AN: This is a beautiful poem about dying.. I'm only putting the first verse here, so you get the reference to the chapter title. If poetry is your thing, please google it and read the whole thing, it's gorgeous, and so sad.

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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Nightby Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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"I'm feeling a bit under the weather, maybe you should go on without me."

Chiara looked over from where she was brushing her teeth. "Dad? What's wrong?" She rinsed her mouth and put her toothbrush away. "Dad? What is it?" She put a hand on his shoulder.

He put his hand over hers and looked up at her, smiling. "No no, none of that," he chided. "I'm just tired from all the gallivanting I've been doing, don't you know."

Chiara shook him gently. "I told you to let me help you, didn't I?" She sat across from him. "You always overwork in the fall, Dad, always."

"I know, child, I know, you tell me every year, and you're always right," he agreed. "My age is finally catching up with me, isn't it?" He shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. "So you ought to be happy, then, that I'm finally taking your words to heart. Aren't you always telling me to take it easy and put my feet up a little? So today I will. You can handle the estates on the east end by yourself, can't you? Just the three, innit? And it's just a bit of clean up?"

Chiara nodded, still distracted by her father's words and behavior. He never admitted to feeling unwell or tired. Something must really be wrong for him to say something to her.

"I can tell what you're thinking, and it's not that bad," Bert said, shaking his head at his daughter. "I'm just a bit tired, and there's a football match I really want to see, if you want to know the truth."

Chiara gave her father a stern look. "Are you sure? Maybe I should take the morning off and we should go into the clinic together? Have doctor Halvorsen take a look at you? Hm?" She sat across from him.

Bert shook his head vigorously. "No, that would defeat the purpose altogether, truly. I want to watch the match in peace, just me and my tea. Maybe I'll open a bag of crisps as a special treat."

Chiara smiled at his words. He was watching his salt intake, and only had the snack once in a while.

"Okay, if you're sure that watching football is what's behind your skiving off work for the day, I suppose I can live with it," she said, rising from the table and carrying her teacup to the sink to rinse it out.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Bert said, smiling back at his daughter.

Chiara wasn't sure how she felt about going to Langton alone, if the truth be told. She hadn't been back there since the day of the kiss in the leaves, and she wasn't exactly sure how to behave around Drew. Having her father there would've made a nice buffer for any situation that might arise.

She waved to him from the truck as he stood in the doorway, holding his teacup.

She decided to leave Langton for last, to avoid possibly awakening its master, and headed for the closer of the other two estates, where she quickly and efficiently cleaned up the front beds, pulling weeds and trimming hedges, bagging up the clippings and loading them on her truck.

It was November, and the last of the leaves had fallen, leaving everything bare. No snow had fallen yet, though it had of course gotten pretty cold, so Chiara didn't have that to deal with. This made her work go rather quickly, and she headed toward Langton in the very early afternoon.

The day was clear, with watery sunlight slanting low across the horizon. Chiara often wondered what it felt like to feel sunlight shine straight down, like it would if she lived in a country close to the equator, for example. She'd never been out of England, so even on summer solstice, when the sun was at its highest, she never knew the feel of a truly bright day. Even places like Los Angeles looked unbelievably bright and sunny to her, though it was quite a bit north of the equator, she knew. She dreamed of someday visiting a place like that, which was just saturated with light and heat, where the colors were vivid and almost too bright to look at.

She drove to Langton, wondering how she should act when she saw Drew. She reflected that she had spent quite a few hours with him AK (after kiss), and it had been rather nice. They'd watched movies, and had sushi, and talked and laughed. It had been rather like a date, if she were being honest with herself.

Plus, he'd said she looked "glorious" right after the kiss, when he saw her lying in the leaves, hadn't he?

He had.

But what in the world was she thinking about? They'd agreed that this wasn't something they were going to pursue.

They didn't get along.

Plus, Drew had access to the most beautiful women in the world, didn't he?

He'd come here, to the middle of Bumblefuck, Great Britain, to get away from entanglements and all that. He didn't want to be messing about with the gardener, for fuck's sake.

Chiara killed the engine and got out of the truck. She went around to the back for her tools and headed for the hedgerow that ran along the fence that separated Langton from the cemetery. She was going to clip the top and clean out underneath so the snow that was sure to fall later in the season wouldn't get impacted along the bottom.

She forgot herself in her work, and all about the time.

"Hello there."

Chiara felt the tap on her shoulder and jumped a little, even though she had the volume on her earphones turned down lower than usual.

She turned around.

"Ned!" She smiled in surprise and genuine happiness. "How wonderful to see you again. When did you come back?"

"Just yesterday." He grinned back. "I'm staying through New Year."

"How wonderful."

"Yeah. I don't really get along with my family very much."

Chiara nodded. "I remember you saying something about that before," she commiserated. "Too bad. But it's nice that you have Drew's family, then, isn't it?"

"Yeah. His mum and brother are coming down in a couple weeks, and they're staying through New Year as well, so it'll be grand times, I think." He gestured toward the hedges. "I'll let you get back to your work, then, just wanted to say hello."

"No, that's fine," I'm about finished, I just need to wheel the bin up front like last time." Chiara gestured to the nearly filled waste can.

"Hey, that's what you were doing last time I was here," Ned laughed. "I'll walk with you, then, how's that?"

"Sure, if you want."

"I'll even push the bin to the skip like before," he continued gallantly. "I'm taller and stronger, I'll have better leverage, see?"

"Well, you'e definitely taller, but I don't know about stronger, I'm pretty tough," Chiara said as they started toward the side yard where the skip was kept.

"So, what have you been doing since I last saw you?" Ned asked as they walked.

Chiara gestured to the can and herself. "Pretty much what you see," she laughed. "You?"

"Oh, you know, this and that. Did a little skiing in St. Moritz, went to a friend's wedding in Bermuda, went to another friend's wedding in Sydney, and did a little drumming on a friend's upcoming album."

Chiara stopped walking so she could stare at him. "This and that?" she repeated. "That sounds dead exciting, Ned. Wow, what a life you live."

"Nah, it's all the same after a bit."

"So, what's Drew up to?" Chiara tried to keep her voice casual as she gestured up toward the house.

"Right, yeah, he's the one who sent me, nearly forgot," Ned exclaimed. "He wanted me to come and see if you wanted some tea before you headed home." He looked at her as he slid the bin in next to the skip."

"I am kind of cold, tea sounds lovely," Chiara responded with a smile and a nod.

"Ace, let's get indoors, then," Ned answered. "I brought a cake from London that we can have with it.

"Ooh, yum!"

So they went in through the French doors and into the warm and brightly lit kitchen.

"Oy, Andrew! Where's our tea?" Ned called.

A brown box that said "hummingbird bakery" on it sat on the counter. Chiara looked at Ned and made cutting motions. He nodded, so Chiara found a knife, opened the box and began cutting the beautiful salted caramel cake that was inside.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm here," Drew called, dashing into the kitchen. "Had to send a quick email. Put the water on and everything, though."

He smiled at Chiara, making her feel like butterflies were fluttering in her tummy. "Hello, Chiara, how are you?"

"I've been well, you?"

He nodded as he began pulling out mugs and plates. "Nothing to complain about, I suppose. Been getting a lot of writing done, so that's always a good thing, you know?

"Glad you could stay for tea, since Neddy brought this fantastic cake for us," he added.

They sat at the table to eat and drink, and indeed, the cake was delicious, and definitely worthy of the moans and groans that accompanied their eating of it.

"So Ned," Chiara, began when her cake was finally gone, "is your name short for something, or were you actually named 'Ned?'"

He chewed and swallowed an enormous bite of cake before answering. "My given Christian name is 'Edmund,'" he replied when he could talk. "Ned's short for it. I've always been Ned, to everyone, as long as I can remember."

"Edmund is so formal, it really doesn't suit you, does it?" Chiara mused. "For some people, either works, but not in this case." She looked at Drew.

"Like with him, for example. He's Drew, but he's also Andrew, and either suits him equally well, right?"

Andrew sat up, taking the perusal of both.

"Yeah, Drew works for casual times, and Andrew for when he's being a pratt, I suppose," Ned said with a grin.

"Hey, I'm never a pratt," Drew answered with a mock glare at his friend. "And you should be careful what you call me, since I'm to be your host for this next month and a bit. If you're not careful, you're going to find yourself with no place to go at Christmas, Edmund."

Chiara laughed as she rose to clear her dishes. "Well, I'd better be on my way," she said with sincere regret.

"Oh, can't you stay?" Ned, too, sounded regretful. "We're just going to be playing games tonight, and three is so much more fun than two."

Chiara looked at Drew, who seemed to want her to stay also; she couldn't see anything that indicated he might want her to leave. He was nodding at her encouragingly.

"Let me text my dad and see what he has on for tonight, okay?" she said to the two of them. "If he's already started cooking, I'd hate to leave him, you know?"

She sent a quick text, but got no response.

This was unusual, because he always kept his phone close, especially when he was sat home.

"Let me give him a few minutes," she said. "Here, boys, give me your dishes, I'll wash them up while I wait."

She quickly washed them, even though Drew and Ned protested that she didn't have to, but there was still no response from her father when she was finished.

How odd.

"Dad?"

She suddenly remembered how he said he wasn't feeling well, and she took a deep breath, biting her lip as she sent her father yet another text that went unanswered.

"He said he wasn't feeling well, and I just left him," she explained. "I just let him stay home alone to watch football on telly instead of making him go to the doctor--

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go," she said to Drew and Ned. "He always answers me, always, so something's wrong, I think." She began gathering her things.

Drew noticed that her keys rattled when she picked them up, more than they should. He flicked his eyes to Ned, and back to the girl in front of him.

"Tell you what, Chiara, why don't Ned and I pop over with you?" he suggested. "That way, when we get to your house and nothing's wrong, your dad will feel peer pressure to let you return with us and play, and he'll even tell you to stay late because he'll feel bad for having made you worry, yeah?"

"Peer pressure is pressure brought on by one's equals, you know, peers?" Chiara pointed out with a laugh. "Not by your daughter's age mates. But sure, that sounds great."

As they walked out the door to her truck, Chiara, who of course knew that the real reason the boys were going with her had nothing to do with applying peer pressure to her father, turned to them and said, "Thank you."

"No thanks necessary," Ned responded. "Now, come on, let's go see your dad's fine, so we can get back here and I can kick both your arses at Fortnite."

Chiara concentrated on driving normally all the way back to her house, because if she drove normally, it meant that everything was fine.

If she didn't speed, all was well.

If she didn't run the light, her dad was okay.

But every second that went by and her phone was so ominously silent, she knew, her heart was telling her that everything was not fine, all was not well, her dad was not okay.

Please, please.

She was at a red light when suddenly Drew, who was sitting next to her in the middle, began to climb over her.

WTF?

"The light's been green for a bit, darling," he said, his voice soft and soothing. "Come on, switch, okay? Move over towards Ned, there we go."

Ned pulled her toward himself, and Drew took the driver's seat.

"But--can you drive a manual?" Chiara thought to ask.

"Please, I'm not Gary, but I've owned a sports car or two in my day," Drew responded with a smooth grin. "Just watch me."

And with only a bit of lurching, they continued on their way.

Chiara covered her face with her hands.

"No, none of that," Ned chastised, pulling her hands away. "He's probably sleeping in front of telly, like all dads do. I can't even count how many times my own dad's done that very thing."

They pulled up in front of her house just as it was getting dark, but there were no lights on inside, which ratcheted up Chiara's already screaming unease.

Drew took her arm and forced her to walk slowly up to the front door, but her hand was jittering so badly that the key rattled all the way around the keyhole before she could get it in.

Ned finally took it from her, slid it home, turned it and opened the door. He stood back so she could enter, and she did so, flicking on the light.

Bert lay on the floor in the kitchen, completely still, the cupboard to the pantry open above him. A bag of crisps was crushed under his body, their salty, vinegary smell permeating the air that was rushing into Chiara's lungs as she hyperventilated where she stood, just inside the threshold.

"Oh no, oh god, Dad."

Drew's heart was already breaking for the young woman at his side, at the anguish he could hear in her voice as she crossed the room to kneel at his side.