(Another) A/N: Again, let me repeat: I started this in my sophomore year of high school. I am no longer in high school. My grammar has improved, as well as my attention span. THIS IS ROUGH. It's like a 'guesstimate'. I'm just jotting. Just getting into Rocher as a character, and grappling at how to build him into a three-dimensional baby. At that point in my life I lacked method, and this whole thing will need revamping, but I promise that once it's rewritten and rewritten again, I will be super super proud of it. Because at this moment, I'm only super proud that it exists. (except for the stupid way this chapter ends..)

Pronunciation: ROCHER: Roe-shay (in French, a rock); FAEINE: Fay-een (DONT ARGUE ITS SPELLING-PRONUN)

How to Boil Water

Sleep is something, if you recall, that I had gotten very little of lately. I still don't know how it was that I survived so long. As you can imagine, what sleep I got that late night was comforting, but unfortunately, restless. I longed for nothing more than a nice dreamless sleep to pull me through until I woke up. This is not how my night was spent. I dreamt, dear reader, but of what I cannot say. There was no clear pattern to the madness of that dream. All dreams are the product of one's subconscious, and are quite normally pieces of one's day thrown together. And because of this, they are forgotten in the morning. Usually. What need have I to share this dream with you? I think after relating it to you, it will become clearer.

Yes, I remember it, even today. I was in my home, in the Peach Room to be more exact, with my sister, Faeine. She was wearing her pale yellow taffeta dress with a pastel green sash. Her dress had see-through bell sleeves and pair of tiny black maryjanes were visible from under her dress. Faeine was sitting on a parlor couch, staring out the window at a bright, sunny day. I was sitting next to her, but it was a younger version of myself, somewhere in my teens. I stood behind them, watching them bird watch.

Faeine was enjoying it immensely. She practically screamed every time that she saw a blue jay or a robin. My younger self was grinning at her antics. I felt the invisible tears build in my eyes. This had been one of the best days of my life. It was Faeine's birthday and as her older brother I had bought her a pair of humongous binoculars. Well, they hadn't seemed that large when I purchased them but against her tiny round face they seemed truly enormous. I was so proud of that gift. Faeine had always loved to look at the birds and when she saw that binoculars made that all the easier, she was entranced. I even had to stop my mother from buying them so that I could make it my special gift. She was ten that day. Ten is the only birthday that Faeine wanted us to make a big deal of. Don't ask me why, but she just did.

We were just lazing around that summer morn, as we were almost every morning. I, the one watching this spectacle, closed my eyes and let the Sure, you must think, this is a pleasant dream right? I should be able to sleep wonderfully dwelling on these memories, right? I almost thought that as well. But perhaps that was because I forgot the climax of that memory.

There was a loud crash and the sound of glass hitting the floor. Faeine screamed and I watched as my younger self tried frantically to recall the spell to stop the glass where it was. "Vien.." I muttered soundlessly. Was I too stupid to remember such a simple spell? That is the second spell one learns at any academy. It didn't matter then anyway; the glass had all fallen and Faeine was safe under my younger self's arms. My eyes quickly left Faeine and my other self to stare quietly at a large crow staggering to its feet. Yes, this was as it happened some years ago. As we watched the world outside, a crow flew through the window. It was quite large for a crow with glossy black feathers and a very sharp looking beak. But this was not the craziest thing of the dream. It died. The crow flopped over onto its side and died.

By now, the imbecile I was had his attention focused on this dead crow as well. Faeine whispered in my ear and gasped when she laid eyes on the bird. She sprang from the couch and ran over to it. "Faeine," I heard myself start, "Don't touch it. It...It's not alive anymore." Faeine turned on her heels and pouted angrily. "I know!" she yelled, "I just wanted to see it!" Despite the situation, I saw myself smile slightly. She really had no clue it was dead, but she wanted me to think that she knew.

She crouched next to the bird and studied it like a scientist would with a recently dissected animal. I got up and started towards her, fascinated by the bird myself, but Faeine bolted towards me before I could get near it. She flung her arms around my waist and shuddered. "What's the matter?" my younger self asked her, petting her dark orange hair. I looked over at the dead crow, but it was gone! I let go of Faeine and wandered over to the where it had landed. There was nothing. The bird had truly disappeared. In its place I found a small slip of white paper. It was folded over once, an ordinary piece of paper. Where had it sprung from? Had the crow carried it in? Or had the crow turned into the paper? My younger self took the paper and plopped back onto the couch. Faeine scurried over, her skirts twirling, and climbed onto my lap. She took the paper from my hands and opened it, reading the contents. My dream self wandered over and stared at the immaculate script letters on that slip of paper, although I had already memorized what it said.

3 March.

There was nothing else. No year, no message, no other thought. Just the third of March. The third day in the month of March.

"Hey! Don't grumble at me you degenerate!"

Thump. There was a strange pain in my side. Thump thump. The pain became more excruciating and I tried to close my eyes to it. A few more moments with Faeine... Thump thump thump THUMP. CRASH.

My head hit the wall. My eyes shot open and I bolted upright, only to cringe as my head hit the windowsill. I rubbed my throbbing temples and tried to keep my eyes open, but the room was spinning. I groaned and tried to make out the figure of my attacker. Of course, it was none other than Apple. I cursed loudly at her, making her kick me again. "So next time wake up the first time I tell you to! Don't laze around like some kid! It's time for you to go and make me breakfast!"

I attempted to stand but could only hold my footing for a few seconds. I landed on my side--the one on which Apple had kicked me. I swore more loudly than before and clutched at my rib cage. It burned like all hell! I pointed a trembling finger at Apple. "What the hell gives you the right to abuse me you second rate witch!" I yelled through clenched teeth. She glared at me contemptuously and turned her back on me. We stayed like this for a couple of minutes; my labored breathing the only reassurance that time hadn't frozen over.

"...Who's Faeine?"

My breath was cut short. I didn't normally talk in my sleep. What else had I 'said'? "None of your frickin' business," I muttered. "Your girlfriend? Your mom? Perhaps, your sister?" She turned back around to look at me. "I had a brother too, you know. If that makes you feel any better," she said. "Had?" I asked smartly, "Did he die or something?" I had no sympathy for this woman. She kicked the crap out of me and then she thought things would be all warm and cozy. Yeah frickin' right.

Her expression remained the same but I could feel our aura's clashing. The tension was so thick; the breath got caught in my throat. "Yes, he did. It was his time I guess," came the empty reply of my Guardian. She sounded mechanical in her response and I knew that her mind was somewhere totally different. "Yeah well my sis died too. But you can't say it was 'her time'. It wasn't," I said glaring at her. Apple absorbed my glare quietly and moved to rearrange her bed sheets. "I know. I read about it in the report."

The Report.

That was my case file basically, stating what I did wrong, possible motives and my background. I'm guessing they add portions of family history as well. Whatever the report had said, it became clear that Apple knew more about me than I wanted her to know. This was becoming more than unbearable. I doubted she would attempt to blackmail me in any way, but then again I didn't think she would stoop low enough to abuse me and I had been proven wrong there.

I took her cue and began folding the blankets on the floor. It was quiet again, only the sound of blankets being folded or spread out. I took a deep breath and shook my head. I felt a little better but this feeling of light-headedness still overwhelmed me. I stiffened suddenly. What was that noise? I turned around to see that Apple had stopped working as well, staring quietly at the wall. Someone was walking. But they were light, stealthy steps; someone was trying to spy on us. Or that was what my best instincts told me. "What should we do?" I whispered. Apple put a finger to her lips to silence me. She padded soundlessly to the door and motioned for me to move to the side of the room. I guess in case a spell was thrown. I didn't care really, but I did as I was told. Apple reached for the doorknob, but someone began opening the door before she could. She muttered something and the door locked itself, preventing our spy from getting into the room. I could feel the magic forming in the air--it was sweet and wonderful to finally experience it again, even if I couldn't use it.

The doorknob rattled. I held my breath and kept my eyes on Apple. What spell would she use?

But that spell never came, for a key entered the lock and after a second, in came Adele. Anticlimactic if you ask me, but nonetheless relieving to know that I wasn't going to die that morning. She jumped in surprise when she saw us, but quickly put on a smile and clutched at her beating chest. "Oh my! I thought you'd still be sleeping, it's so early in the morning!" Adele said, still halfway in the doorframe. "I was just going to send Rocher down to cook something for you and I," my Guardian replied, smiling sweetly. I felt like vomiting...my head now throbbing with a new intensity. How in hell was I going to make breakfast? Especially since I had no clue how to even boil water. I didn't mind concocting some kind of monster for Apple, but I couldn't do that to Adele. That would be mean of me.

"Oh...Well..." I rolled my eyes. Adele was going to fight on my behalf again. "Let me show you to the kitchen then, Mister Rocher," Adele finished, giving me a large smile. I shrugged my shoulders. Maybe she really thought I could cook. What a surprise she would be in for. She beckoned for me to follow her. We walked down the rickety old stairs and into a small alcove. This was apparently the kitchen. It wasn't much. There was a tiny gas stove that looked about rusted through and a sink adjoined to it. A little window rested on the adjacent wall, opened slightly to the early morning air. A bare set of cabinets--all matching the wall behind them--sat above the sink.

"Lovely," I remarked sarcastically. At least it wasn't too complicated. I knew how to turn a stove on and I could use a sink. But...were pots and pans the same thing? What was the difference between a spoon and a ladle? Which knife chopped food? Which one was used at a place setting? I was truly stupid in the language of cooking. I walked around the room a little; checking to see if there was anything else that I could use to concoct what would be breakfast. Nothing.

I stared at the stove and sighed, running my hand through my hair. What was I supposed to do next? I glanced back to see Adele standing in the doorway. It wasn't like I was embarrassed or anything...I just...I was just embarrassed out of my mind. I shrugged and prayed that I wouldn't slip up too bad. I rummaged through the cabinets until I found a pot. Or was it a pan? I didn't know the difference at that point (but for the record, it was a pot). I searched for something edible, but there was nothing. No food equated to no breakfast, which in turn caused Apple to get angry and resulted in one busted up Rocher. Or so my mind figured.

I turned back to Adele. "There's no food," I said a little coldly. "Well...I thought I'd let you get acquainted with the kitchen before showing you to the pantry," she replied. My head throbbed again. The pain seemed to come back whenever I got irritated. "What do you mean by 'get acquainted with the kitchen'? There's only like four square feet of it," I said nastily. I was feeling a little bold and I was plenty ticked off about this whole ordeal. She could handle a little of my anger, right? Her smile fell drastically. "I just thought that…" She didn't have to finish her sentence. I knew that she was sorry but my anger, all of the pent up anger from my exile to that moment was ready to burst out in the form of words.

"You think that I can just whip up something spectacular with the wave of my hand? Did you think that this pot would just magically contain some pancakes or something? Am I allowed to use magic? No! This crap that is my exile forbids that! So how exactly was I to know that I would have to first traverse the wonderful land of the pantry in order to get the necessary means to make food?! Were you just going to stand there and watch me waste time looking for something that wasn't here? What's wrong with you? Why can't you just act like a normal person would? Why do you insist on smiling at me? If you're mad or sad or something, show a little emotion! Act normal!"

Her eyes got wide and glassy. Immediately every word I had just uttered was another I regretted. The look on her face...the way she just stared at me, horror smeared across her features. And how I must have looked to her--angry, violent and red-faced. But she didn't cry. She didn't turn around and run away sobbing as I pictured she might. I mean, that's what women did when someone yelled at them, right? Men get angry and women cry. That's the stereotypical cliché, right? A silence began to envelop the room, but not the same kind of hostile silence I had to endure while arguing with Apple. No...it was entirely different. It was melancholy and thoughtful at the same time, with regret and pity mixed in.

I averted my eyes and stared at the wood pattern in the floor, trying desperately to block Adele out. Floorboard...interesting. I heard her footsteps come towards me. They were light and soft, even though I knew that she was wearing shoes. I don't think that I realized at that point how much you could tell about a person by just listening to them walk. Apple had this sharp, precise kind of walk that made her off to be belligerent and awfully self centered. I can't tell you how I seemed when I walked but I would imagine that it was angry but sad. Why was I processing the way people strode about?

Anyway, Adele had made her way across the room and was now standing a foot away from me. I continued to examine a particularly interesting knothole in the plank right next to my feet. It looked exactly like a bird. "Look at me," came her sweet singsong voice. It wasn't angry, I mused in my amazement. She wasn't angry with me. Unless she was anything like Apple who didn't get angry...just even.

So I took a chance and looked up at her.

She had no smile on, but she wasn't grave either. She raised her hand suddenly; I cringed with the expectant blow, but it never came. Instead, she tapped my cheek lightly. "Would you like to see the pantry now, Mister Rocher?"

I stared at her thoughtful little smile and wondered if she had short-term memory or something. I had just insulted her! Why wasn't she raving like a lunatic and trying to impale me with a knife? She took my hand and held it in hers. They were soft...almost familiar. "Quickly before Miss Apple finds you've made nothing at all!" she said with a little urgency. She tugged at my hand and basically dragged me down a flight of stairs and into a cool, damp room. This was obviously the Aberthian "pantry", but we would technically consider it a cellar of sorts. It was kind of musty and irritated my nose. Adele strolled through, pointing to casks filled with fermenting beverages and racks of drying peppers, olives and some fruits. "So! Take anything you like Mister Rocher! My food is your food I suppose," she said, giggling.

I wandered through rows of ingredients, but I had no clue which foods tasted good together and how in hell to cook them. I kept looking over my shoulder at Adele, trying to conceal my stupidity. She could not know that I had no culinary skill. But even if she knew, I wondered, would she care? Would she shrug it off and make something herself? Probably not. She didn't seem like the kind of person to lie like that. I was just going to have to improvise!

"Miss Adele," I said a little shakily, anxiety and fear rushing through my system. She gave me an inquiring look and I continued, "What would you like me to make for breakfast?" Stupid pride...Stupid, stupid pride. I had let it get the best of me again. What if she asked for something that I couldn't make? What if I didn't know what it was or what ingredients to use? I definitely needed to work on that pride. "Me? Oh...I'm not particularly picky about food. Anything is fine, I suppose. Didn't Apple tell you what she wanted to eat?" she asked. I shook my head sheepishly. I hadn't even thought to ask Apple that; it might have been smart. Adele tilted her head and smiled at me saying, "Well, you should make what you like. Maybe Apple will like it too." She's a clever one, I thought sadly, she knew exactly how to slither out of that question.

No matter how hard I tried to conceal it, I must have looked pained. My head hurt, my side burned with the newly forming bruises and I was at a loss for what to do with myself. And to top it all off, Adele had totally picked up on it. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked me, concerned. Make breakfast and then kill Apple for me, I wanted to say. But of course, how could she kill Apple? This girl had no magical experience. She was plain and she was ordinary, and it seemed to me that she wouldn't be the type to want to kill Apple anyway. I sighed and stared at her dolefully. "Oh," she started sympathetically, "You can't cook can you?" I nodded. She made a sad little face. I shrugged and turned to stare at the racks to my right. It was becoming annoying, all of her pity. I felt like an underprivileged child being stared at by people who could do nothing about my situation. Argh.

"So what shall I do?" I asked the racks. Adele was quiet. She was probably thinking about all of the ways in which to escape this situation as well. But I really wanted her to just say that she would make whatever breakfast Apple required. I needed her to make that breakfast so bad that my head burned with my effort to somehow telepathically tell her to do so. She couldn't make me do the impossible. It was just unthinkable at the time.

I heard the faint rustling of her skirts as I turned to look at her; she was sifting through her myriad of drying foods. Yes! She was going to make breakfast! I was off the hook. As my mind did a mental victory dance, she peeked over the racks and said, "How about I teach you how to make boiled eggs?"

Boiled eggs? Meaning, I had to actually boil water and eggs at the same time?

She must have noticed the sudden drop in my facial features, because she said, "It's not that hard! I promise." But what exactly was Adele's definition of easy? It doesn't matter, I thought shaking my head, because she's going to be there to help me if I flop. That's all I needed. I rolled my eyes and smiled faintly. Thank the gods there are people in the world like Adele, I thought, because otherwise, I'd be turning up daisies. She made this little face and tilted her head at me, like she was trying to grasp exactly what I was thinking about. I wondered vaguely if she could mind read. Hey Adele! Can you read into the mind of the self-conscious child who hasn't a clue what to do with himself? Yeah, yeah, just as I thought.

"Um...Mister Rocher," she started, "Shall we start with the basics?" Basics! I swear that somewhere in the corner of my mind, a little figure burst forward screaming, 'YAY FOR BASICS!' I ignored it and nodded slowly. Best to look as stupid as possible...then maybe she would end up doing most of the work herself.

"Well, okay! Do you know where eggs come from?" she asked me, smiling. And she asked this with a straight face. What imbecile didn't know where an egg came from? What did she think I was--a two year old? You sure act like one, that nagging voice said. She was still waiting for my reply seconds later and it finally occurred to me that I was staring at her like some retard. "Well of course I know where eggs come from!" I managed to sputter. Her smile widened slowly and she nodded at me, like I was some kind of child. All I needed was a striped shirt and a piece of chocolate. "Do you know how to safely get eggs from a nest?"

Wait. There was a safe way? So that meant that I could slip up! I shook my head sheepishly. "That's alright," she chuckled, "I don't expect city folk to understand something like that." I pouted immensely. So I was part of the 'city folk'? It's not like my town was a full-fledged city yet! But of course, I realized she had probably never seen a city before. That brought me to a sickening thought--would I ever see a city again? Would I suddenly forget that I had lived in a city at all? A sudden wave of nausea overcame me, but I managed not to show it. "So why don't you get the eggs the safe way and I'll get a pan to boil them in," I groaned. My head still hurt and that stupid kick to the ribs had most likely broken bones in several different places. Besides, if this task involved chicken wrangling--well I was definitely not up for that.

"Pot," she corrected me. Pot. So what? "And I'll need a little help if you wouldn't mind," she continued her eyebrows creating little arches, "I mean of course if you feel up to it. Are you feeling sick?" The blood throbbed through my temples. I was dizzy and nauseated. My ribs hurt like hell. Was I sick? No, more hurt. But was I really sick? Was there something here that I was missing? By sick, could she have meant mentally? Could she know the inner turmoil that I hid from everyone my every waking second? No...she was just looking out for my health. My eyes welled up with a haze of watery tears. The room was spinning at an incredible rate and I was forced to watch it all...A voice cut through the sickening twirl, but it sounded only like a high-pitched scream. For some reason I knew it was Adele. But everything was so mangled, so broken, that I couldn't understand at last where I was or what was happening to me.

This madness was broken by sweet silent darkness. A calm tremor swept over my body like a tidal wave and I was floating...all my pain was receding like waters off of the shore...was this what death was like? But suddenly, I couldn't breath. I felt as if I was drowning...C'mon...summon those words...that spell is child's play. Breathe you ass! Breathe!

My eyes shot open. Was I lying on ice cubes? I shivered with the cold. My vision was still a little blurred, but I could just barely make out the figures bending above me. Apple and Adele of course. Every feeling I had left behind before came back and smashed into me, almost throwing me back into unconsciousness.

"Whoa, take it easy, kid. Don't you fall back out on me." That was Apple. Her voice was much deeper than Adele's. "Will he be alright?" That was Adele. Her voice was as sweet as honey, but its pitch made my head burn. "Say something, will you?" Apple whispered calmly. I cursed softly and groaned. All of my senses had intensified, especially my pain receptors. I ached all over. "...How long have I been out?" I managed to gasp. Breathing felt all too new to me. Apple shrugged. "Two or three seconds at most."

It was still a little hard to focus. I felt someone gently prop my head up onto what seemed like a pillow. Someone was pushing my bangs from my forehead. The hand stayed, taking my temperature. "He feels a little warm." I shut my eyelids and sighed. I wouldn't have to make breakfast after all.

"Watch him for a few minutes, Adele. I need to go get something." I could feel the vibrations of Apple's retreating footsteps. Adele kneeled next to me and stroked my hair lovingly. "Oh, you poor thing. I knew didn't look that well." I cracked my eyes open to look at her. Her eyes were glassy...she was going to cry this time. Oh, dear gods please don't cry. Please! I gave her a weak smile, but that seemed to make it worse. A single tear ran down her cheek, sparkling like a crystal out of the eyes of an angel. I forced my arm to work and wiped her tear away as best I could. "Hey, no crying. You're stronger than that," I whispered. Gods, how my voice cracked like I hadn't used it in years. "I just...I should have sent you to sleep! You looked horrible and I knew it! I'm the reason you fainted."

"Oh, come on. It's my own fault. You asked me if I wasn't feeling well and I said no. You are in no way to blame for any of this, I promise." The little crystalline tears had formed in her eyes again, but she was smiling. I grinned like an idiot. She hastily wiped the tears away and sniffled. "You have very pretty hair," she remarked quite suddenly. "It's orange like my mom's," I shrugged, "Besides, yours is much nicer." She tilted her head slightly and regarded me with her big chestnut eyes. "It's more ginger than it is orange." I sighed and rolled my eyes.

I felt footsteps coming towards us again; it was Apple. She was back with some strange bottle. "Drink this," she commanded me, popping the cork off the top and choking me with the pale purple solution. It tasted horrible! I choked and gagged as it burned its way through my veins, but after a minute or two, all of my pain was leaving slowly.

"How're you feeling?" Apple asked, not masking the minute measure of concern apparent in her voice. "I would be so much better if someone hadn't broken my ribs and given me a concussion this morning," I replied icily. She gave me a look of utter contempt and straightened up hastily. "Well, then I guess my services are no longer required here," she basically spat in my face. I made a face as her figure walked briskly away, and glanced sideways at Adele from the corner of my eye. She was staring at the doorframe leading up cellar stairs. I sat up a little and ran a hand through my hair, which caused her to draw her attention back to me. "You didn't have to get mad at her like that."

For the millionth time that day, I rolled my eyes. Why did I even bother? Nobody could ever understand how horrible I was at saying 'Thank you', or 'I'm sorry". Like a child, I almost expected everyone to take care of me and to just know what I was thinking if I threw a little tantrum. I was in essence, a child. I couldn't do crap for myself and it was almost nearly impossible for me to get ahead. I was stupid--I knew that. It had been stupid not to thank Apple for her assistance.

Oh such impish behavior from such a person. You should apologize to both of them.

What authority! What wit! Speak more, my wise, knowledgeable conscious! I huffed in annoyance. Adele got up slowly. Obviously, I thought, she's had enough of this child for today. I kept my gaze on the wall, anywhere but her. I just didn't need the guilt of seeing such anxiety on her face.

"You can take a pot and pour water into it. You can also set up the flame underneath it, but it won't boil if you watch it. And then it would just be useless water, right?"

And she left. She left me to my own thoughts. But she left me something to muse on--how to boil water.