It's the last Sunday in February. The night was very long, for those at the White ranch. One of the hands came back from the clinic with a sling and a bottle of pain killers. Three Guardians from Forgotten Questions ended up sleeping in cots and air mattresses in a spare room or office; they woke before the little girl did. The little girl: the cub. The one so far from home, so far from anything familiar. There was breakfast, and there was Calden sending Eva and Ellie off, and after a while they had to go in and just wake her up, even though it was nearing afternoon.
They talked. Calden, perhaps, stayed near, when he saw Jill's face, when he sensed that she didn't want him to go, when she was asking where Eva was and looking a little disappointed to hear that the kinswoman had gone. It was a long talk. There was lunch, there were discussions between the kinsman and the Guardians while Jill sat in the living room in Ellie's dress. Then the house was gradually emptied again. Then it was just Calden, cleaning up and sorting through his own thoughts.
He calls Avery but she doesn't pick up; maybe he leaves her a voicemail.
--
Some time later, when dusk is starting to settle over the sky and sink into his bones, his front door opens and closes, quickly, loudly. And from wherever he is in the house, Avery calls:
"Calden?!"
Calden WhiteIn truth, aside from that one pivotal moment last night, Calden is largely on the periphery of what happens. That's how it should be. Jill stands at the center of all the commotion; Calden is not so insecure or arrogant as to try to make it all about him. It's not about him. It is her life that has changed drastically and irreversibly. She is the fulcrum: the reason his cousins made that latenight run to the clinic, the reason Eva and Ellie bundled out of there so early this morning, the reason the Guardians have come.
Calden, for his part, does stay near. He sees the way Jill looks at him and he stays. He doesn't interrupt. He doesn't even sit with them as the Guardians explain to Jill, gently and firmly, what it all means. But he takes the day off and he doesn't tend to the cattle and he doesn't mend that one fence that was damaged by that one landslide. He makes them sandwiches for lunch. When they are ready to go, he offers -- though they don't accept -- to drive them.
He gives Jill his phone number as she is leaving. He tells her, call me when they give you a day off. He tells her, and the Guardians, that he has a spare room. That he'll make it a bedroom for her. That he is, in a very real sense, related to her. They share blood and ancestry, however distant. He can't replace her parents -- won't try -- but if she wants, this can be a home for her.
And then they leave. And he is left alone with his thoughts, in the settling of the dust.
--
Things have more or less returned to normal by the evening. A ranch isn't something that runs itself, even with three ranch-hands. He's out on the land all afternoon. They don't get around to the fence. It'll have to wait til morning. There's a dead calf to clean up. There are two mangled steers, one of which has to be put down. There's a whole herd to calm.
It's nearly too dark to see when he comes back to the house. When he puts the horses up and claps dust off his chaps and sheds his coat and hat. He's standing in the kitchen, muddy boots still on, staring into the fridge to figure out what's the best and easiest way to throw dinner together,
when the front door opens and shuts. Quickly, loudly. In the chaos of the day he'd almost forgotten he called Avery. Her voice, the note in it, startles him a little. He shuts the fridge door and she hears him coming before she sees him, a little worn-looking, quite entirely unshaven, the smell of the wind still on him. They meet halfway between the front door and the kitchen.
"I'm here. You okay?"
Avery ChaseShe's so well-dressed for having that borderline look in her eyes, that gaze that stands on a knife's edge between rage and panic, which could at any second tip backwards, fall, plummet into pure fury. She's wearing rather adorable short boots with gleaming metallic studs along the ankles, a low stacked heel, leggings with a black-on-black pattern, and a flowing hi-lo top of pale pink with cap sleeves that resemble nothing so much as softly curled flower petals. She isn't wearing a coat, despite the cold air outside. Her hair is, as it often is when she has recently shifted her shape, straight and perhaps a bit windblown.
Calden's right there, and he's fine, and that savage light dims again, doused by relief. She comes quickly to him, boots still on, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. "Oh, I feel ridiculous," she breathes, even though her arms are terribly tight.
"When I ran up I smelled a number of wolves and I smelled blood and for a moment my mind just leapt to the worst."
Calden WhiteThey meet halfway --
they collide halfway. Calden coming out of the kitchen, Avery seeing him, that fire in her eyes; the way it banks but does not quite extinguish. Never quite extinguishes. She comes to him, she all but throws herself into his arms, her own wrapping tight tight around his neck. He hugs her back, reflexively, and then -- tightly, when she tells him what she smelled.
"Oh, sweetheart." He's never really settled on a term of endearment for her. Mostly, he calls her Avery when he's being sincere; Miss Chase when he's teasing. This one slips off his tongue, though; fits the moment, fits the mood. He holds her very tightly. "I'm sorry. It didn't even occur to me. I called earlier -- did you get my message? Did you run all this way?
"Everything's all right. We had a bit of a mishap last night. I'll tell you all about it in a moment -- but everyone's fine now. Everyone will be fine."
Avery Chase"You called?" She thinks for a moment; wants to dig out her phone and look, but she would have to let him go, and so she doesn't. She squeezes him. "I haven't checked my phone since I started running up here." Which, as he knows, takes hours on foot, even on four feet. Sometimes she just likes to run, and run, and run,
all alone, with nothing holding her back, not even the wind, and no one to answer to.
Avery exhales as he rubs her back, holds her, whatever he does to try and be comforting. She knows he isn't hurt, she does indeed feel a bit silly for jumping so quick to near-panic, but she waits a while before her heart rate slows again. She calms slowly, standing there in his living room.
"Tell me," she says, when she can bear to take a step back and lift her head, looking up at him, hands on his upper arms. "What was the mishap?"
Calden White"Oh, no."
So the story starts falling together. For him, at least. She ran here. She ran for hours, as she sometimes does, and -- he called, but cell phones don't ring when they're not even really in existence, and so she ran and ran and ran and meanwhile Jill got The Talk from the wolves and he made lunch and then they left and
she arrived. Smelled blood, smelled wolves. Smelled terror.
He is still holding her. She feels ridiculous; he doesn't dismiss her. Not her terror, not her feeling-silly. He holds her very tight and very close, his arms warm around her, and yes: he's rubbing her back. Briskly, then slowly, in soothing circles.
"I'm sorry, Avery. I didn't realize. I thought -- oh, darling. Don't feel bad. I can't even imagine, running up without knowing, just smelling it, and -- I can't even imagine."
They draw apart a little, after a while. Her hands on his biceps; enough room between to look at each other. She asks. He finds a little laugh in himself somewhere. Gives it voice.
"Well; her name's Jill," he says. "And she's eleven, from South Dakota. Come on," he finds her hand, takes it in his. "I just got in myself, and you've been running all day. Let's get out of the entryway. I'll tell you the whole story while I throw dinner together."
Avery ChaseHer name's Jill, and Avery has no context whatsoever for who 'her' is or why --
and she's eleven, from South Dakota, which at this point has Avery furrowing her brow, bewildered, her lips slightly pursed but open, as though she is about to ask him what he's going on about, and if necessary she will explain that she smelled at least two, maybe three werewolves, their scents lingering around his property, and so what he's saying makes no sense.
But he stops. He says they'll go, and he'll make dinner, and he'll explain. She soothes; she smiles, exhaling, and nods. "That sounds good," Avery tells him,
and so they do.
Calden WhiteAnd so they do.
And so he gets out of those dusty trailworn boots at last. And so he rolls up the sleeves of his sunbeaten shirt, and so he washes his hands, and so he goes back to the kitchen and back to the fridge and somehow with his lady here it's easier for him to decide what to throw together.
It turns out to be -- for once -- poultry rather than beef. Chicken breasts that he wraps in bacon with a few sprigs of rosemary from that little garden near the milking shed and tosses in the oven. While he works on the main course, she makes a salad: which is to say, he tosses her a bagged salad kit and she combines the ingredients and pours on the dressing and, y'know. Fluffs it a bit.
And while they cook, he talks. He tells her how last night, while Eva-and-offspring were visiting, Jimmy and Paul came back in a wild terror. How they brought back a little girl, who was also a little werewolf, who they'd mistaken for a coyote and shot and --
"They feel awful about it," he says quietly as he wraps those chicken breasts. "I don't think either of them got a wink of sleep last night. They didn't know any better and I don't think I ought to rub their noses in it, but -- on the other hand, they shot and killed an eleven year old girl. And the only reason she's still around is because her spirit was stronger than that."
He goes on, though. He tells her how, when he went out to help, the girl had woken up. Had raged back into her warform and tossed Paul six feet straight back, had been so angry and terrified and confused and conflicted. How he and Eva had guns on her -- again -- but hadn't wanted to shoot; had realized, suddenly and painfully, that she was trapped in that form, had managed to talk her down, had managed to end that tense stand-off, had managed to get her to write her name and her age and where she was from. Had coaxed her back to herself enough that she could find her way back to her human skin.
And then they'd called the Sept. And the Sept had sent two of their Guardians, and everyone had spent the night, and in the morning they'd sat there and told her what she needed to know. A little of it, anyway. The beginnings.
"They took her down to the Caern," he finishes. By now, the chicken is in the oven and the salad is waiting on the counter. Calden is loading used utensils and knives and the sort into the dishwasher, talking to Avery over the flatgrill and the breakfast bar. They both have drinks: nothing alcoholic tonight, just water on ice, rehydrating after a long day. "For her training.
"I don't think they'll let her get back in touch with her parents just yet. Her folks must be lost kin. Maybe Fianna by the looks of her, but ... so long lost that no one even knows where they, or she, came from. I think they decided it'll just be too confusing for them to try to process this and for her to try to explain it right now.
"So she'll pretty much be living in the Caern while she learns the ropes. I'm setting aside a room for her here, though. Whatever tribe she ends up joining, an eleven-year-old girl ought to have a place to call home."
Avery ChaseAvery takes off her boots. Her clean, metal-studded, fashionable ankle booties sit next to his dust-covered, slightly muddy boots near the door, and they pad softly across the floor together. She is bemused by the bagged salad but fluffs it up, drizzles dressing, helps get dinner together while he tells her about this tiny cub, this girl who isn't even bleeding yet, who was so small in lupus that they thought she was a coyote.
Calden only sees her when he glances at her as they maneuver through the kitchen together, but he can see the effect all this has on her. The pain her eyes. The ache, which -- not to dismiss the shock and guilt that Jimmy and Paul feel, which does matter to her -- twists her heart for this little girl. It stings her eyes, making them shine while she's absently, automatically sprinkling croutons on the salad. He hears her sniff; he sees her blink rapidly a few times, though her cheeks are a little pink.
There's a lot to process in this story, at least for Avery. There's the Fianna kinsmen she cares about and the Fianna kinsman she loves and the Shadow Lord woman and Shadow Lord child who were here, all these people that mean something-or-other to her were in danger, very real and very visceral danger. On some level, all she wants to do is protect them all by tearing whatever threatens them into bloody pieces. But then there is the girl. Just a little girl, alone and hungry and scared and trapped in a body that can feel almost nothing but rage, a body that turns all that loneliness and hunger and terror into absolute wrath. She feels faintly sick from heartache,
due, in more than a small part, to the fact that she knows exactly what it feels like to be shot, to die, to return. It still affects her, and it happened to her when she was in her twenties already. She can't even imagine what it was like for this cub. At least, Avery thinks to herself, it was not the first time she changed. At least there's that. For some reason, she convinces herself this makes it a little better.
"I'm so glad you're okay," she says quietly, after a long pause between the words he's saying and the words she chooses first. She's standing at the island, actually, hands on either side of the glossy wooden bowl that the salad rests in. He did get her water, which she needs, but her throat is a little too tight to drink right now.
Avery exhales, turning her head finally to look at him. "That could have gone so many other ways," she knows, "and I'm so glad it didn't. I'm so glad you're okay, and that Eva and her daughter are all right, and that Jimmy and Paul weren't gravely injured, and that the cub is safe." She gives a little nod, as though answering for herself some unvoiced question. She looks back down at the leafy greens, the croutons, the sheen of dressing. "I hope they let her spend time here. If you rip someone's humanity away entirely and teach them they aren't supposed to miss it... they won't. And they become monstrous indeed. She should be permitted to just be a child for a while, even if --"
even if Gaia yanked that away from her.
even if Luna did this to her so young.
even if the universe isn't fair, and is cruel, and has no gentleness at all.
A tight smile ends that sentence instead. She blinks a few more times. She breathes. "I'm just glad you're okay," she says again.
Calden WhiteShe's not across the breakfast bar from him. She's at the kitchen island, which means she is closer to him, which means when he straightens from loading the dishwasher he comes around to her and, with very little preamble and no self-consciousness at all, puts his arms around her.
Again they're in each other's arms. Again he's hugging her, his embrace close and nearly tight. Perhaps for the first time it occurs to Calden that of all of them -- of him and Paul and Jimmy and Ian and Eva and Ellie and everyone, everyone -- Avery is the one who can most understand what it is Jill went through. That savage loss of what used to be her life. The way that she died,
by gunshot,
only to find herself alive again, alive and full of wrath that she simply could not contain.
Avery has over a decade on the little cub. She has a decade on her, and even so, Calden knows she doesn't like that scar on her body. She doesn't like what it reminds her of and, reminded of that in turn now, he holds her for a long time indeed.
"I'm okay," he says quietly. "I think Jill will be okay. I'm glad, too. That you don't mind, I mean. I didn't think for a moment you would, but ... it's still a pretty drastic change, having a cub in the house, even if she's only here rarely."
Avery ChaseSomehow she knew he was coming. That he would come, just like that, and slide his arms around her. She knew, and reflects on this knowing as she feels his arms moving around her. Her eyes close. Her shirt is very thin, laid over a just-as-thin camisole, and she can feel his warmth through the fabric. Avery turns her head to rest her brow against his jaw, and then she is turning more fully, turning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
She is so very warm. She is so much brutality, wrapped in slender softness, but he can still feel the rage quivering under her skin. Always. It is always there, the edge of violence. But she is not holding him for comfort, even though there were tears in her eyes for Jill, poor Jill, small and afraid and alone and trapped and hurt. She is thinking about what control she must have had -- because terror has its own kind of frenzy. But she did not kill. She did not run. She communicated, as best she could.
Avery cannot say she did the same. Even years and years later, much older. She just slaughtered.
His hair moves as her fingertips stroke the ends. She feels a sameness with Calden, despite it all. She is glad he is okay, despite being in a horrifically vulnerable place last night. He is glad she is here, he is reminded of the pains that she keeps so close to the vest.
When he says he's glad she doesn't mind, she draws back, curious, not quite grasping what he's even talking about at first, then realizing: oh. He's glad she doesn't mind that he's going to be hosting, on occasion, a little Fianna cub-girl. She blinks. "Darling, of course I don't mind. It's the kindest thing I've ever known you to do, and you are a kind man to begin with. I only hope she doesn't mind me being here when she is. And if I may be perfectly honest,"
as though she would be anything else,
"I would certainly prefer that you speak with her, should she visit, and ask her how she feels about it prior to inviting me. If you mean for her visits here to be a reprieve and a comfort to her, then I will not feel put out whatsoever." She pauses briefly; she means it, but she thinks he'll resist. "Having me here could make it very hard on her to feel safe." Avery pauses again; she hasn't given him a chance to respond yet. "Maybe I can visit when she is here sometime, introduce myself, and get to know her a bit, and go from there. It's all right if I come out and don't stay the night, if she's on edge having another wolf around."
Calden WhiteIt's true that he was in an endangered, vulnerable position last night. It is equally true, however, that Jill was in much the same. She was threatened, she was terrified, she was lost, she was small and afraid and alone and trapped and hurt, and when Calden weighs his own experience against what Jill went through, against what Paul and Jimmy went through, even, he finds that he cannot be self-centered. He cannot think his experience was the worst, or anything close to the worst.
He doesn't even really think of it now. He'd almost forgotten his own danger until Avery burst in, frantic, smelling blood and wolves and thinking the worst.
And -- she calls him kind, now, for doing what he can't imagine anyone would not do. He is a little bemused, and gently amused. He kisses the top of her head, and then they unwind from each other, and she proves that she, too, is kind and considerate and so naturally good-of-heart that she likely can't imagine anyone not doing as she does.
"The first time she visits, if and when," Calden mulls, "I think I might just make sure it's only her. I don't want her to feel pressured to answer one way or another. Maybe after a few visits, I'll ask her if she wants to meet you. And I hope she does want to meet you. I think -- I hope -- she can see you as a sort of role model as she grows into her new life."
Avery ChaseAvery nods to this, all of this: that Jill should be able to come here and find a room and explore a little and settle in without anyone else. And maybe later he'll bring up Avery.
"She will be permitted at moots," Avery tells him, without saying she may be required to be at moots, "even now. She may see me there. But I will not make it a point to introduce myself. I'll keep an extra eye on her though."
She smiles. "So make sure when you ask her if she is all right with me visiting, you use my full name. Or close to it. I know you can't always remember."
Calden WhiteThat draws a grin. It's a grin touched with a smirk; she is teasing him, and he teases back. "Now, it's hardly my fault," he mock-complains, "that your tribesmen can't convey a concept with fewer than ten words. Not that I fault them for it. We can't all be warrior poets.
"I'll tell her your name is Reverence of Dawn, Radiant Honor. And that you are a very honor Half-Moon of the royal tribe, and my dear friend. I don't think it'd be a problem for you to introduce yourself to her at the Caern, either, if you run into her," he adds. "You could even mention that you know me -- unless you think that'd make her uncomfortable."
Avery ChaseNot his fault -- not that he faults them.
Avery is aghast. Mock-aghast but aghast. How dare he. "My tribe absolutely can, but trying to encapsulate a concept that becomes a name in a couple of words seems disrespectful to the individual being thus honored, my dear."
Which is the truth. As she sees it, at least. Her name is long to be specific, to be sole, to honor her. And so it does. She smiles at him, leaning over and kissing him. Her hug returns, arms sliding around his neck again. She sighs to his shoulder.
"I really am glad you're okay," she says yet again, quietly.
Calden WhiteHis arm slips around her waist. He holds her comfortably against his side. It feels good to stand with her like that, fitting together, complementary. Sameness, despite it all.
"I'm glad too. I'm glad we're all okay. And I'm glad she found us. I can't even imagine... North Dakota. Eleven. Trapped in one form or another, and then shot down. Christ." He turns; he buries his face briefly against her hair. Exhales, a bit of a sigh. "I don't even want to imagine. I'm just glad she's safe now."
For a while. Until she finishes her training. He doesn't want to think about that, either; it's a very select and deliberate sort of amnesia that all kin who care for Garou learn. He tries very hard not to think about what Avery does in the hours and days they are apart. He tries very hard to pretend her life is charity balls and benefit concerts and brunch and shopping,
even though he knows that is not at all the case.
After a while, quietly: "You know I love your name, right? The whole thing. All twenty-two words of it."
Avery ChaseHe can't even imagine. Avery,
who has run so far from home she nearly starved, who was shot and returned, who has frenzied and been unable to leave one form for another,
can imagine. To an extent. She holds Calden back, while he buries his face in her hair. She says nothing. She strokes his scalp, slowly, agreeing with him though she never says a word. She doesn't want him to imagine. She is glad Jill is safe.
For a while.
--
Does she know that he loves her name?
Avery takes a moment. She blinks. She looks at the ceiling. She moves her lips: she's counting. Then she blinks again, looks at him. "Twenty-two if you don't count my human name," she corrects him. "Twenty-six if you do." She grins suddenly. "Which is how old I am!"
Calden WhiteShe counting. He laughs aloud -- laughs, and then kisses her on those counting lips, terribly endeared. Twenty-six, she says then, which is also her age, and --
"It's slightly unnerving to realize you're almost as close in age to Jill as I am to you," Calden points out, wry. "Though, I just realized we never celebrated your birthday. For that matter," he frowns, "I'm not sure I even know your birthday."
Avery ChaseOf course that makes her wrinkle her nose at him. That she is almost as close in age to Jill as Calden is to her. And that he mentions it! So she gives him that Look, nose all wrinkled and lips all pursed, then leans over quickly and pecks his cheek with a kiss. She is starting to smell the fat-wrapped chicken, the sizzling pork, the juices cooking inside the meat.
So she eats a crouton. "Well I don't know yours either," she counters.
Calden WhiteHe bows his head for that kiss. Smiles at her as she picks a crouton out of the salad and crunches it. Smiles at her, too, as she counters; smiles at her a little longer just because.
Then: "The twentieth of April. You?"
Avery ChaseThe twentieth of April. She smiles at him, tasting a dab of dressing on her lips now. And saltiness. It's good.
"The thirtieth of July," she answers. "Do you want to celebrate them this year? Together?"
Calden WhiteHe grins: "Do you really think I might say no?"
Avery Chase"Well," she says, with utter sincerity, "you might have traditions I don't know about. Maybe every year on your birthday you sit in a room alone watching a favorite movie drinking scotch and eating a porterhouse. Maybe you and your cousins play cards and smoke cigars. "
Calden WhiteCalden lets out a laugh -- "I can see why you might confuse me with that masterpiece of a self-sufficient alpha male, but I am not, in fact, Ron Swanson. I don't have any special birthday rituals. I've spent some birthdays up here with the boys. I've spent some in Denver, and more than one at Ziggie's. A couple times there was some flash flood or wildfire or some other disaster, and I had to skip my birthday altogether.
"Provided nothing blows up this year," he says, "I'd love it if you and I could get together. You should take me to your favorite place and do all your favorite things. And then for your birthday, I'll take you to mine."
Avery ChaseAvery has no idea who Ron Swanson is. She is a little lost, charmingly so, because she does not conceal her bewilderment but does not feel any rancor or embarrassment or frustration at it. She does listen, though: no special rituals. He sometimes skips it, if Gaia decrees so. Which seems a little unfair, though,
tonight,
Avery is rather fixated on how unfair Gaia is. And if anyone would know, it would be a Philodox of the Tribe of Kings.
She smiles. "I'd love that," she says, softly, genuinely. She means it.
Calden White"It's a plan, then," he replies,
that same softness, that same genuine gentleness. A moment of shared and quiet happiness. Then he straightens, unfolding his arms, un-leaning from the kitchen island.
"And," he adds, "you and I should watch some Parks and Recreation tonight. It's a TV show. There's a character on it named Ron Swanson, and -- well. I'll show you the episode in question.
"We should eat, though." He's tugging on oven mitts. "I'm pretty sure the chicken is ready."
Avery ChaseMiss Avery Chase does not watch a lot of television. She catches it in snippets, an episode here or there. She doesn't really mind. She is a solitary creature much of the time, and books unfold for her and her alone. She does not begrudge others their conversations about episodes, character arcs, storylines. She has heard of Parks and Recreation but never seen it. She agrees amicably to being introduced to the show, and to 'Ron Swanson', who she guesses is a masterpeice of a self-sufficient alpha male, given Calden's exact words on the subject.
She drinks water while he gets the chicken out. They are going to eat simply tonight: the bacon-wrapped chicken, the salad, the water. No rolls, potatoes, rice, risotto, none of that. No wine, no scotch. They find a spot to curl up and Calden pulls up Netflix to show her season three, episode twelve.
"Oh!" she says at one point, turning to him. "That's Parker Posey," who she apparently does know.
They watch the next episode as well, involving everyone getting so smashed that the Masterpiece of Self-Sufficient Alpha Maleness gleefully jigs to hip-hop wearing a sparkling lady's hat. By then she has finished eating, so she doesn't choke. But she likes the show. She likes the flawed but cheerful characters. She says to Calden at one point: they're so nice to each other!, which is mostly true.
They don't stay up late. Calden had two very long days; Avery ran all the way here. They curl up and talk after watching a bit of television: Avery lying between his legs and against his chest, Calden stroking her hair where it spreads over his own body, his chin resting atop her head. She tells him about her week, breezily; he tells her in more detail what all happened with Jill. She drowses on his body, suffused with his heat, until he hears her yawning and teases her softly that maybe it's time for bed.
And they do go up, putting dishes in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher together, taking glasses of water up. Patches found them some time ago, licking bacon grease off of Avery's fingers because Avery is apparently determined to spoil her. And Patches follows them up, too, padding-bounding up the steps at their heels, squishing alongside their legs to rub her side against them, wagging contentedly as she is permitted, once again, into Calden-master's bedroom. She sits to watch while they wash up, faces and hands and mouths. Avery likes to see her toothbrush in the stand right beside Calden's; she likes knowing that it's here.
When they've undressed, they go to bed together. Avery is actually in pajamas, soft cotton shorts and an even softer sleeveless top. They snuggle. They kiss a bit, even though neither of them is really thinking about having sex. And even though her hands on his arms and his mouth on her lips sends ripples of heat going through both their bodies, they... don't, actually, make love in the end. They fall asleep, warm under the covers, Patches laid out at the foot of Calden's bed to make sure they stay safe tonight all night always yes. There's time enough tomorrow. They aren't going anywhere. They're just going to stay home.
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