way to eventually becoming okay. The road to full recovery would be a tough one but she was stronger than she let on to be. While he protected her whenever he could, the truth was that she was powerful all her own. She went through hell to get where she is now and it was a testament to the strength that, even if she didn’t know dwelled inside her, he knew was there.

Casually the man continued to strum his ukulele, having broken through the initial iciness of her demeanor, Booker knew that he had his in. Of course it wouldn’t be a full on conversation about bringing her back out into the world, it was just him touching bases to make sure that she was okay. He was the big brother, after all, and while it didn’t need to be said, he wanted her to know that he was there for her.

Seeing the look in her eyes, he asked the question that was probably one of the most pressing right now – did she check up on her ex? Because of…certain instances in their past, the siblings had eventually laid out certain ground rules; one of which was that they would not check an ex’s social media account. The wound was still fresh so he didn’t begrudge her not unfriending her yet, but hiding all posts from the offending party was a necessity.

Again…for certain reasons.

CERTAIN reasons that Nessa, being the amazingly cruel sister she could be, even in the depths of sadness, had to bring back up…

>>”Yes. Because you got weepy about Derek’s new haircut.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. There was a slight pause in his ukulele playing. ”Touche. But, seriously, the fact that he waited to get that ****ing amazing haircut, the one that I had been trying to convince him to for the last six months of our relationship, that was just purely out of spite.” He paused. Clearly this was still a somewhat hot button issue for him but he took a breath, flashed a small smile, and returned to strumming his ukulele. ”I’m sorry. You may continue.”

Sitting in silence for a few moments, Booker sighed and simply continued to tickling the strings of his instrument, making a hodge-podge of familiar tunes and originals dance in the air around them. He could practically see the musical notes as they swirled about, bumping into one another, forming new sounds, all of which seemed to compliment one another into perfection.

A soft weight on his shoulder and Booker smirked without looking over to his sister. Setting his ukulele down, the librarian wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulder and gave her arm a soft squeeze, an understanding one.

>> ”Why do I bother dating people? It’s starting to feel like a losing prospect.”

He scoffed. ”Come on. We both have had this conversation before,” He warned. ”I know it’s rough right now but it’ll be okay. You’re just still reeling from how completely sh***y you feel.” He gave her arm another squeeze. ”Besides…” he chuckled as he gave her a serious look. ”Do you really think you can live a life of chastity? Black and white clothing and an overly religious regiment don’t really sound like your style.” He smiled broadly at her. ”Not to mention that technically you’d be a bride to the Lord. Doubt you'd want to share with the rest of the nuns.”

When people said things like, “he’s one of those people; if he actually likes you, he’ll give you a hard time,” they were talking about Booker. He was too clever for his own good, and he took to mischief like a fish to water. They grew up sharpening their wit by constantly teasing and mocking each other, but it was always tongue-and-cheek and for the fun of the game. Booker was a good listener, and his advice was usually reliable, depending on the topic, but that did not mean they had to strip down their conversation to the mushy sibling stuff.

So of course, Vanessa namedropped Derek. The breakup was long enough ago to put jokes on the table, but just recent enough to push the “bitchy sister” line. A careful line to tread, surely.

Booker’s reaction was genuine, as demonstrated by the momentary pause of the ukulele. It was clear the “Derek Haircut Incident” was something Booker moved past, but had not forgiven. If Rebecca chopped her hair off into some cute bob or pixie cut, Vanessa might understand her brother’s pain.

The background uke music resumed, because Booker was not going to let a light-hearted low-blow throw him off course. He was there to remind her that, through the pain she was enduring, she would end up on the other side and things would be okay. The arm squeeze was reassuring, and for the first time in days, she could picture herself on the other end of the cave she was wandering through.

Naturally, Booker could not leave things on such a feel-good message, so he decided to lay out the other option available to her if she gave up on dating. Someone else might have chastised him for his irreverence, but his sister was no better. ”Depends; does this open marriage thing go in all directions? I might be able to deal with one husband in exchange for a few dozen wives.”

Looking down at the ukulele being strummed by her Librarian brother, she thought back to his grand entrance. ”So I’m curious; if Katy Perry failed you, what was plan B?”

It was going to be a long road to recovery but it certainly looked as it Nessa was beginning to feel a little better. She was talking to him, which was an important first step when trying to get her out of her funks. If she didn’t talk, if that window of communication wasn’t open, then they were going to get nowhere extremely fast. Seeing as he wanted to do everything in his power to help her, the librarian treaded carefully, but persistently, in trying to knock his sister out of her doom and gloom that encapsulated her life.

Rebecca was a low blow for her, that much was clear, but at least she was able to give him a smile – even if she needed to brush her f**king teeth. Woow! Still, knowing the fragile state she was in, Booker didn’t say anything about that and instead merely continued to be a comforting presence to his hurt sibling. It was a crappy thing that she was going through and he was going to be there for her as much as he possibly could.

However, that also meant that for every kind thing and encouraging word he released, he, of course, had to give her just a tiny bit of sass. When she questioned whether not she should just embrace abstinence, the librarian had to scoff a little bit and ask her the important questions about how she would feel being married to God the rest of her life and no one else. In typical fashion, Nessa had an exact reply for him…

>> ”Depends; does this open marriage thing go in all directions? I might be able to deal with one husband in exchange for a few dozen wives.”

”A few dozen wives you can’t touch?” he snorted. He then paused and shook his head. ”Okay, I think we’re getting into porn fantasy territory now, so a change in gears is in order.”

He sighed, reclaiming use of his own arm and using it to quietly continue to pluck the strings of his ukulele. It was a calm, quiet, and collective moment, just the kind that is shared between siblings having a hard time. He loved his sister and never did he want to see her hurt or suffering. It was a shame that she and Becca couldn’t make things work but, and this was something he wouldn’t voice out loud just yet, the heart wants what the heart wants.

>> ”So I’m curious; if Katy Perry failed you, what was plan B?”

Pulled out of his music making, Booker lifted his eyebrow as he turned back to his sister. She wanted to know what his plan was if his attempt at a Katy Perry rendition proved to fail. Tilting his head and giving her an incredulous look.

”Okay…A. Katy Perry is ma girl, and you don’t insult the songstress that she is. She can make a stormy day blue and a churning ocean into a pond,” he bopped Nessa softly on the nose. ”And don’t you forget that.” He sighed as he set his ukulele aside, one hand into his pocket. Experience would have warned Nessa what was to come next, especially with the impish look in his eyes. ”And on the very slim, very off chance that Ms. Perry couldn’t reach your steel-covered heart, there is always…” Suddenly he pulled from his pocket…a sock.

Now, this wasn’t just any ordinary sock. In dealing with the ups and downs of life, Booker found a variety of ways to both creep his sister out, and make her laugh at the same time. On one particular occasion, he discovered that pasting googly eyes, felt lips, and a cotton balls in the shame of a mustache and an extremely thin hairline in the shape of an overtly large bald spot, created the most inspiring creation yet…

”…Professor Sock-mund Freud!” he grinned as he opened the mouth of the homemade creation and slowly turned its googly eyed face towards her. Then, with a deadpan expression on his own face, Booker spoke with a heavy, Austrian accent. ”V’ell…Ms. BOOKman…” he rugged the sock-doctor’s lips together. ”Zid zomeone call ze doctah?”

Nessa didn’t fair well against sock-puppets…so they were the perfect last resort…

Booker put a stop to Vanessa’s inappropriate fantasy crafting, which was for the best. Without reminders of what is and is not socially acceptable, Vanessa was at high risk of saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong people. Her lack of a filter was a constant problem she had to live with, taking life one dangerous social interaction at a time.

Questioning the power of Katy Perry was enough to warrant the judgment of Booker B. Bookman, who would not take such a slight quietly. (Booker never did anything quietly, to be fair.) Protests aside, there was still a plan B, she discovered, as the ukulele was set aside in favor of digging through pockets.

Vanessa squealed, which was not a common act from her. The sound was a mixture of humor and disgust. Sock puppets were weird, so naturally, Booker loved them. The way they moved, with their googly eyes rattling and the “mouths” flapping was so unsettling!

It was also goofy, and Booker was great at goofy. The gratuitous Austrian accent put her into a laughing fit as she pulled away from the “doctor” coming closer. ”Oh, Professor. Don’t ever change. Well, except for the outdated psychological beliefs based mostly on your weird desire to bang your mom. Besides that, don’t change.”

This was why Booker would always have a place at Nessa’s apartment whenever he needed it. When the chips were down, he would do the things no one else could think of to make her feel better. Girlfriends and boyfriends would come and go, but the Bookman siblings would always be there for one another.

---

Life did get easier. Time passed, and Vanessa was not thinking of Rebecca every minute or even every hour. The redhead still crossed her mind, and the pang of hurt was still there, but those thoughts were no longer ruining her day or sapping her energy. In steps, she found the energy to play video games, which became the energy to leave the house, which had now transformed into actual productive energy.

Nessa was sitting on the couch with her legs folded, resting a sketchpad on her calves. Sun was beaming through the window, and the apartment was calm. Tranquil. Peaceful.

Huh. Where did that ominous feeling in the back of Nessa’s mind come from?

>> ”Oh, Professor. Don’t ever change. Well, except for the outdated psychological beliefs based mostly on your weird desire to bang your mom. Besides that, don’t change.”

Doctor Sockmund Freud opened his mouth in shock a that woman’s cursed words, even Booker had to open his mouth in surprise! Ugh! The audacity of her to say such cruel things. After a second of staring at her dumbfounded, both sock and man shook their heads in creepy unison towards her. After a moment, they turned to one another (again, sock and man) and seemed to silently carry on a conversation with themselves before both turned back to Nessa.

”Klearly…dis is an obviUS case of madness…” the good doctor turned to Nessa and shook his head. ”I’m afraid dis only cure is…electroshock therapy. Agreed, Doctor Bookman.”

Booker nodded his head, clearly agreeing with the sock. However, he couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he watched Nessa laughing with pure mirth at his antics. It wouldn’t last long because the pain of Rebecca’s betrayal would radiate again in her mind, but, still, it was at least a glimpse of what he knew was in there. That was all he needed to push on and that was all he needed to ensure that his sister was going to be fine.

---

So…Booker had had better days. And by better, I mean, a LOT better. The day had started out so well but come the afternoon, it seemed as if fate was just trying to have fun with him now. First he meets this really awesome, pretty, and sassy DJ nurse that he never thought he would see again, and low and behold, she is thrown into is midst again. And, to make matters worse, she is already taken. Booker didn’t know why it was that he was so attracted to her but damned it was difficult to control himself – at least it would have been difficult if he had actually succeeded.

Jeez. He kissed a woman who already was in a relationship. As the man stopped in front of the door to his apartment, he realized that he couldn’t have felt lower. He had never been this person, always rallied against it, even watched his sister struggle through the pains of having a cheating partner, so what was he doing? The librarian could only shake his head at himself as he inserted his key into lock, turned and stepped inside.

Even as he made his way inside, he was having second thoughts about what he was already planning to do. He was always on Nessa about opening up when things were going bad, it was cathartic to let these things out. But even as he strolled in, the man knew that he couldn’t keep something like this a secret. He messed up and he needed to let someone know – even if they weren’t going to initially like what he had said.

Besides, Booker could recount a few instance where he had walked in on Nessa and one of his ex-girlfriends – he deserved a judgement-free pass from time to time. Ahem.

Once inside, his shoes clipped and clopped upon the floor. His dark jeans, gray vest, and lilac shirt were just the same as when he first entered, though his bowtie was slightly askew. Pulling the Velcro strap open, freeing his body from the weight of his pack, the man sighed as he shuffled in and, surprise surprise, found his sister sitting on the couch. He was glad that she was beginning to come out of her shell more and more after the whole Becca-gate thing. It actually made him crack a smile to see her sketching again.

Too bad he was about to ruin it with his dramatic flare.

A deep sigh and he set his bag back down in its usual spot, shuffled over to the couch and, stood where, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she actually did, she had to move fast because the man immediately flopped down onto the couch next to her before keeling off to the side, draping his much larger body over her with the most dramatic breath possible.

”Evening…” he grumbled through and closed his eyes. ”I’m just…gunna lay here…forever…” God, he could still smell Juliette’s perfume on him…

And thus, peace had come to pass, as Booker came inside, bringing with him an air of defeat and despair. Nessa held any comments to herself until Booker was ready, which meant she had to follow him with her eyes as he meandered across the room.

No adapted field in the world was going to make it less clear that something was upsetting Booker. Both siblings could take bad news or bad events poorly, but the styles in which they moped were distinctly different. When life was kicking Vanessa’s ass, she shut down and became a black hole of negativity, collapsing into herself.

Booker being sad was more melodramatic, maybe as a means of coping or adding whatever possible levity could be had amidst the grief. He was down, but disappointment would never change the fact that her brother was a talker and a showman. Instead of chatting someone’s ear off, that energy went toward expressing his melancholy like a Shakespearean tragic hero. When he was down, Vanessa was convinced that was the role Booker her saw himself in.

He reached the couch, looking down at her, like he was waiting for something. She started to form a, ”Hey,” when he decided to flop onto the couch, pivoting his body so he was laying across both the furniture and his kid sister.

The direction Booker chose to lay in kept his head near her, (as her legs were pinned under his broad back.) After his lament, she patted him lightly on the head. ”There, there, champ… wanna talk about it?” It was the least she could do after everything he did to pull her back from the brink.

Something was wrong, and unless she was hallucinating the faint presence of perfume, she could assume the genre of problem he was facing.

Oh Booker B. Bookman was a man with a hurting and confused heart. While he wasn’t as melodramatic as his sister made him out to be (at least according to him) he was someone who knew how to express his emotions. He and his sister both felt copious levels of sadness, but they both expressed it rather different. Nessa shut down, not wanting to talk about things, but Booker was one who preferred to express his emotions. Yeah, maybe he was a bit of a ham when he did it, but unlike his sister he wanted others to know that he actually wanted to express his sadness. He accepted that the only way through it was by talking it out.

Unfortunately this particularly problem was going to be a veritable minefield. Not only was it a subject that Nessa knew plenty about, but it was one that she had very strong feelings for. If Booker had been the opposite side of this drama, then he certainly would have earned all the sympathy in the world from her. But considering his current stance, there was a chance he would earn nothing but her ire. It was a risk but considering that there was no one else to talk to about this, he needed to try.

The first step to this was by incapacitating her. While it seemed adorable and cutesy for Booker to unceremoniously flop onto his sister, with his massive built and weight it was actually to ensure his safety. Successfully draping over both her legs, at least one arm, and her lower half, meant that she couldn’t easily twist to strike, poke, or kick him. Of course her other arm was free, but given he had two arms, he outnumbered her.

The second step was by giving the absolute and most best acting performance he could have ever given. Booker was fairly certain that his acting was on par with any of the great actors of old. While the man was indeed melodramatic to a certain degree, he upped it up to eleven with this performance. Flopped over his sister, hand dramatically upon his forehead, the statement that he would stay here the rest of his days, that would surely up her levels of sympathy and compassion towards his predicament.

>> There, there, champ… wanna talk about it?”

Phase two of operation, successful! Okay, she was patting his head. That was always a good sign. Of course if she didn’t like what he said, he was putting himself at risk of one hell of a slapping, but it was too late to change position now. He would just have to be at the ready to run if things started to turn sour.

So, razzberrying the air with his lips and sighing, the librarian turned to eye his sister. It was funny, he honestly didn’t think he would be in this position with her again so soon. He had just finished rescuing her from her slum and she had already done the same for him when his relationship with Chris imploded. Now they were back at square one? The universe really was a cruel wheel of torture, wasn’t it? Still, despite that, he knew his sister always had his back – he only hoped that she could remember that before hitting him.

”Yeah…” he grumbled like a disgruntled twelve year old. He took a second, collecting his thoughts, trying to figure out to best way to phrase what he wanted to say. Finding no real easy way to go about it, the man just started talking with hopes that some plan would formulate in his head. ”I…think I…f**ked up…” he said, looking away a bit shamefully. ”I…kissed someone…” Pause. ”Someone…who already has a boyfriend…”

Brace for opening offensive salvos in three….two….one….

Vanessa wanted to be a good little sister to Booker. Through school, he did so much to defend her, protect her, and support her. Without him in her life, it was not a stretch to say she might not have made it to where she was. Before transitioning, she was even more awkward and socially graceless than the woman she would grow up to be, and Booker was there to keep bullies off her back. Defending her from bullies extended to their parents, who always gave the “daughter they never wanted” a hard time. She made sure not to tell him in so many words, but she owed Booker everything.

That did not mean she was going to condone his s****y decision making.

The head patting grew slower, almost cautious, as Booker drew out his explanation. He fucked up, so whatever happened was something he did. At the very least, Vanessa could rule out finding and beating up whoever made her brother sad.

He kissed someone. The patting stopped. Kissing someone was not usually a reason for Booker to be moping and lamenting, which meant…

Yep. He kissed a girl with a boyfriend. She did not shove him off, but Vanessa’s demeanor shifted noticeably from her previous empathy. ”So, clarify this for me,” she said flatly. ”You kissed a girl with a boyfriend, making you the catalyst for cheating. You then retreat home to your sister, who was just recently cheated on, mind you, looking for support?”

There was an awkward silence, but it was broken by Vanessa sighing and resuming her head patting. ”Okay. I’m here for you. This support is being provided under protest, but I’m here for you.” The way Booker was acting, she wanted to believe his actions were unplanned and as unexpected for him as anyone else. A crime of passion; her brother was quite passionate, after all.

”So who was it? She better be gorgeous for you to make a stupid move like that,” she joked. As with most of her jokes, the tone was lacking, but Booker knew her well enough to know when she was teasing, regardless of tone.

There. He had said it. Lying there on the couch, across his sister, Booker tried to prepare himself for the worst. He loved his sister and appreciated all the help that she had ever given him, but he knew that he was treading in dangerous waters now. He was bringing up an extremely sore subject for the young woman, one that could decidedly turn the tides against him. But the man couldn’t keep something like this in much longer. He needed to get this off his chest and, really, the only person whom Booker actually trusted to steer him on the right path was his sister. Whatever her reaction would be, he would deal with it.

So it was said and in the air. He immediately felt the head patting stop and he could sense the tension already beginning to form in her body. He firmly had her pinned so there was little she could actually do to him except maybe a slap or two. However, while he had been preparing for it, he could see the internal conflict on the woman’s face. His own arms loosened, feeling as if maybe a slapfest wasn’t coming after all, but he could see that she was clearly unhappy with his actions.

>> ”So, clarify this for me…You kissed a girl with a boyfriend, making you the catalyst for cheating. You then retreat home to your sister, who was just recently cheated on, mind you, looking for support?”

Ugh, here came the lecture. Booker winced, turning his head away from her, closing his eyes as he prepared for it. This was probably a far worse outcome than physical abuse. Vanessa could be downright poetic when she spoke passionately about a subject. He knew he would be in for it and half prepared to climb off the sofa, throw some lint in his pocket into her eyes, and flee to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. But…it wouldn’t appear necessary.

>> ”Okay. I’m here for you. This support is being provided under protest, but I’m here for you.”

He turned back to face her, just a little surprised at her willingness to help him. A small crack of a smile formed and the man sighed, the tension melting from his body. He was glad that she was willing to help him, or at least listen to his problems, instead of reading him the riot act. Oh, he was sure it was going to come eventually, but his wounds were clearly still raw and now wouldn’t have been the best time. But that was fine, when she pounced Booker had three precise and effective words that he could use to deflect her: Shelby, Chloe, Spencer.

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all that.

>> ”So who was it? She better be gorgeous for you to make a stupid move like that,”

She wanted to know. Though her snark was just a little more biting than usual to the untrained ear, Booker knew that she was actually offering her assistance. So, with a sigh, the lumbering librarian sat up and adjusted so that he was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, turned and facing her: a mirror image of his sister who was doing the same. His legs resting over hers, Booker rubbed the palms of his hands over his face before rolling them through his hand and to the back of his head. His shoulders slumped a little as he turned his jade-like eyes onto her.

”I…I don’t even know where to begin…” Booker said with a sigh. ”And yes, she is…” a small roll of his eyes, a whistle, and a sh*t-eating grin. ”She’s a nurse. I met her when I was delivering books to the children’s wing at one of the hospitals a few weeks back.” He started with the obvious beginning. ”I…hit my head and she was super nice and, well, I flirted a bit and gave her my card to come by the library for a tour.” He eyed her getting ready to interject and held up his hand. ”Shut up. My tours are amazing and no, it wasn’t a euphemism.” A second and he continued. ”But, she let slip she had a boyfriend and I figured that was it.” He rested his head back staring up at the ceiling. ”She came by for the tour today – just her. It…started good. We walked around, I showed her the place, did my spiel, and…well…” he closed his eyes. ”…we got to the Rotunda…” Nessa would have known the name, hearing him talk about the romantic décor and the often times he’s found people making out there. ”…I don’t even know what happened after that. We were there, we were looking at the art and the woodwork and…we just locked eyes and…it happened.”

It was clear that Booker wasn’t not feeling like he had displayed the best part of himself in that occurrence. He had always prided himself in being a gentleman, a good guy, not one of those lunks and run around, hitting on other people’s women. He shrugged his shoulders a bit, shaking his head and sighing deeply. He couldn’t meet his sister’s gaze just yet but he was thankful that she was letting him talk before interrupting or judging too harshly.

”I kissed her first but…she kissed me back and it was amazing and I saw fireworks and the whole nine-yards.” He hung his head and turned his gaze to her. ”But then, I dunno, she I guess realized what she was doing and ran off apologizing.” His head flopped into the cushion. ”I just, I dunno, worked the rest of the day in a bit of a haze. God, I’m totally a Rebecca, aren’t I?”

The Bookman household had their own terminology, a language which evolved all the time. The latest entry: “Rebecca (noun) – a temptress and cheating succubus.”. It seemed appropriate.

Cheating was going to be a sore subject for Vanessa for a while, but not all situations were created equally. Booker deserved a chance to explain how he got himself into, and she knew to be careful about taking too high a moral high ground. She might not have been a cheater, but there was a moral grey area when it came to dating your brother’s ex-girlfriends. Vanessa had a bad habit of taking vacations in that grey area.

Shelby, Chloe, and Spencer. She was crashing at Booker’s place when the Spencer thing happened, and when he stumbled in on their… entanglement, he just sighed at her, like she was a kitten that got into the garbage for the third time in a week. Needless to say, Nessa made her fair share of questionable moral dating decisions.

Booker started by confirming that she was, indeed, gorgeous. It made sense; her brother always had great taste in women. (This also may have played into Vanessa’s bad habit.) Her brother had a way with words, and was not ashamed to use a quantity of them either, so it was important to listen actively, try not to interrupt, and take mental notes for the end of his story.

He met a nurse. As far as professions went, it was a noble one, and could be a point in the cheating woman’s favor. He invited her to take a library tour, which Vanessa almost made a comment about, but her brother halted her to defend himself. The news of the boyfriend came out, and she still came to take the tour. A point against her; she had to have some idea of the situation she was walking into. Booker was not exactly subtle about having a crush. See: Melodramatic Booker.

The Rotunda was a point against her brother. He certainly knew better, after everything he said about the romantic library location. She was convinced he wanted to get married there one day.

It felt like every time an affair began, things started because things “just happened.” They kissed and there were fireworks. She felt a pang in her heart, hearing the pain in Booker’s voice when he finished explaining how his paramour ran off. It was a decision she did not support, but she wanted to believe Booker was coming from a good place in making it.

Vanessa took a deep breath. ”So… that is kind of Rebeccaish, Booker. But… I guess I understand where you were both at with this.” It was easy to see the parallels between Rebecca and Booker, and Rebecca had years of history with Agnes. Her brother was forcing her to feel empathy toward her cheating ex-girlfriend. Some people had an uncontrollable need to be with someone, regardless of the casualties.

And now Booker had a casualty. She thwapped his shin as punishment. ”So I can’t pretend you’re smelling like roses, young man. The Rotunda? Really?” She shot him a withering look, reminding him that he must have known what would come after that.

”But… you really like this girl, don’t you?” She sighed, knowing Booker was not the guy to get a girl to cheat just because he was looking for a one night stand with a hottie. ”It sucks. I’m sorry. Maybe she needs time to figure this out. Maybe she is worried she’s just panicking about some rough patch with her guy. Maybe she’s not, but meeting you has suddenly changed things."

Booker was struggling to deal with his heartache, but he was only dealing with the pain of a girl running off. The girl was dealing with the possibility that she might be gambling away a relationship. ”I love you, Book. You’re a good guy. Try to remember that, because whoever this hot-to-trot nurse is, she has a lot of questions to answer. She made choices, and you’re not to blame here.” Well, he was not entirely to blame. It took two to tango, as the old adage said. ”But don’t make this about you. Give her time to figure things out. If you do that, then I don’t have to call you a f***boy for the rest of eternity.” It seemed like a fair moral compromise. She was an honest person, and at times that could be a drawback. Coming to Vanessa meant comfort, but it also meant blunt advice.

There was a small pause, and Vanessa remembered one point she almost forgot to address. ”Also, only you could hit your head and charm someone with your klutzy ineptitude.”