Katie: Sorry about the wait :)

icecream&cake: Thanks so much! I will keep writing as long as I've got it in me :)

missanonymous: What? Faith and Chance having meanings as names? No, whatever gave you that impression, besides the extremely obvious meanings of the names? Just joking :). Thanks for the review, I`m very glad you enjoyed it so far!

Sixteen

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered –Nelson Mandela

Faith sat up, panicked, her face wet with tears. She was breathing heavily and her sheets were twisted around her legs. She’d had one of her nightmares.

Faith untangled the sheets from around herself and got up, wiping the tears from her cheeks. It was six in the morning, a Thursday. Faith tried not to think about the dream. Instead she went to the bathroom and had a quick shower, keeping the water cold to help her stay awake. She didn’t want to go back to sleep again.

Faith towelled her hair dry and combed through it. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, trying to ignore the Goosebumps that covered her arms. She made her bed, tidied her room, did whatever she could think of to block out the nightmare. Once everything was set to right Faith picked up her iPod and went to the kitchen, first checking on Chance to see if he was alright. He was sleeping comfortably as far as she could tell, so Faith went quietly into the kitchen after setting out some water and pills in case he needed something for the pain.

Her chest was still tight from panic. Faith wondered how long it would take for her to start breathing normally. A piece of paper was laid out on the counter and coffee was brewing. Something to keep her awake and distracted. Faith mumbled a word of thanks under her breath and read over the paper. It was a recipe for made cinnamon buns topped with sweet icing.

This was exactly what she needed.

Faith plugged her headphones into her ears and turned to get what she needed and found that mixing bowls, measuring cups and ingredients were laid out for her. The coffee was also poured out into a mug. Faith took a sip and noticed that the perfect amount of sugar was mixed in, as though each and every single particle had been counted.

“Um… thanks, but I can really, really handle things from here,” Faith whispered.

The house didn’t answer, but Faith decided that it would listen to her. She began to measure out the flour, mixing it with yeast, salt and sugar. Her bad dream faded away as Faith concentrated on the recipe. She mixed milk, water and butter into the floury concoction; she finally added eggs and a little more flour, spreading the white powder over the counter to knead the dough on.

Faith let her mind wander. She was all for women throwing off their prescribed gender roles to go and kick some ass, but she had always loved baking. Her mom had never been a good cook, and all her dad had been able to make were frozen pizzas. Faith had learned everything she knew of baking from her grandma, who could make a cake in ten minutes but had no idea how to make anything that didn’t require sugar. Cooking for meals was something Faith had taught herself, and most of the time she could replicate whatever she wanted, though some of the more complicated things still eluded her.

Faith preheated the oven and waited the designated ten minutes for the dough to rise, doing the dishes to bide her time. Soon she was back to her dough. She rolled it out into a somewhat rectangular shape, buttered it, and spread the cinnamon and brown sugar mixture over the top. By now, Faith’s chest had lost some of its tightness and she could breathe deeply without the alarming sensation that her lungs might explode. She rolled the dough into a long tube, cut it into thick sections, and began to set the uncooked cinnamon buns on a cookie sheet, spacing them evenly.

The first thing that wormed its way into Chance’s sleepy consciousness was the delightfully fresh aroma of baking in the oven. Chance breathed deeply, greedily inhaling the tangy smell of cinnamon on brown sugar.

The next thing that Chance realized was that he was in a lot less pain. His back still pinched every now and again, but this was a hiccup compared to what he’d experienced in the last fourth eight hours. Chance sat up, marvelling at the lack of protest his back gave him. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to move around without supreme pain. The low table in front of the couch had a glass of water and a bottle of pills within easy reach. Chance reached for the former, ignoring the pills for now.

What he really, really wanted was a shower and a fresh change of clothes.

Chance stood, marvelling at the relative lack of pain, and made his way past the kitchen. Faith had her back turned to him as she cleaned the counter and he could see the cord of her iPod dangling. She would be too busy to notice his absence for the next couple minutes.

Chance walked quickly through the same hall that had seemed a mile long the day before and went into his room with a disturbingly cheerful attitude. He couldn`t remember the last time he`d felt so enthusiastic about a simple shower.

Out of habit, his mind went through a couple of negatives: he was ugly, he was a monster, he was this, he was that, but he caught himself after a moment and forced the unpleasant thoughts away. He hadn’t been happy for a while, and he was determined to enjoy the strange emotion while he could.

Faith cleaned the kitchen until her cinnamon buns were ready. She hadn`t set a timer on the oven but glanced in to check on them every few minutes. Time was fickle, but she knew just by looking at them if the cinnamon buns were ready to come out or if they would be raw in the middle. When they were ready Faith donned a pair of oven mitts (they had been sitting inconspicuously off to the side, though she was entirely certain that she had asked the house to mind its own business for now) and pulled the tray of fresh cinnamon buns out, placing them gently on the counter.

Usually, Faith baked when she was craving something, and in the process of making whatever it was she fancied she ate half the dough raw and was sick of the confection before it was out of the oven. When baking from stress, Faith ate no dough and was surprisingly drawn to her own creations once they were ready.

Faith found two small plated and dished out the sticky warm buns, one for her and three for Chance. She turned off her iPod, touched it into her pocket, and made it to the door connecting the kitchen to the rest of the house, buns in hand, before Chance made an appearance.

Faith almost didn`t recognize him. He smelled of shampoo and soap, and his fur was settled neatly along his body, rather than in the tangled disarray that she was used to seeing it in. The longer bits on his head that seemed to serve as actual hair was swept back, obviously combed and gelled just a little to keep it that way. He was wearing dark wash denim jeans (brand new, by the looks of them) and a dark green button up shirt. He moved slowly with only the slightest hint that he was in any pain, and Faith could only tell that because she knew his gait so well.

Faith couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice when she heard herself blabbing: “Holy crap, you look good.”

Chance smiled, embarrassed by Faith’s comments, but pleased that she had noticed the effort that he had put into his appearance. It seemed like an eternity since the last time he’d done his hair, or dressed with purpose, or simply showered just for the sake of showering.

“I just showered,” he mumbled by way of explanation.

“Well...” Faith nearly blurted out, “you look way better than you usually do”, but thought that it would be an easily misinterpreted remark. Instead, she asked, “How’s your back?”

“Better.” Chance inhaled deeply, basking in the smell of fresh baking. In order to remove the scrutiny from himself, he asked, “Are those ready?”

“Oh, yes.”

The buns had been resting on their plates, tilted at dangerous angles in Faith’s distraction. She placed them quickly on the kitchen table and moved to pull out Chance`s chair for him, but he got there first. He pulled the chair out without difficulty, sat, and slid the chair up to the table without incident. Faith stared at him while he did this, shocked by his progress. Hadn`t he been totally unable to walk just twenty-four hours earlier?

Faith sat stiffly in her own chair. She could feel the damage from a restless night resting heavy on her shoulders, but ignored it. She was happy to see Chance recovering, and she bit into her cinnamon bun without stopping to wonder about her mother. She refused to be worried all day. She wanted to have some fun.

Chance ate most of his first cinnamon bun in one bite, pausing to chew and savour the sweet taste before swallowing in order to take finish the rest. He said something along the lines of “this is really good” before grabbing another bun.

Faith tried to hide her smile. She didn’t mean to be rude, but she watched Chance’s face as he finished his second bun. She’d never seen him so… well… comfortable in his own skin. He was just being a regular guy, enjoying a regular cinnamon bun. She didn’t know what had caused the change, cut she welcomed it. Chance deserved all the happiness he could get, and his comfort was infectious.

With thoughts of fear and cancer finally gone from her head, Faith finished her own cinnamon bun. Suddenly, she was glad to be awake. She wanted to do something, she wanted to breathe deeply and enjoy her day. She glanced towards the kitchen window, enjoying the comfortable silence while Chance tried to lick the icing from his fingers in an inconspicuous manor. A light snow was falling, nothing compared to the storm that had almost killed her an eternity ago.

“We should build a snowman!” Faith breathed, half lost in her own thought.

“A what?” Chance replied after a brief pause.

Faith was jerked back to reality. She felt a little silly for blurting her idea out, but her urge to build a snowman was still there. “A snowman,” she murmured.

Chance stared at her for a moment. His childhood hadn’t exactly been the stuff that fond memories were made of, and he couldn’t recall ever making a snowman with friends or family. He’d once done a shoot with a winter motif and a snowman in the background, but it had been made of cardboard and he’d had no part in it.

“… Why?” he asked.

“Well because its fun…” Faith trailed off, suddenly unsure of her idea. “But we don’t have to do it. If your back hurts, I mean…”

“No, no.” Chance interrupted her at once. He liked the idea of doing something with her, something… fun. “I… just… I’ve never made one before.”

“You never built a snowman before?” Faith repeated.

“No. Never got around to it,” Chance replied, “But I think it would be fun.”

“Oh, it will be!” Faith replied. She stood, excited now for her idea, and cleaned up after herself. “I can’t believe you never made on before. Its, like, a rite of passage.”

“I missed out on a couple rites of passage when I was a kid.” Chance replied. He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in it.

“… oh,” Faith murmured. She’d never heard Chance speak of his family before, and she’d wondered now and again at his past. How could someone like him exist so utterly alone? Obviously he’d had a mother at some point: how could she abandon Chance, knowing that he would be so utterly alone?

“I can’t exactly blame my family, though.” Chance added as an afterthought. “I was always an asshole, even as a kid. My family tried to include me but I pushed them away… eventually, if you push something hard enough, it’s going to give, or push back.” He cleared his throat, glancing apologetically at Faith. “They pushed back.”

“… so… they just left you alone?” Faith asked.

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but, in a nutshell…” Faith stopped in her cleaning to look at him. Chance stood with his plate and started towards the sink.

“That’s horrible,” Faith murmured. She couldn`t imagine anyone pushing Chance away. Sure, he had his moments, but so did anyone else. Making a few mistakes didn`t mean he should be shunned by his family.

His next words nearly broke her heart.

“No. I deserved it. I’ve always been… well… a beast, even from the beginning.” He grinned sadly at his choice in words. “I’m a selfish bastard. People are going to get tired of me eventually. My problem is, I’m just starting to realise what an ass I’ve been.”

Faith spoke softly, her voice so low that Chance might not have heard it if he hadn’t been listening for it. “I don’t think you’re selfish, Chance. And I don’t think you’re an ass.” Chance glanced towards her. He almost expected her expression to be one of mockery, but her face was smooth, honest.

“Uh...” Chance cleared his throat, searching for words. “... Thanks.”

“You`re welcome.” Faith answered. There was an awkward silence while she wiped down the dishes, dried them, and put them away. Finally she murmured, “I’ll go get my jacket and things, then we’ll see about building the most kick-ass snowman ever.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chance replied, glad to be back in safe subject matter.

“What do you think of Faith going off to Florida with some friend we’ve never met?” Faith’s mother and father lay side by side in bed. She had a Stephen King novel open on her lap, he had a golf magazine open on his.

“Mmm.” Faith’s father cleared his throat and turned a page. “She should be utilizing this time for studying.”

“Oh, come off it. You know she needs a break every once and a while.” Her mother replied, smiling faintly.

“Then why are we talking about it?”

“Because... I don’t like my baby going off to foreign countries without me.” Faith’s mother sighed and marked her place in her book, putting it on the bedside table.

“Okay, one, the United States isn’t a foreign country. It’s Canada without all the snow.” Faith’s father muttered, flipping back to an interesting article. “Two, she’s old enough to fend for herself.”

“I know that. I just wish... you know... that she could fend for herself while I supervised.”

“If you don’t back off and let her do her own thing, she’ll be one of those weird forty year olds that lives with her parents and paints ceramic cats.” Faith’s father replied, grinning at his own humour.

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Faith’s mother replied. She rolled on her side and nearly went to sleep before she remembered the date. She rolled back onto her back and started her monthly self-exam, running her fingertips quickly over her right breast.

“I can help with that,” her husband offered.

“No, thanks, I’ve got it...” she trailed off as her fingers brushed over something disquieting.

“I probably know them better than you do.”

“Shh,” slowly, hoping that she’d imagined it, she felt again, starting at her armpit and tracing along the entire breast. Sure enough, just as she’d feared, it was there: a lump.

“I’m just saying: we could multitask. Cancer awareness and foreplay, all rolled into one...” Faith’s father grinned and turned to face his wife. His smile was lost the moment he saw her expression. “What?”

“... I found a lump...” She replied softly, her voice tempered with fear.

“... It can’t be what you think it is, though.” His voice was unsure despite his effort. “I mean, twice in a lifetime?”

“Its probably nothing...” Faith’s mother replied, her voice unsure. “But just in case... I’ll call the doctor tomorrow. Just in case.”

“Yeah,” Her husband replied, his magazine forgotten. He turned over and turned off the light, though he would not sleep a wink now. “Just in case...”

AN: Sorry guys, just giving you a short update you you know I`m alive. I`ll add another chapter soon, I promise!