She awoke to an empty bed, not an unusual feeling. The darkened room was strange, only the moonlight glowing through an open window, the curtains waving slightly in the breeze of the Australian night, throwing waving shadows across the room. It felt more than a little creepy to be in Brett’s childhood room and bed, especially by herself. In the limited light, she could just barely see the row of model tanks lined up for parade on the bookshelf, above the single shelf of worn military books she’d seen the previous day.

She’d stayed in here long enough the first night to shower, then went down stairs to join Brett on the couch where for the first time ever he had slept through the night without getting up. When they’d went upstairs a couple of hours ago after the discussion about that bastard English, and Anubis, and the lost sister, she’d hoped he’d sleep a second night for as long and peaceful as the last.

It really wasn’t that late, not for them, not even midnight yet, even though it had seemed to take forever during that stupid Venn diagram discussion. She loved Henri, but sometimes the shit she came up with was ridiculous. She sighed, and pouted, and then got up. At home, she wouldn’t have thought anything about just walking out of the room as she was, but instead she opened the single dresser in the room and grabbed a slightly musty dark t-shirt. Opening the next drawer down revealed socks and neatly folded white boxers. She sighed, shrugged, and slipped a pair on. She hoped it was enough clothes in case she ran into Mama Anderson. Whatever had happened, she’d been much nicer today than yesterday, and she didn’t want to screw it up. Still, there were limits.

She crept quietly down the hall and stairs, in reality, her thumping steps were covered by the sounds coming from Whitley and Jeremy, the slutty witch. Least she finally found someone else to make eyes at instead of Brett, or interfering with Henri and Bryan. What a fucking ho. Still, her steps probably woke every Anderson in the house. She really wanted a cigarette but she settled for grabbing the bottle of whiskey someone had left behind from the Venn disaster, before walking out onto the wraparound porch expecting to find Brett sitting in the shadows like normal. She walked all the way around the house before pausing with a soft but heartfelt, “Well, fuck!”

“Anytime, baby,” responded a voice from the darkness behind her.

“God damn fuckballs, Brett!” she hissed as he chuckled happily while catching the whiskey bottle she threw at his his head. “Were you fucking hiding in the dark again?”

“No,” he murmured, bending low and giving her a kiss that left her breathless for a few seconds. “Come on,” he said, taking a drink of the whiskey, “I want to show you something.” He handed her back the bottle, then grabbed her hand, smiling like a child on Christmas morning. A smile she didn’t ever remember having seen before.