Author's Note: I'm quite excited about this one, because it's kind of an enigmatic autobiography, because I do in fact sing in a choir in a similar situation with one of the members who is quite like Si in some cases. Perhaps this is a prophetic story of what may come . . . but I doubt it. Maybe some of the events in this story are what I wish to happen, but I don't want to make it too personal so I tried to make the characters as vague as possible, but I admit they are in relation with some people I know in real life. But still that shouldn't ruin your reading it. This is the beginning as you see it, not me. Enjoy, and all reviews are appreciated greatly. Ladies and gentlemen of the world, I give you . . .

The Thin Line
By J.

PART ONE: Si and Lara

"You and me, always. You held my head above the waves. Paddling around pretending that it was not too cold. It was but not when you were there" -
Christopher's River, Biffy Clyro.

Chapter One - Wedding Bells

Present

The invitation to the wedding of Benjamin Yorke and Sophie Whyte had come somewhat unexpectedly, and Lara was never quite sure why she agreed to go, because of course she knew Si would be there. Maybe that was the actual reason she went - although she longed to see Ben again - and also the reason she didn't bring Callum with her. But the fact of the matter was that she didn't expect to meet eyes with Si, although she was curious as to what he might look like now. And as for Ben getting married . . . well, he had been thirteen-going-on-fourteen last time she saw him, so the idea was only a little less than surreal, never mind daunting.

The church Lara had once sang in with Ben and Si was smaller than she remembered, but the lingering smell of the creamy incense was definite, but as for the church nothing had changed at all. Lara didn't take her seat immediately as there was no one else in the church yet - except the pensioner arranging the mass arrays of beautiful flowers - so Lara took the opportunity to look around.

The stained glass windows had never been anything special - not compared to the ones in Lara's regular church anyway - but there was no harm in reminiscing on what had once been long ago. She was just pondering on how Ben had gotten hold of her address in Edinburgh to invite her to a wedding in the middle of Glasgow, where Sophie had apparently been born. But secretly, the church had probably been Ben's choice. He had always known what he wanted, even as a boy, unlike some other people whose names are not to be mentioned. Wink, wink.

"I don't believe it!" exclaimed a voice all too familiar to Lara, "I knew Ben might have invited your mother, but I NEVER imagined . . ."

Lara swung round to face her oppressors - Mr and Mrs James Yorke, proud mother and father of the four Yorke boys. Lara was taken aback by Freida Yorke's appearance. She had cancer; it was in her face. Her eyes were dim and lifeless with the skin sagging off her face in repulsion to the disease. Lara knew that look, because her own mother was dying slowly of M.S., and had the same worn, tired look as she gave up on the prospect of them ever getting better. Despite the kind, patronising words of the optimists you just wanted to bugger off.

"Freida . . ." stammered Lara, surprised at how her own voice sounded. Usually she had a strong, confident voice which made her interviewees under less pressure and relaxed them, but now she sounded less than herself . . . almost as if she were sixteen again. That was the age she had been when she had last spoken to James and Freida Yorke, or indeed any of their family. She had received a couple of letters from Ben, but he was soon enveloped in teenage laziness so no other contact from the Yorkes was ever processed. Not that James and Freida had ever even attempted to keep tabs on her. They had never liked her, quite the contrary, in fact. And, as she was about to discover, nothing had changed except Lara and her ability to argue back, and she had been pretty damn quick back then, too.

"Well, I hope you've had a nice life, Miss Cross," James snapped, although he was making a definite - and unsuccessful - to be as pleasant as possible, although the way he spoke was more like he was approaching her with a machete in his hands. The definition of "pleasant" didn't go above forced civility for James Yorke, which was one of the few attitudes Lara hated. Even the word "civil" made her spin shiver and upper lip curl, and not many words other than "ultra", "cunt" and "pure" did.

"Yes, I have. Thank you very much for asking," Lara returned smoothly and courteously, but not without hidden meaning however, but then it was finding-a-straw-of-hay-in-a-needlestack kind of hidden. Lara had become a subtle writer over the years, and with that had also become an equally as subtle talker. She was deadly articulate, never stammered and didn't even had a posh accent. She still possessed the soft Glaswegian tones that were never too much to be called crude but enough to say that she'd lived in Scotland all her life. But then, from looking at her very pale skin she couldn't be much else bar being burnt for accused vampirism.

She looked at the verbal assailants in the eye. "Yes, I've had a very pleasant life," she paused momentarily, before adding the cold, personal note that triggered the argument, "considering."

James Yorke's eyes flicked to Lara's menacingly.

"You think you had it tough because of your time-wasting with my son?" he hissed coldly, the acoustics of the wide church not doing his reputation amongst the congregation many favours, "You spoiled his chances of ever becoming a doctor!"

Lara was surprised, admittedly. It had been one of the reasons she had left, so Si could follow his - or rather his parents' - ambition to become a surgeon. But then she never could see him ever becoming a doctor; and that was the truth in its entirety. In a way, Lara was glad for him that he had finally gone against his parents' wishes, unless she had spoiled his exam results with what happened all those years ago . . . but that was Si's fault, not hers. He had been the one that made the mistake.

"He spoiled his own chances, don't blame me," Lara retorted, managing to stay calm, "I'm sorry he didn't become a doctor but I'm sure he's managed just fine." She was trying to get them to calm down by admittedly patronising them slightly, but they were looking at her with such undeserved malice that it was hard not to replace her plastered smile for the frown she wanted to unleash upon them with wrath and vengeance aplenty.

Lara was bigger than that, fortunately. Many people in a confrontational situation about something one just wished to forget found it difficult to keep their temper with the most aggravating people in the world. She was not naïve and did not expect the Yorkes to kiss her cheek and let bygones be bygones. They weren't like that, even Spud from 'Trainspotting' could see that. They were hypocrites - James especially, he was the real bastard. The crème-de-la-crème of the arseholes poisoning the world that ought to be scooped up in a big lorry and dumped on a remote island with nothing to eat but self-changing manuals on "How to be a Better Man" and "Anti-Christ to Jesus Christ". But then, all James needed to do was practice what he preached and read the Holy Bible properly. Not that he was ordained - God no - but he liked to pretend that he was the model Christian whose four sons had all partaken in the church until they were old enough to make up their own minds at eighteen. By which time they were used to it.

Even Ben, who had always been so bored in the choir seemed like he didn't want to be there. But yet he had, week by week, and here was getting married, although he didn't come to this church every Sunday because he went to the one Lara occasionally attended. She usually went to Evening Eucharist, but he was never there, although she had seen James there once with Steven, which had been horrible.

Lara began to question herself as to why she had come so early because there was no one else there - that she was aware of - to save her. She wondered if maybe she should have brought Cal along, she wasn't so sure she wanted to see Si anymore if she ever had; from what she was getting from James she was sure his opinions of her were negative. And why shouldn't they be, Lara had been unable to forgive him for his . . . misdeed, so he could have whatever opinion her he wished. It was no longer Lara's problem.

"You've not changed a bit," Freida informed me, her voice cracked and empty of any emotion other than suffering, "you're just as cheeky as you were when I saw you last."

Lara shrugged. Not seeing this attribute as a necessarily bad one where these people were concerned.

"What can I say," she replied flippantly, "it comes in handy."

James flipped at that dismissive comment. It didn't remind Lara of someone just reacting angrily to a comment directed at his wife that had singed a very delicate, pansy-like nerve. His response reminded Lara of a hairy grey gorilla (with a blatantly obvious receding hairline) that was swinging backwards and forwards amongst the trees before seeing a big nasty tiger eat up a baby gorilla. That would be an understandable reaction - and Lara would hope that the gorilla would tear out the tiger's bladder via the rectum so it could never digest baby gorilla, not that it would live . . . - but when Lara's standing up for herself perhaps didn't fit too well with Mrs-old-lady then her husband goes all insane-gorilla-man on the victim.

Lara wondered to herself if they'd written a screenplay for this scenario in which Lara would end up wailing inconsolably, but that would not happen. She may have remained "cheeky" as Freida eloquently put it, but things about her had changed as well, for example her donkey-like stubbornness towards a couple of old farts, one of them terminally ill or not. Lara didn't want Freida to be ill, neither did she think she deserved it, but she didn't really want to be talking to them about something she'd much rather forget sooner than later. And it was already much later.

But back to James Yorke's frightening - but in a strange kind of way, amusing - transformation into super-nasty-evil-provocative-Lara-destroying- man beast.

"Don't you talk to my wife like that," he snarled, pushing his face right up to Lara's - who didn't as much recoil away but moved her head backwards and furrowed her brow into a frown, her green eyes piercing his blue ones that reminded her of Si's, even if she hadn't seen them in a long time. The look she gave James told him exactly where to go, what to bring and where to stick it.

She was no longer intimidated by him, and was ready for an argument, church with excellent acoustics that would magnify her voice by ten times, or no church with excellent acoustics that would magnify her voice by ten times.

"Your cheek may come in handy, young Lara," James continued, "but don't think anyone's impressed by -" Lara cut James off with a snort of indignant laugher.

"How old do you think I am, Mr Yorke?" she spat, speaking firmly and precisely, not raising her voice to high or dipping it too low. "Shall I tell you? I'm twenty-eight. Old enough, I think, to earn some respect from people I somehow offended as a sixteen-year-old. I'll tell you, you don't achieve anything by digging up demons I've long forgotten."

James and Freida were stunned into silence for a couple of long seconds, but then Freida said quietly:

"But Lara, we aren't digging. We haven't forgotten, it's been in our minds every day since you left. And it's not just us, because . . ."

James cut in quickly, obviously not wanting his wife to say anything. Lara had wanted to know what she was going to say, but turned her head to James impatiently.

"It must be very nice to not have to think about how you've affected my family's reputation as a good, Christian one. Si wasn't ready for you and you . . ." James was cut off (deservedly in Lara's opinion, because she was sure she wouldn't want to hear what he was going to say), and an unexpected intruder stood between his parents and Lara.

~*~

"It's my bloody wedding, and you're going tits up at my guest - in the church no less!" Benjamin Yorke intervened, talking directly to his parents. Lara felt a kind of warm glow inside her as she watched him speak - not just because it was good to see him (which it undoubtedly was) but also because Ben had never really been able to stand up for himself - to James in particular - so Lara felt a glow of pride inside her.

"Son," James pressed in a new, understanding tone Lara felt Ben had worked hard to earn, "I'm sorry, but she . . ."

"Oh Dad, go fix your kilt," Ben suggested with a sigh, rolling his eyes. Lara noticed a flash of humour through Freida's eyes, but it dissolved back into the grey fathoms as quickly as it came. James turned a magnificent shade of maroon as he saw Lara's amused expression, which only made the scenario more hilarious. "Your sporran's squint and your skean-dhu's about to stab your big toe . . . roll up your sock!"

James grumbled something to Ben about seeing him at the altar and then something to Freida which made her look very solemn - nearly dutifully so - before she followed her husband off to the back of the church.

Lara turned to Ben and stood back so as to get a proper view of him. He looked almost dashing in his kilt and had become handsome, although still had the geeky look about him he'd had when he was thirteen - but not unattractively so. He was lean now, rather than skinny - he looked like he could withstand a winter without freezing over now. She noticed him giving her the same lookover, although what he thought of her was unknown. He simply presented her with a welcome smile and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her back, and Lara did likewise. It was strange to hug Ben - as a thirteen-year-old he'd never been one to hug girls unless she trapped him or she was upset.

They pulled away and grinned at each other. Ben was a lot taller now, about a foot moreso than herself, who was average height at 5"6.

"Lara," he said, almost emotionally, "it's been too fucking long."

"Amen," Lara replied, "and I'm sorry we lost touch, but it was hard . . ."

Ben simply nodded.

"You can speak to him afterwards, if you like," he explained, and it was impossible for Lara not to know exactly who he meant.

"Who?" she enquired innocently, pulling the corner of her mouth into a crooked smile, "I've already had a nice chat with your dad, if you hadn't noticed."

"Can't say I had," Ben laughed, then turned serious. "Don't bullshit me, Lara, you know I mean Si. You know that very well."

Lara said nothing. There didn't appear to be anything to say. She didn't know if she wanted to speak to Si, even. Too much had happened and too much time had passed . . . or that was what she had led herself to believe so far. All of a sudden she didn't feel as smart and on-the-ball as she had done before, and she had been surprised at her confidence at returning here.

"We don't need to talk about it now," Ben smiled, only a hint of apology in his voice, full of anticipation at getting married to someone he loved. Ben - in love! What a funny thought. Lara met his eyes. "Yes, we will talk about it - don't think I'm going to let you get away now that we're even living in the same city!"

"Edinburgh's a big place," Lara pointed out. Ben nodded but looked impatiently at her. She liked what he said next, however. It was so . . . Ben. It was the significant factor that proved he was the same boy.

"Not as big as the world, where you could've been anywhere and I wouldn't know," he said. Lara smiled again, she liked Ben as an adult - he suited it. She was looking forward to being his friend again, and this time he wouldn't giggle every time she mentioned a word that could be taken "the wrong way".

"So, this girl you're marrying . . . Sophie, right?" Lara changed the subject quickly, shocked and embarrassed to find an unwanted tear in her eye.

Ben visibly noticed, but didn't say anything. "Sophie Whyte," he told her, with a grin.

"Right."

"Whyte."

Lara tutted.

"It was an acknowledgement," she told him scornfully.

"Oh."

Smiling, Lara listened to Ben telling her about how he'd tell her everything after the service but just now he had to go and shit himself with worry and wonder if she was going to turn up or not. Lara wished him luck and he kissed her on the cheek, inviting her to sit wherever she wanted. He advised her just to ignore his mum and dad because they'd only ever know her outline. And Lara's outline wasn't a very convincing one; she was one of those people you had to dig into to love. She wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment, but she was sure of one thing.

He couldn't have been more correct if he'd tried.

~*~

"You saw everything?"

"Yes."

"You don't seem very happy."

"I didn't see her face."

Ben didn't reply. He wasn't so sure that Lara would even want to speak to Si, and quite frankly he didn't blame her. Of course he didn't mention anything to his elder brother. Si had spent enough time about worrying about seeing Lara Cross again, but Ben couldn't help but be the proud owner of a nasty feeling deep in his gut.

"Does she look good?" Si asked him. Ben regarded his brother, yet didn't answer. Si repeated the question in a way that pissed Ben off. This was supposed to be HIS day, not a joyous reunion of Si and Lara at some loser's wedding.

"Yes, she looks fucking amazing," Ben snapped, making Si flinch slightly. He wasn't lying, however. He thought Lara looked good. Really good.

"Sorry, Ben," Si apologised, lowering his voice somewhat significantly and relaxing his brother. He placed a brotherly, warm hand on Ben's shoulder and smiled. Si's smile - or rather the way his eyes looked when he smiled - was what attracted most women to him when they first met him. He had to admit, it came in handy. He'd always been certain it wasn't his smile that Lara had been attracted to, though; she was the only one that had liked him for who he was inside. Not many people did. She'd been the only one to ever understand him and he'd lost her - and naturally it was truly his fault. Or "had been" his fault, because everyone had told him to see Lara in the past tense, that he was better off without her. According to his father - and therefore his mother and elder brother Steven - Lara was and always had been a bad influence.

"She'd only drag you down further, son," his dad had once told him in such a matter-of-fact voice it was as if he was reading it out of a textbook. Those days had gone, and Lara was long gone. Allegedly.

But now she was back like a ghost, and he hadn't even seen her face yet. How he longed to see her face, just to see how she'd grown, what he'd missed; who she'd become.

Perhaps she was a businesswoman now, who normally wore her shouler-length hair in a tight bun. Her face, which had been bright and . . . indescribably "punky" could have lost its charm and become hard and pinched. Considering what Si had known of Lara as the free-spirited adolescent, he found that rather hard to believe, although he was hardly in a position to state what could and couldn't've happened. He'd never expected to become a teacher at a public secondary school in Edinburgh. He'd never expected not to have had a "committed" relationship since he was sixteen, and that had been with Lara . . . Lara.

He definitely hadn't expected to be daydreaming about her and her face thirteen years after watching her leave in that car. In that car, that burgundy Volvo estate car, something had gotten caught in the door. Something invisible, something of himself, and it had driven away with her. He never got it back again, and he didn't know who to despise: Lara, Lara's Mum, the Volvo . . . but he mostly despised himself for what happened. Si had been a stupid arsehole, to say the very littlest least.

But enough about the past. Si had stopped worrying about "beforehand" a long time ago and didn't see why he should have to start worrying about it all again just because Lara had turned up all of a sudden. To be perfectly honest, Si had never imagined that Ben would ever successfully reach Lara Corss in a thousand years, but it was obvious he really wanted her to be there at his wedding. So Si, as a result, had pulled a couple of strings. Those strings were cobwebs holding together his attic's door - Si never went into the attic in the house he shared with his brother and Sophie. You see, when he was eighteen-going-on-nineteen, Si, in a dramatic reminiscing crisis, had had the uncanny urge to find out where Lara was. He phoned the school she'd been at, and they, of course, had her records and informed him that she was now in Edinburgh University studying English. Satisfied with this and supplied with the knowledge that Lara now in fact lived in a property owned by her grandparents would at least have records there if he ever needed to find her again.

Fortunately, she had never moved from Edinburgh so stayed in the spacious roof flat now. Si didn't know why he didn't expect Lara to have moved on into a steady relationship - Lara couldn't be expected to mope for evermore about Si, but he had a feeling she wasn't involved. Hell, Lara'd moved away just to get away from him so she'd be able to move on. Looking back on how he was "back then", there were a lot - possibly too many - things about himself Si would've wanted to change. But then the idea of not wallowing in the past returned, although it was too late to catch yourself out in thinking about it. In thinking about not thinking in the past, Si had confused himself by thinking about the past, and had gotten himself in a predicament.

Not just because he was confused about his train of thought - or in Si's case, a bus, because although either too late or early they were never convenient, and they always came in twos which meant he confused himself with colliding thoughts - but because Sophie'd just was walked into the now- packed church. And Si was way at the other side of where he was supposed to be.

Ignoring the dagger glances from his really-very-nice-to-her-mother-sister- in-law-to-be, SI sprinted across the church, praying his kilt didn't fly up and reveal his modesty.

At his side, panting and straightening himself out, Ben felt ironically glad that Si had fucked it up, because his elder brother had never really slotted in perfectly and that was the way Ben liked him. In a way he'd be disappointed if Si lived up to expectations on the one day he needed to. The Best Man's speech was going to be traumatic, Ben could tell, but somehow it didn't matter. And that was because he was about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.

~*~

As weddings go, Benjamin and Sophie's was quite short. Si knew that was the way they'd wanted it; Ben was looking forward to later. Later even than the reception that Si was at now, drinking white wine in a sophisticated glass that wasn't deep enough by half to hold the alcohol content that Si desired. Still, it was all free - although he had chipped in to help Ben pay for the catering -so why not keep going back for more continuously until he couldn't physically move by himself? This was what Si was planning on doing, getting as plastered as possible, just to piss off his dad.

He snickered at the cunning his impending leglessness beheld, but then he saw her.

She was dancing with Si and Ben's cousin, Phil Yorke. He was their dad's eldest brother Eddie's son, an obnoxious little sleaze if there ever was one. He was Ben's age, a little younger at twenty-five. He seemed to be getting on with Lara like a house on fire, but from what he could tell she wasn't really into dancing frivolously with him much. It was then that Si recognised the opportunity to study her properly, but then someone stood right in front of him. Reluctantly, Si focused on the figure and found it to be his elder brother Steven, who was going on thirty-one, but somehow managed to look just about the same age as Ben. Sickening, really.

"I hope you're not staring at who I think you're staring at," he warned with a zest of threat in his voice.

"Cor and blimey," Si giggled, "you sound just like Dad. And I'm not "staring" at anyone, but who am I supposed to be watching?" He asked, not feeling anywhere as confident as he sounded. Steven shrugged.

"I think that's Lara Cross, if my memory serves me right," he said, with more than a slight tone of distaste in his voice. Si made a big effort of not scowling at him.

"Oh. So it is. How nice," Si dismissed, pretending only just to have noticed her. Her. It was now Steven's turn to frown.

"How 'nice'?" he uttered, his voice hoarse and blatantly hushed, so as not to make a scene. Yet, ironically, in his efforts he only made himself more conspicuous. "Am I hearing you correctly, Si?"

"Yeah. You heard." Si nodded, but something else had grasped his attention like a tightening vice. He felt his train of thought trail away, which was no love lost to be honest, as he and Steven had nothing much to say to each other, really. "How . . . how . . . oh, shit."

What he'd seen and his reaction to it had provided his older brother with the required ammunition to state that Si had been well aware of Lara's presence as he was looking directly at the back of her head. But beyond her head was what he was worried at. Lara had stopped dancing with her previous partner at the traditional "Gay Gordons", a well-known Scottish dance. The new partner that stood before her was none other than Si's beloved father. When Steven saw this, there was no more petty argument between the two brothers.

Lara was standing quite diligently, watching James catch up to her and recognise exactly who she was. At the glances from the others around them, James instinctively took the easier route and began the dancing stance before his senses reached him. Lara helped Misters Sight, hearing, Touch, Smell and Speech along by taking a defiant step backwards, in doing so crashing into a couple. Nonetheless it got the point across and James looked relieved, at least it was not he causing the scene.

"I'll die before I put my arms around you," she hissed as quietly but significantly as possibly. James' frown furrowed.

"The feeling is mutual," he sneered. As the partners bowed and curtsied for each other, the atmosphere around them became plastic toy kitchen knife cuttable. Both James and Lara were glad when Steven rushed up and grabbed his father by the arm urgently.

"Dad . . ." Steven breathed, casting a dark look at Lara, but James paid not attention to him. He merely glowered at Lara and that was the way they stood until the dance ended, at which Steven led his father away. Lara felt like her captain had just yelled "AT EASE, SOLDIER!" as her tense shoulders slumped heavily, gratefully. Her face was sad and her eyes were closed, long fingers tangled up in her mousey hair. She shuddered as a presence approached.

" . . . Lara . . . ?" a barely audible voice sounded. Lara did not answer.

"How about another bout of the 'Gay Gordons', everybody?" the cheesy D.J. suggested to rapturous affirmations from the guests, the elder ones especially, who suspectedly did not get out much. "All right then, folks!"

"Lara . . . ?" the voice persevered, more confident this time. Confident enough for Lara to look up and face the music, anyway. Who would it be, Steven? Steven, to tell her how worthless she was? Ben, to tell her everything was fine and everyone in his family was wrong about her? Everyone . . . everyone except Ben and . . . and Si.

"S-Simon?" she choked, her eyes nearly meeting his for the first time in thirteen years. More than that, even. Si smiled his slow, sad smile at her that always seemed to curve up onto the right before it did so on the left side. She was surprised herself; she'd never called him Simon. She hated the name Simon, and had once said it was a "poofter's name". That was way back when she had Si had been opponents, rivals in slagging matches. What happened after those days was inevitable, but this . . . this wasn't compulsory. This wasn't destiny. They didn't have to be there, Lara could walk away again and never look back. This was a mistake, a glitch or hiccup in Lara's life plans.

"We'd better dance," Si said carefully without emotion. How could these be the first words they'd spoken to each other after so long, so casual and . . . insignificant? Something was out of place; something was missing. Emotion, perhaps? Humour? Si tried to add some in, by adding dryly, "You already refused my old man. People will begin to think you've got something against my family."

"Si . . ." Lara murmured, unable to establish herself.

"You got it right that time," Si pointed out. There was a pause and the intro chord was sounded. Lara curtsied and Si bowed his head but not so he took his eyes off her for a second. He moved to her left and took one of her hands across his torso, and the other above her shoulder. They danced.

One, two, three, four, turn, two, three, four . . .

"Come on, Lara, say something. We're both here now, just say something," Si prompted, willing her to say something. Anything. Anything to break the awful silence between them.

"I don't know what I should say," Lara said quietly, still taken by the shock of Si's sudden and uninvited appearance. The Yorkes knew how to put on a proper drama performance, that was for sure. She looked at him, dead in the eyes, for the first time. They felt themselves shudder, arms as stiff and tense as wood, careful not to give out any emotion. Just count, Si . . . just count, Lara. Count the beats. Of the music. Of your heart.

One, two, three, four . . .

"Anything," Si settled, not feeling relaxed or dismissive enough to shrug, "just so I know you don't . . ." he trailed off, something he didn't do very often.

"Don't what?" Lara wasn't going to settle with him having his own thoughts. For all he'd done, she had more than a right to know everything he was thinking. Si tutted.

"I thought that it was obvious," he snapped.

"Evidently not."

"I want to know you don't . . ."

"What?"

"Hate me."

There. She forced it out of him through gritted teeth. What now? "Of course I hate you, Si?" "It's very hard not to hate you Si?" "What was that for again, Si?"

"I . . . never hated you," Lara answered truthfully, stunning Si. He smiled to himself, he always felt he could tell when Lara was being honest - which she was most of the time - or if she was fibbing. She saw the relief in his eyes. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you, Si," she added quickly, "not by a long shot."

One, two, three, four, turn, two, three, four . . .

"Lara, I always regretted . . ." Si began. Or tried to.

"Oh, don't bother, Si. I don't know about you, but I'm here for Ben. Let's not make this about us, okay? If you REALLY want to, we can dig up the past later." Lara replied coldly, backhanding his attempt into a brick wall. Si, however, didn't take this with a pinch of salt.

"Of course I'm here for Ben!" he snapped defensively, causing an elderly couple to look over disapprovingly. "It just so happens that you appeared out of nowhere after no contact for twelve years and expect me to talk about what . . . what else is there to talk about, Lara?" An angry pause. She didn't answer. "The fucking weather?" he suggested. "How nice Sophie looks? Well, we both know the answers to those questions, don't we? The weather's shit and Sophie's beautiful. What's the point in discussing that if we both know the answers inside out? Why not discuss what matters? It's both on our minds, we're both angry . . . Jesus, Lara . . . I had so many plans of what I'd say to you if I ever found - saw - you again. This wasn't it."

Lara looked at him a little oddly but her expression remained neutral, even if her voice changed a little.

"We can talk, Si. We can talk today, if you want. You can get it all out and we can go away hating each other again if you want."

Si almost dropped Lara at that.

"You think that's what I WANT?" he emphasised, analysing her speech with great contradiction. "Lara, that's the very last thing I ever wanted."

"Si . . ." Lara interrupted, surprisingly with a small giggle, "Si . . ."

"What?"

"The music's stopped. You can let go of me now."

They were standing on the floor with Si still holding onto her hands.

"Oh, fuck." Si whispered, feeling his father's cold eyes on him from the corner of the room, at whom Lara, beside Si again for the first time, was staring back at with nothing less than contempt in her expression.

Who could blame her? James had been a bad father, a bad Christian and a bad man thirteen years ago. His attitude towards Lara hadn't changed a bit, that was evident, but what worried Lara was that Si had finally accepted his father's Josef Goebbels-like propaganda routine against her. Not that it mattered to her or her new life significantly, anyway.

None of it mattered, it was merely the . . . principle. The principle of things that needed sorting out.

~*~

A/N: Phew. That was quite long, no? Sorry for typos or errors, but I'm going to put this right up. I hope I get some reviews for this!

Thanks for reading ^_^