Another part of my "The Bear" backstory:

One Christmas, Sugar got an Easy-Bake oven. Carmy couldn’t remember if it was something she’d longed for but never got for other Christmases or if some relative had just sort of forgotten that his sister was at the end of Fake Oven Age and kind of at the beginning of Shoplifting Age. Maybe somebody was trying to stop time a little bit, which might have made Sugar roll her eyes and make some withering comment, except maybe she was into it, just a little, and dutifully mixed up the wet-looking, brownie-like “Cake” made with the power of all those lightbulbs or whatever. They guessed it tasted good, but after what the commercial showed, some disappointment was inevitable. “Girl presents are so fun.” Sugar complained. “Not only is the cake not that good, but now I get to wash dishes.”

Carmy wasn’t even listening…just went to that place in his head that he he went to sometimes, holding two little packets of cake mix. “Do you trust me?”

“No!”

He looked so disappointed that she said “I was just kidding,..I’m sure what you do will be fine.” She still had an eye on him as he dug out two big sandwich bags and opened up the white cake mix, too. He mixed it all together together, without anyone telling him to do it, as far as the rest of the family knew. And it was a decent-tasting tiny marble cake, if not as perfect as it would be in a movie.

I meant to do this forever ago, but this one's at least on-topic...a "Fledgling" take on "The Trial"

(Angel/Homicide)

“ John, I need you.” I hear her tarnished-bell voiceif first in dreams that are so vivid, it’s hard to believe humans think death is an end. From time to time on the street some kind of antenna I hadn’t been aware I had zeroes in on any slight blonde I see in the street, and not just because Charm City has fewer sylph-like tiny blondes. It’s not always much of a resemblance and I start to think I am imagining things.

Until one night, I’m at the docks, feeling the first beginnings of my cravings to feed, and I hear that voice, saying those words that maybe I’d hoped to hear since I was accosted over cheap lo mein. It came from a crate that I struggled to open and then brush some dirt off Darla’s body. Her eyes were bright, even feverish, but overall The Princess did not look well and it shocked me. Even though I thought of myself as unshockable, now more than ever.

“Of all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.” I quoted, and she favored me with a weak little smile that still made me feel that I had won a prize. She usually hated when I quoted from human art.

“I’m dying, John.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, as if she were human, as if she were Kay, who, I had noticed, was starting to spend more nights in her condo in Bodymore and I couldn’t go prowl until she’d turned her lights out.Had Dirty Harry Potter broken it off? I’d kill him. Not that I hadn’t run away from her declaration of love myself, of course, but that was almost like business.

“They’ve got some good doctors at Hopkins.”

Yeah, sure, Munch my man. Maybe you should see one first. Show some physician’s assistant your vamp face and say “It only hurts when I do this,” That should work! Moron.

“Um, I’m sorry, Darla,” I replied, suddenly met-my-ex nervous. As indeed I should be. “I just meant, you know…do you know what it is? Have you tried everything? That kind of thing…I’ve been at this creature of the night gig for a while, but I still don’t know the etiquette.”

“The etiquette,” she repeated, as if not quite sure she heard me correctly and then she did something I wouldn’t have believed if I wasn’t right there to witness it personally. She used that little voice I’d once gone mad for, lost my life to get closer to, in fact, to hum the Beach Boys’ classic car anthem “I Get Around”. Later on, when I found out what was up, I thought it was a sign of humor-through-adversity I had to respect. Maybe I’d never given her enough credit.

Oh, Munchkin. She's gonna eat you alive. Um. You know what I meant.

Not the first time, it should be noted.

Some thoughts from Kay. KAY

So, you know, last time we met, I know I talked all big about being sure about packing up my vat of SPF 50 and staying close to all the ce-ment ponds and everything, and I did see an opportunity to write my own ticket out there(Even if I haven’t actually written a ticket in close to forever so even that thought was more nostalgic than not.)

Starting over is hard, though. Even John. I mean, Detective Munch came back from literally death’s door(and, yes, even farther, thank you for pointing that out) and found that to be true. But it might not have been the same for him as for me, because all of a sudden, BPD wanted to make bygones bygones. They finally said they saw a “public-relations opportunity” with me and offered a clear path to promotions that I hadn’t seen for years. It tempted me, even as the media training classes made it seem that they thought I opened beer cans with my forehead or something. (Which I might have done, once, “One of the guys” being, as you might have guessed, one of my persistent weaknesses. At least, I did it before anyone could upload it. Silver lining.)

Sometimes I still wonder if I should have held out for the excitement. I came close to death too, recently, and it tells me that, barring reincarnation or a well-placed pair of fangs, we go around once. Maybe I should say goodbye to the vision of Captain Kay.

. After all those years spent proving myself, could I really quit before I’d had proof that I’d done it? And, yes, of course, Dad’s here, and Father McAffery and Berger cookies. But after all this time, couldn’t it ever be Carrie’s turn? I mean, what I would be doing in LA would be nothing like her little Italian Rumspringa. MUNCH I couldn’t believe that I was standing around, undead, still waiting for a woman to give me some kind of marching orders—once you find yourself tasting rat’s blood on a lean night because the conventioneers have gone home, shouldn’t something be more different? But it had been long enough that I tried to assert myself. “Look, Darla, when you said you need me, that doesn’t include sex, right? Because I’m not the same fool twice.” But in just that moment that I voiced that thought, it became very clear that I was, that some instinct I hardly knew I still had, regarding her at least, would be happy to have her up against some wall or in some alley, her chilly body against mine. “Angelus won’t do it, and I need you to return the favor.”

“I thought you didn’t like it when I did that thing with my finger.” Maybe she just didn’t want to admit it. Disgust and eagerness battled it out across her face. If I had a dollar for every time I saw that expression on a woman’s face, I probably wouldn’t have had rats’ blood for dinner tonight. “Not that favor,” She frowned, and her nose almost disappeared, a fascinating bit of genetic sleight-of-hand that I hadn’t realized that I’d missed.”I need you to give me my unlife back.”

Doing something that Angelus wouldn’t admittedly swelled what I would still think of as my scrawny chest, but then I do know what it's like, inside and out, when someone bleeds out. Feeding is one thing, but this?