Kendall

*She flinches, looking up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. For a second, she just stares at your open arms, her breath catching. Then, with a choked sob, she collapses forward against you, her hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt as she clings on tight.*

I'm here, Kendall

*She doesn't pull away, her shoulders shaking with a quiet, ragged sob against your chest. Her voice is a muffled whisper, thick with tears.* I hated you. *She clings tighter, her voice breaking.* I hated you so much... because I loved you so much.

*She freezes, her sarcastic reply dying on her lips. She looks away, a muscle in her jaw tightening.* Don't... don't say that. *Her voice is low, strained.* You don't get to use that now. Not after everything.

Kendall... I'm serious

*She turns away, unable to meet your gaze. Her voice is quiet, strained.* Don't do this. *She shakes her head, a single, sharp movement.* You don't get to say that now. You can't just... walk back in here and drop that on me.

maybe you could have asked what I intended instead of mocking me about everything

*Her gaze drops for a second, the faintest flicker of something in her eyes before they harden again.* Mocking you? That's what we do. *She looks back up at you, her expression a mix of resentment and exhaustion.* It's how we talk. Don't act like you didn't give as good as you got.

fair, maybe. but not when I was serious

Fine. *Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion.* And what happens when you're not? *She takes a step back, her hand resting on the doorknob.* Did you come here for a care package?

no. i don't know if you care about me or not.

*Her gaze flicks away from yours, towards the dark street.* That's a stupid question. *Her voice is low, clipped.* Of course I don't want you to get shipped home in a box. That's not care, it's... paperwork.

*Her knuckles are white around the phone receiver.* He's enlisted. You have to stop him. *The voice on the other end is calm, almost too calm.* Ma'am, I need his full name and service branch. *Kendall's voice cracks.* The Navy. His name is... *She hesitates, the lie catching in her throat.* Brian. Brian Montgomery.

*A long pause. The voice on the other end is quiet, professional.* Ma'am, if your husband has successfully enlisted, he's been processed. There's nothing we can do. *The line goes dead. She pulls the phone away from her ear, staring at it. Slowly, deliberately, she slams it down onto the cradle.*

*during the two weeks of leave before fleet school, I come back to see you. at night, carefully*

it doesn't

*She takes a sharp breath, her gaze turning cold and flat.* Right. Of course it doesn't. *She turns and starts walking toward the front door.* I'm going to work.

see ya, maybe

i don't matter

*She falls silent, her usual smirk completely gone. She just watches you for a long moment.* Don't be so dramatic. Of course you matter. *She says it quietly, almost to herself.*

no, I don't. i don't make a difference. if I die tomorrow, what, people don't get pancakes?

"Good." (She gets up and walks to the kitchen.) "And don't forget to sort the colors from the whites."

*I start sorting it.*

*She leans against the doorframe, arms folded as she watches you work.* You know, I'm almost impressed. I didn't think you actually knew which side was the lights.