Lord he was getting tired. Laying down had been a bad idea. Now he needed to move to stay awake and he just didn't have the energy to get up and do so. Mind you Verdy laying there beside him might have had something to do with the unwillingness to get up. Verdy asked what would happen when the family pressed charges. Andrew wasn't entirely sure but he could hazard a guess.

"I don't know. I'll be hauled to the courthouse like a criminal and put on the stand. Questioned, requestioned, and judged. At least, that is what I think will happen. I've never been on trial before."

Andrew looked over at Verdy. They were alone, save for Jack, and he was exhausted out of his normal mind so he stared at her for a while. The first thing he thought just fell out of his mouth.

"You're hot."

Yup, Verdy was nice to look at and fun to be around. Heck they'd already kissed once. Andrew yawned. He could hardly keep his eyes open. Surely Verdy wouldn't mind another kiss right? Andrew was curious as to whether his confusion was due to the oddity of how they'd met and acted around each other or whether he might actually have feelings for her. He leaned forward to do just that but he was very tired. Just as he came within inches of Verdy's face he could stand no more and was claimed by unconsciousness. Sleep won a few seconds too early.

She had never seen a real trial, but the thought that he could get up against someone like Judge Judy from the snatches of daytime television she had seen here and there was quite a disturbing notion. All they could do was hope for a reasonable judge, and someone to put forward their argument properly.

Wait, their argument?

A frown touched her features briefly. Was this really something she wanted to get involved with? She couldn’t really get involved, but she could go to the trial, and sit in the stands. Not cheering him on, obviously, but providing a little emotional support, someone not part of the actual situation, a flash of the normal, in a crazy world where not even the words made sense; defendants, plaintiffs, it was all so confusing.

She seemed to have broken his obsession with staring at the ceiling, and now his attention had turned to her. Did he ever blink? She stared back at him for a little while, trying to figure out what it was he was thinking of behind those eyes, staring into her own. If he wasn’t of an orientation which meant that they could never be, this could be the start of something… Or perhaps the continuation, since normal people didn’t usually start with pillow talk.

Why did all the gorgeous ones have to be gay? Maybe it was better when he was staring at the ceiling, not drawing her in with those big, hazel-brown eyes. Her pounding heart was only kept in check by the fact that it couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen. Momentarily she wondered if he could feel the pulse in her wrist still laying across his bare chest. That there was no way that he thought of her… like… that.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!

A rapid flushing of the face, she was in bed, with a guy, who thought she was hot. Who was the Daddy of her baby-Jack. Who she was snuggled up next to, comfortable in the belief that he was gay and wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Oh dear. The fact that she had flutteries in her gut had nothing to do with the feeling which had brought her here in the middle of the night.

Or, perhaps it had everything to do with the feeling which had brought her here in the middle of the night.

Andrew’s yawn would have made her yawn if she wasn’t so nervous, he was inching closer and closer and after a statement like that it was pretty clear what was going to happen. She didn’t mind. In fact, she had already kissed the young man once, another wouldn’t hurt and guessing by the thumping in her chest might do her some good (30mins of elevated heart rate per day people!). She closed her eyes as his nose came level with hers and waited.

And waited.

Aaaaand waited…

Soft breathing wasn’t quite what she expected, so she peeked one eye open, and then the other. She had to stifle a chuckle, finally poor Andrew had got to sleep without that frown on his face. Brushing the hair off his forehead she placed a gentle kiss there and snuggled down next to him to steal his warmth. It wasn’t worth walking back to her room in the cold and the dark when here the feeling had abated.

~~~Fade to totally innocent black~~~

---Fade to Morning---

As much as he disliked sleeping these days, Andrew always felt loads better after he'd slept. His mind was clear and he no longer felt like half of his brain had taken a vacation. The dreams hadn't been quite as bad last night. What he could remember of them wasn't all that bad. He'd been pretty out of it before he'd passed out last night. Andrew knew Verdy had been here and that they'd talked but after a point he just didn't remember enough of it to be sure of what happened. He knew he'd told her about the shooting.

Though it wasn't what he'd intended, Andrew was fine with having told Verdy. She wouldn't tell anyone. Andrew glanced down at his wrist to his only promise. He really couldn't even think too hard about her these days without effort. Svetlana, just thinking the name took time. Not that it mattered. He hadn't seen her since his summer courses had ended. Verdy didn't need a promise like his to keep secrets. At least he hoped she didn't.

Tired enough of thinking Andrew began to stretch and sit up. He didn't need to lay around all day. There were probably plenty of things he could be doing. He needed to get up and get going. As Andrew stretched and looked around his room he noticed two things. One: Jack was still sleeping right where he'd left him. Two: Verdy was sleeping on the bed beside him. Wait...one of those things seemed out of place.

Verdy.

His bed.

Little memory of what happened before sleeping the previous night.

Oh crap. Andrew searched his memory and all the good it did was confirming that, yes, he didn't remember much from the previous night. Well they were both still clothed so nothing had happened. Had he still been as out of it as last night then he'd be freaking out. Andrew sat there and waited for Verdy to wake up. They were both going to be so embarrassed about this.

Verdy was dreaming. All fleeting feelings from the pervious night had abandoned her, and she was alone in the darkness. Instantly her world was filled with colour, and light, and her dream-body blinked in the dazzle. As the dream came into focus, she knew it was a dream, it seemed to be memories of the times with Andrew, flashing past in super-speed for parts, slowing down into extreme slow motion for others.

It was strange to watch herself doing the things, rather than seeing everything from a first-person perspective, but then again, this was a dream. She could be watching it upside down hanging by the ankles from the sky and it would still be unremarkable because it was a dream. Suddenly, the dream changed, warmth dissipated into icy cold, the light seeped away into greys and blacks, dim flashes of the occasional colour here and there.

Red carpet, green tie.

She was in her work clothes. The fitted jacket seemed to weigh her down, pin her against the hard wooden seats. Andrew was in the stand, and someone in a suit was screaming questions at him. She couldn’t hear the words, everything was muffled, like she was underwater. She gasped for breath, trying to suck air into her frozen lungs. This wasn’t good, this was awful.

Her body twitched, and she puffed as if the air in the room had turned to mud and she was trying to soak in any semblance of oxygen left. Verdigris Willow didn’t snore, but she had vivid dreams and a nasty habit of talking through them.

She rose, when the instruction ‘all rise’ was given. She sat, as the questions flew back and forth, until finally it was time for the judgement to come forth. She held her breath, and when the verdict was given, she gave a sob, of relief, or of distress. She couldn’t tell what it was, her dream denied her the knowledge of what the court decided, she couldn’t even see the mouth of the person who read the piece of paper to try and lip-read. She could still see Andrew though, sitting in the stand, his eyes drawing her in. Drawing her in.

“Andy…”

She wanted to draw him into her arms, make everything better. Show the court that he was a good person, that he should go free. No bad person could own a dog as adorable as their Jack, right? Her helpful mind supplied the fact that Jack was a shelter dog, rescued from an abusive home. Not only –could- a bad person own Jack, a bad person –had- owned Jack.

The dream world rocked, as if the entire world had had an earthquake. Everything tumbled, and then was gone, she was back in the dark, but this time, she wasn’t asleep.

Her bed was warmer than she expected it to be, perhaps she had slept in, and the sun was across the bed, warming her. Her eyes opened slowly, to glance at the bedside clock. Instead of the glow of digital numbers, a different kind of face was there to look at. She blinked once, twice. He was still there. She thought about this for a moment, pondering what he was doing in her bed. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, then remembered.

This was not, in fact, her bed. This was his bed, and she had come here in the middle of the night, climbed into bed with him, and found out that he wasn’t actually gay. Also, that she was hot. Her cheeks reddened and she rubbed her eyes.

“Uh… Morning.”

Verdy appeared to be dreaming. At least, that's what he assumed from her restlessness. She didn't sleep soundly when she dreamed it appeared. She twitched and moved. And spoke too! Was she dreaming about him? He blushed for a moment. It was none of his business whether or not she was dreaming about him. He watched her as she awoke from her dream and took some time to realize where she was. Andrew chuckled a little at her blush, though he couldn't say much.

"Morning. Sleep well?"

Did he dare ask her about what had happened before he fell asleep last night? Surely it couldn't have been too bad. But then again what if he'd said something important or made an important promise of sorts and Verdy was hurt that he'd forgotten it already? Well he'd need to know either way. The words stuck in his throat as he tried to ask. It wasn't until several moments after his greeting that he managed to speak.

"So, uh, did something happen last night after I told you about the shooting? 'Cus I don't really remember that well."

Hopefully it wouldn't be anything too bad.

He was laughing at her, and she felt her face flush darker. But after a quick wipe of her mouth to make sure she wasn’t drooling all over his pillow she nodded. She was pretty good at sleeping no matter how uncomfortable the location. She was a fairly light sleeper in the main, but that night she had been pretty far under sleeping there.

"Yeah, you?"

She stretched her neck to either side and wriggled her fingers. Laying on them all night had restricted the blood flow and there was the feeling of nothingness which comes right before pins and needles. Sometime in the night she had retracted her arm from around Andrew’s bare chest and for that she was grateful, this was awkward enough without that too.

Did something happen? Now her ears were bright red too. Surely the rest of her body was suffering from the redirection of blood to her face. Well, nothing really happened. Almost, but not quite. Would he want to know about that? It seemed right to tell him, but at the same time it made her quite nervous. What if he retracted his statement, then it would seem like she was the one hitting on him. It was so confusing, he was gay, and then he wasn’t gay, and they were just friends, and then they were laying in bed together almost kissing… She hesitated. Then glanced at the ceiling, it conveniently didn’t judge, at all, and she gathered the courage to let him know.

It wasn’t that bad.

“Ah, um, well… We spoke about the trial… andthenyoucalledmehotandtriedtokissmeandfellasleep”

Oh the awkwardness. Her face burned, even though she hadn’t been the one making the moves. Her heart resumed its thumping, although what it was pumping around when surely all her blood now resided in her face was uncertain.

Andrew gave a shrug. He hadn't slept well but it was better than any sleep he'd gotten since the shooting.

"I slept better than I have in a while. Not a good sleep but better than most of my nights in recent memory."

Wow Verdy was blushing bad. Whatever he'd said or done couldn't have been that bad could it? Except that it was. He'd done what now?! Oh crap. Just...jeez. What the heck was he supposed to say or do after that?

"I...uhh..."

What on earth could he say? He wasn't being all that eloquent at the moment but he just didn't know what to say.

"Sorry? I was really tired and I'm just not myself when I'm that tired."

When in doubt, apologize! Honestly that was all he could think of to say. He did think that Verdy was attractive. However he didn't know her all that well yet. Though he didn't want to believe it Andrew knew it would still be possible for her to betray and hurt him. He'd rather wait until they knew each other a lot better. Maybe they would eventually start dating or maybe they would just be good friends. Andrew wasn't sure. What he did know was that he didn't want to start anything just yet.

He hadn’t slept well… but he’d slept better, so that was… good, right?

Her brief and speedy explanation of what had happened had stunned him, frozen his conversational muscle stiff. She should have lied. It would have been easier to lie, simpler, far less embarrassing. Well, it wasn’t like they were total strangers, but in this awkward fumbling for words she immediately understood the reputed ‘walk of shame’. I just had to make everything better.

And then he said that.

The rate of her thumping heart went from abnormally fast to nothingness instantly. He was sorry, and not himself. One skipped beat, then another. Then a resumed and normal rate. Perhaps a little heavier than usual. It would be stupid to cry, so she wouldn’t, but she swallowed carefully before she spoke. She wouldn’t cry, neither would her voice shake. There was nothing between them, they were friends, that was all, he had made that clear. And perhaps in a moment of exhaustion-fuelled need he had reached out for her, in the same way a starving vegetarian may reach for a steak to maintain their life. It didn’t mean they enjoyed it, nor wanted to eat it ever again, but in that moment it was permissible.

Was she merely permissible?

She felt a little sick, but kept a firm hold of herself, there needn’t be any more awkwardness between them. She accepted her role. Stretching nonchalantly (perhaps a tiny bit too nonchalantly) she yawned and wriggle-hopped down to the end of the bed to lean over and scritch Jack good morning. In this room, he slept on the floor. Which was probably a good thing, if he had slept on the bed here as he did in her room there would have been no room for her to crawl into bed next to Andrew. While that might have made for a less awkward morning, it may not have led to such a satisfying or ‘better’ sleep respectively.

When the dog opened one eye to observe her she scratched behind his black ear, before ruffling them both and sitting up again. She felt calmer now, and less likely to freak out, or worse, start crying. She sat up properly and crossed her legs under her, absentmindedly scratching her side through the oversized t-shirt. Man was she glad her sleepwear was decent.

“Wanna go grab some breakfast?”

It would get them out of the awkward position of sitting on his bed until she could think of a way to excuse herself which didn’t seem suss. He may have had to put a shirt on, for a trip down to the kitchen, but she doubted it. Of all the things the mansion residents saw, a bare male chest was hardly the worst.

Uh oh. He must of said the wrong thing 'cus Verdy didn't look pleased! If she hadn't liked it then she would have looked relieved. How did he salvage this? Think man think!

"Not that you aren't hot! 'Cus you are! It's just..."

Andrew's mouth opened and closed as he tried to figure out what the heck he needed to say. Verdy suggested breakfast and Andrew sighed and nodded.

"Breakfast sounds great."

Because obviously he wasn't going to be able to say anything constructive. Maybe getting some food in him would help. Andrew wandered over to his closet and grabbed a shirt. He tugged that on walked back over to Verdy.

"Shall we?"

Andrew hoped that this whole thing wouldn't change things too much. He really did like Verdy. He just wasn't sure how much and wasn't interested in anything at the moment even if he was. He'd rather get the trial out of the way.

His fumbled compliments made her feel a little less than totally rejected but worse about telling him. She should have lied and said nothing. He didn’t need a girlfriend, he needed a friend, to stand beside him without needing anything from him, someone he could say anything to and not worry about the repercussions and possible dumpings which could be a result.

She could be that friend.

Breakfast seemed like a good alternative to separating awkwardly like this. It would give a buffer time, to let some of the strangeness disappear. Andrew put on a shirt and she slipped off the bed and re-tied her laces which had come loose in the night. When she had thought he was gay being just friends was easy, and she tried to put herself in that mindset again. It was tricky, but she managed to squish down any lingering feelings of dismissal. Friend mode. She took a deep breath and glanced up at Andrew.

“We shall.”

As they walked she tried to recall what she knew was in the fridge, or the cupboards to make a good breakfast. She was fairly sure just about anything, and she vaguely wondered if there was a mutant with a food-related mutation who wandered around topping everything up. There never seemed to be a shortage of anything.

“What’re you in the mood for?”

She herself had a hankering for a big fried breakfast; hash browns, bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes, all the things she knew she shouldn’t have while trying to loose weight, but making it up for one seemed a little sad. If Andrew wanted cereal though, or just toast that would be a suitable alternative, and she would have the same thing, guilt-free.

With a little luck they were able to leave most of the awkwardness behind in his room as they headed toward the kitchens and breakfast. That was good. Andrew wasn't sure he could take too much more weirdness and this was just the start of the day. Of course part of that was left over weirdness from last night but still. There was a tolerance limit and he'd just about reached it. On another topic, what did he want for breakfast? Well there wasn't anything in particular that he was favoring at the moment.

"Nothing in particular."

This was the sort of thing he generally figured out once he was down in the kitchen.

"We can have whatever you'd like."

Andrew was honestly glad that they'd put that little issue behind them. Friends was good for now. That was so much easier. He could wait for now. They'd have breakfast and go about their day as friends. Maybe he'd see her at some point during the day when he wasn't working. Andrew didn't know but the return to some semblance of normality was refreshing.

There was nothing quite like a big fried breakfast to sizzle away any leftover weirdness from the night, (supposedly the best greasy cure for hangovers too, however she was unsure as to the truth of that statement. It was something she was sure to experience eventually, and the results would be documented for future certain reference) so the cereal was out and the fried-fest was in.

She wasn’t in the mood for cereal anyway.

Putting the whole meal together could take a while, but if they worked as a team it shouldn’t be an issue to get it done before stomachs began growling audibly. She was certain there were hash browns in the freezer which only needed frying in a little oil, and there was always bacon in the fridge. Finding some tomatoes and bread to toast may prove a little more challenging, but the ingredients for pancakes were mostly the same as those for cookies, and she had made them in the kitchen before.

“Alright, but I might need a little help cooking it.”

If it came down to it and he really couldn’t cook he could be in charge of pouring the orange juice, or mixing things. He seemed capable enough though, and didn’t look like the type who would burn their hands off as soon as fry an egg. That was another thing the mansion had, real butter, none of that margarine, or other spreadable oils (unless that was to your taste, in which case there were tubs of all different kinds in the fridge too), pure salty buttery goodness to do the frying. Bring on the french toast.