Tom needed some time to set up and unfortunately for Shay, he insisted she help her, which gave him more time to grill her. It seemed he was set on wheedling something out of her.

Luckily for me, her note keeping is meticulous even in situations like these.

It started when Tom poked her in the side as she was folding the flags. “I sense you’re not completely comfortable with everything here.”

She huffed as she dropped another flag on the stack. “What tipped you off?”

He chuckled, “Might’ve been the angry folding. Might’ve been Sam told me.” He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Want to vent about it to a practical stranger?”

She shrugged, “Sam told me you have a hard time letting things go.”

“He does know people.” He grabbed another flag, started folding with her. “Come on, talk. Is it the bar?”

She sighed. “It’s not the bar.” She considered it, “Not just the bar. It’s also...” She made a face. “It’s hard to put into words without sounding like an ass, but this… thing rubs against everything I believe in.”

His face turned expressionless. “That’s homophobic.”

“And not what I meant.” She thumped her fist on one of the piles. “This is difficult enough in my own head, let alone trying to articulate it.”

“Try again, then.” He watched her through his lashes as he worked. “Take your time.”

She did. It took longer than she’d like.

“There’s a saying where I’m from.” she started, carefully not meeting his eyes. “Don’t stick your head above to corn field or risk having it cut off.” She flattened the flag in her hands. “I stick out enough without trying.”

“This whole thing isn’t about trying. It’s about-”

“I know. It’s… celebrating, right? Sam tried explaining it to me, once. Still.” She grabbed a new one. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for being who you are and accepting yourself but-”

“You just don’t want us to celebrate it.” He was getting angry, she could tell.

“You’re free to do what you want.” She shrugged, “Just don’t expect me to join in.”

He studied her. “This is not about you disagreeing with this, is it?”

“No.” she straightened out another pile. “This is about Sam disagreeing with me when I told him this whole thing isn’t for me.”

“... And then convincing me I need to talk to you.” He hummed. “We’ve been played.”

“Shamelessly.” She nodded. “Want to get angry at him? Or want to keep picking apart my motivations?”

He didn’t even think about it. “So you’re not a fan of flashy things?”

“Not just that.” She grabbed the last of the flags. “It’s also... this is a lot. I mean, a lot.” She gestured around them. “How do you- Without…”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“It’s just…” She groaned, “The whole adaptation means survival thing, you know? My whole life I’ve adapted to my surroundings, I’ve blended in as much as I could, and-”

“Yeah, you really give off that vibe, with your detective work and your mansion and your servant.” He smiled at her frown. “I’ve seen your file, I know what you’re getting at.”

She glared at him. “-And now people look up to me. Trust me. Expect me to have answers. What if I’m… wrong? Or what if I… change?”

He narrowed his eyes, stepped back a bit. “Explain.”

“What if-” She took a moment to collect herself, met his eyes as she did, “This is hard for me, you know?”

(It’s hard, reading this. I want to get up, go find her, wherever she is, and tell her not to worry, tell her that whatever happens, there are always people like Carlyle and Peter and Fox and me and so many others, that will be there, whatever. I want to shake her and yell at her and tell her we don’t care. But a lot of time has passed since she first met Tom, and I think she knows, now, at least more than she did back then. She’s willing to accept it more, now, I think. Still. Next time I see her, I will try to give her a hug.)

He crossed his hands, glanced at his watch. “We still have time.”

She sighed. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?” She rubbed her eyes. “I never- My brother always tells me I’ll find someone, one day, talks about marriage and kids in my future as if they’re a given, but what if… What if, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” He said, drily. “Tell me.”

“Well.” She ran her finger past the assorted flags, not lingering on one in particular. “What if I never do? What if… romance, all that jazz, is not for me? Or what if it is, but I’ll never know, because I don’t know what to look for? Or what if I think it isn’t for me, but then I meet the one, but I don’t notice because I’ve given up?”

He stayed silent.

She went on. “Or what if I neglect to fall in love with someone because somewhere along the way I’ve decided I like blonds, or brunettes, or-”

“Women?” Tom huffed, “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“I think a lot about everything.” She managed a small smile. “It’s my job.”

“All right, consider this, then.” He leaned against the table behind him. “If you’d had a normal brain, a normal view of all this, would you doubt everything like this?”

“How can I possibly answer that?!”

“Alright.” He thought for a moment. “Have you ever been in love?”

“I-” Her face fell. “I don’t know. Describe it to me?”

“Have you ever…” His eyes were dancing over the table before her, “... been with someone, and realised you want to spend the rest of your life with them?”

“I think you’re skipping a few steps.” She remarked.

“Have you?”

(I don’t even doubt a little bit who crossed her mind.) “Yes.”

“Ever want to kiss them?”

She considered it as she folded the last few flags. It took her a long time.

(I wonder if the question ever crosses her mind nowadays. I wonder if she ever gets caught unawares, in a moment of weakness, and she asks herself again. I wonder if the answer ever changed.)

“No.” She decided. “Can’t say I do.” She hesitated. “Is that… weird?”

“Nothing’s weird.” He assured her, “Everything’s weird. Look.” He took the stack from the table, dropped it with the rest of the merch. “What are you afraid of, really? That you’ll hate yourself when you’ve changed? Or that others will think you’re wrong? Because I saw that Carlyle fellow, and there ain’t nothing you can do that’ll make him think any less of you.”

She huffed, dry and humourless. “You’ve barely met him.”

“I had to watch him wanting to rip my head off because he was convinced I coerced you into those photos.” He commented, “Whatever you discover yourself to be, however long it takes, it’ll be alright.”

Her eyes drifted to one of the piles. “It doesn’t matter much, now.” She decided, “Right now, I’m a detective. My only worry is smoking out our stalker before something bad happens.”

“Right.” He checked his watch. “We should be getting ready; first people will be coming in soon.”

“We should.”

She didn’t move, though, her eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.