The car became uncomfortably quiet after a while. This "special restaurant" was further than even Clifford had anticipated. The only thing keeping Aimee from drifting to sleep was Stefan's soft grasp of her hand, his thumb on her knuckles. She managed a smile when he looked at her, but it soon subsided. Stefan pulled a face as he tried to strike up a conversation. He was concerned about Aimee.

"Hey," he tightened his grasp, "are you alright?" he asked subtly.

She winced and bit her lip. Her expression changed completely, as though she had been automatically turned on by a remote control. She gulped hard, but did not look back at Stefan. His eyes had not shifted, not by a millimetre.

Aimee inhaled. He brought up the self-same topic she tried not to think about, only it was already going through her mind; her parents, her real parents. A tear expanded on her eyelash and fell down her cheek by the blink of her eye. She exhaled.

"Not now... okay?" It sounded as though she was begging, as noiseless as her voice was.

The car pulled into a parking lot and Clifford was sure to occupy the first open bay he saw - not that they were minimal. When Clifford turned the engine off, Aimee was tapping her heel on the car floor, impatiently waiting for him to unlock the doors. The thing on the door propped up. She wrenched her hand back from Stefan and used it to undo her seatbelt. She was out of the car in a flash and the door shut before anyone else moved a muscle. She did not wait before speed walking toward the entrance of the classy building in front of them. Stefan was not far behind. He closed the car door and ran after her, calling her name. She was wiping tears from her eyelashes. With her hands in front of her eyes, she did not notice him walking in reverse in front of her.

"I know," he said.

He held her at the arms, trying to get her to stop walking, once he had realised his 'comforting' was not helpful. He was bracing himself for screaming and kicking and punches, but instead Aimee crumbled in his arms with her hands on his chest and she cried. Neither of them spoke a word. His arms moved gently to her back as he embraced her. Clifford and Molly came up slowly. Molly tried to get a glance at Aimee's face, but it was hidden by her hair.

"Is she crying?" she glared hard at Stefan. Suddenly her expression was different. "Are... you crying?"

Stefan nodded. Tears fell from his eyes and his eyebrows were shaped like two crescent moons.

Clifford strived to brighten the mood. "Come on, Stefan, men don't cry," he said jokily.

It did not help.

"Oh please, Clifford, you cry all the time," Molly added. She looked back at Aimee. "Sweetheart, talk to me... what's wrong?"

Stefan could hear the sympathy in her voice. He hoisted Aimee up and motioned her in Molly's direction. "Talk to her," he said softly.

Aimee's eyes were red and nearly puffing up. It was not her best look. She took a deep breath and stared Molly in the eyes.

"I... I..." she stuttered. I... met my real parents. She thought the words, but could not say them.

"Are you struggling at school because-" Molly interjected.

"No!" Aimee swallowed when she realised her tone, the disapproval in Molly's eyes. "No... th-these are happy tears," she fabricated. "I'm just glad we can all sit at a table and have a meal. So, can we go in now?"

She could see the disbelief in Molly and the blank look on Clifford's face. She turned in Stefan's way and his almost apprehensive or sad look that she could not quite make out pierced her like a blunt dagger. He shifted to her side and swathed her body in his arm.

"Alright, let's eat!" beamed Clifford - still oblivious.

Everyone strode in behind him. Not long after entering the chandelier lit building, with red drapes and white walls that the gold light shone upon, a waitron approached with four menus in his hands. His moustache and gelled hair gave him a clean, French appeal - which was beginning to disgust Aimee. Molly was only hoping that the menus had more than escargot and caviar.

"Table for four?" even his accent was partly French.

"Yes, kind sir," Clifford replied with a friendly smile on his face. The man led them to a glass table in the centre of four dining chairs. Every seat in the room - whether they were barstools, couches, or dining chairs like these - was padded with a red, velvet-textured fabric. The men pulled out Molly and Aimee's chairs, displaying their fraction of chivalry. Molly sat down as delicately as a leaf falling in the autumn. Clifford pushed her seat in with ease. Aimee on the other hand was not feeling so grand, in fact, she felt awful. She plonked into her chair in a thud and jerked Stefan backward. He lost his grip for a second, staggered, and then slowly regained balance.

It seemed to her like he was struggling on his injured leg. "Sorry," said Aimee, apologetically, while looking at him over her left shoulder.

He walked closer and gripped the chair. "I'm fine," he assured, working her chair into the table before sitting down across from Molly.

Aimee's eyes were still ogling his leg cast. What are we doing here? She asked herself in her head. Molly looked appropriate in her blue summer dress, beige camisole and matching jewellery that Aimee never even noticed she had changed into until now. Clifford was wearing his almond-shaded work suit and shiny black formal shoes, but Stefan and her had not changed since the helicopter and their clothes were pretty dusty. Aimee scrutinised her attire and realised a chocolate mousse stain on her top. Oh, great. She scratched at it until at it until there was gunk under her nail. Her name echoed in her head. She let go of her top once she realised everyone at the table was staring at her.

"Aimee," Molly repeated. "What'll you drink?"

Aimee's hands hunted uncontrollably through her menu for the drinks section. It took her a few seconds to conclude that it was upside down, but at least she had found the drinks. She ignored the menu, did not bother to turn it right side up. She put it down on the table and eyeballed Stefan.

"What are you going to drink?" she queried, trying to disregard the three pairs of eyes that were still staring. She answered before he did, looking at the waitron. "I'll just have what he's having."

"Aimee, are you sure you're alright?" Molly showed concern in her eyes.

"Excuse me," Aimee murmured, leaving the table and dashing toward the bathroom without speaking further.

She looked like she was about to throw up, but Stefan knew she was holding back her tears. He, Molly and Clifford all shared glances for a moment before concurrently pushing themselves out of their chairs and trailing her. She slammed the door behind her. Molly opened it swiftly and stepped in. She walked passed each closed stall and knocked until she heard Aimee's voice.

"Go away!" she shooed.

Molly pressed her ear against the stall door. "Sweetheart, please come out," she said calmly. "Whatever it is, we can talk about it."

"No we can't," she mumbled.

Clifford and Stefan called her name from the bathroom door, but she would not say anything to anyone.

"I'm not going in," Clifford remarked.

Stefan shot him a look. "I am," he pushed him aside slightly and stood next to Molly. "Aimee, you know you can talk to me," his tone low and heartfelt.

"Who do you think you are?" grilled Molly.

She could not believe that some boy Aimee knew for a day or two was easier to talk to than her. Stefan could hear her teeth grinding distinctly. She left the bathroom in anger, pulling Clifford along and returned to their table. Stefan raised his eyebrows in surprise, but his attention returned to Aimee.

"Please come out, they're gone," he whispered.

"Of course they are," Aimee tested. "They don't care."

Stefan's fist hit the door. "Aimee, you're crazy, of course they care."

"Nobody cares, Stefan!" she cried.

"You know that's not true," he assured. "You know that's not true because I care... I love you, Aimee."

She stopped crying promptly, but she could not speak. The sudden silence made Stefan worry.

"Aimee?"

"You love me?" she mumbled at a volume where he could barely hear her.

Aimee pushed her door open slowly, giving Stefan enough time to make way. She came out with her head down while Stefan tilted his.

"Yes, I do love you," he repeated calmly.

She knew that he meant it. In no more than a split second her arms were tight around him, her head buried in his shoulder. She was so glad he had not injured his arms because she was squeezing him quite tightly and she never wanted to let go. And when he hugged her back, she was hoping he felt the same way.