Some years ago, young Jenevieve, her family life forever altered, found comfort from a relative...

Background: This happens shortly after the Move to Thorn Valley. In part due to Jenner's demise, Victoria, his wife, decided to hang around the Rosebush, leaving Jenevieve and Racso to fend for themselves in Thorn Valley. Luckily they had help.

Cheerful humming and pleasant scents waft from the kitchenette as Anita prepares something mightily delicious. Beaming as she is wont to do, Anita carefully sniffs her concoction and sprinkles a little love, er, spices onto what appears to be a fledgling cake. "Oh, such lovely ingredients!" she declares. "So much more delightful than those dried human vittles! Mmm..."

Jenevieve sits on the sofa, playing a game of solitaire on the coffee table while Anita bakes. The smell of the cake is comforting in an odd way--it isn't really familiar, since her own mother rarely baked--but it's nice nonetheless. She misses her own parents horribly, and feels more than a bit out of place at this picture-perfect home.

Anita doesn't break her rhythm as she gracefully slides the cake into the oven for baking. "Delightful! It was so nice that we managed to get a little kitchen of our own, isn't that right, Jenevieve?" She turns to face her 'neice', full of a glee that rapidly segues into concern as she spies the girl's pensive mood. "Is something wrong?" she asks.

Note: Anita is actually Jenevieve's first cousin through her mother, who was Jenner's sister

Jenevieve glances over her shoulder when she hears her name. "I...no, I'm okay, Aunt Anita," she replies, trying to smile and failing spectacularly. "The cake smells great."

Anita can definitely see that something is wrong. She takes a seat on the couch across from Jenevieve, looking at her relative plaintively. Whatever the problem was she felt obliged by common decency and the ties of family to assist. "I don't think you're doing all right at all, Jenevieve. Is it...about your mother?" She was well aware of Victoria's erratic decision to remain at the Rosebush, something that troubled her greatly.

Jenevieve looks up at her aunt (well, technically cousin) with large green eyes. "Um....sorry," she says awkwardly. She doesn't like to feel as though she's causing her relatives grief. "I just...miss both of them a lot." She turns her face away, not wanting to look Anita in the eye.

Anita's bright purple eyes seems to become a little more moist. "I understand," she responds in a soft, low voice. "Often, when I'm alone, I think about my own parents and siblings and how much I miss them, too..." Briefly she holds her breath, for even after so many years the thought still pains her. "You know, you can always talk to us if you need someone to speak to about...important things," she says, quite heartfully.

Jenevieve looks up at her aunt, having heard only vague stories about her losses. She nods. "I try and talk about them, but there's so much grief---I feel like I'm choking. And Dad...he did something awful, and now people get all weird just hearing his name. I get why, but....it makes it really hard."

Anita gets up and calmly moves to sit beside her 'neice', looking intently as she listens. She could definitely empathize with her; the emotional turmoil surrounding the apparent demise of her own parents was still far too fresh in her memory. Yet she knew that bringing that up would just complicate matters...and it would be selfish of her as well. This time was for Jenevieve. "We're your family, Jenevieve," she says, trying to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to worry about what you say to us. We will understand...I will understand." She smiles, but it is the bittersweet sort shared between those who suffer together. "I can't pretend to know exactly what its like to be in your place, but I want to know about how you feel, if you can say it, so I can...be here for you."

Jenevieve's eyes get moist, and she tries to brush the tears away almost angrily. She's relieved to know she can share her burden, but at the same time reluctant to do so. "How I feel?" she repeats. "I feel abandoned, and even though I live here with you and uncle Joseph and everyone."

Anita takes out a conveniently hidden handkerchief and hands it to Jenevieve, listening closely but silently to her tales. "It's...a terrible feeling, I know," she says simply. Yet her feelings were anything but simple. She had long regarded Victoria as a rather dubious mother, especially given how Dora was treated, and a part of her was tempted to compensate for what she believed to be her obvious maternal deficiencies. But she couldn't do that for the life of her. She was not Jenevieve's mother, and she couldn't - wouldn't - stand in between them. Did not Jenevieve love Victoria and Jenner regardless?

Jenevieve looks up at Anita, grateful that someone, anyone, understands. "I just feel...lonely, you know? Like, Dad didn't intend to leave me, but Mom..." she chokes on her words, and lapses into silence.

Anita frowns and brings Jenevieve into a close embrace. "I'm sure she didn't do it because of you. Think about how much she loved your father. How would his death have affected her? You know how bad it must feel for you." She lightly kisses her forehead, her sweet, tender touch full of compassion. "Jenevieve, never think for a moment that nobody loves you, because there is always someone who does..."

Jenevieve allows Anita to hug her--she's starving for it, and buries her face in Anita's shoulder. "...who's that?" she asks. "You? Uncle Joseph?"

Anita knows the answer, but she doesn't want to force such a profound topic on her. There was so much more to talk about, to care about, before she would move beyond. "We will always love you, Jenevieve, but we're not the only ones. Love...is something that exists even when everyone is hateful." She gently pats Jenevieve's head. "Your father hated a lot of things, but I know that he still loved you."

Jenevieve brushes her tears away, looking up at her aunt. "I know he did...I loved him, too...even though he did awful things." She hugs Anita fiercely, as though soaking up the affection like a sponge. "I love you too, Aunt Anita...and I even still love Mom, even though she's not here."

Anita starts to feel the need to sniffle a little, too, but she holds back. She had to be the strong one. "I love you too, Jenevieve, like I love my own children...and I loved Aunt Victoria, too. She...I remember the way things were, when your father was a good rat. But we shouldn't dwell on the past." She continues to embrace Jenevieve, or rather to receive it, as long as she needs her 'aunt's' care. "Whenever you feel lonely then you can always come to us, okay?"

Jenevieve snuggles close to Anita, just needing to feel loved. "Okay...thank you..." she murmurs into her aunt's shoulder. She's still crying, but feels a bit lighter---the burden is no longer only hers to bear.

Anita smiles sadly. "Anyti-" The tender, sensitive moment is violently interrupted by Rebecca, looking more dishevelled than usual, stomps out of her room and darts around in a mild panic. Her huge, magnified eyes stare at her mother. "Mother! I've lost my formula! Have you seen it!?" -- Anita blinks and stares for several moments. "They're...in your breast pocket, dear," she states calmly, pointing at the very obvious vial. -- Rebecca blink-blinks and recovers the container after a brief search. "Oh...um...well..." she wanders out, muttering to herself about...well, who knows? -- Anita sighs and pats Jenevieve's shoulder. "I'm...sorry about that. You know how your cousin can be a little, um...well...furtive?"

Jenevieve giggles in spite of herself, making a funny sort of choking sound. "It's okay....I like cousin Becky. She's funny."

Anita grins widely. "I guess she is :) Are you hungry, Jenevieve?" She stands up, padding over to her little kitchenette. "I've got *treats*!" she says in the sweetest voice she can manage.

Jenevieve nods a bit, hearing her stomach growl. "Sure!" she replies, and though she can't quite smile, she manages to convey some enthusiasm at the prospect.

Anita recovers the cookie jar and begins to prepare the most delightful afternoon tea seen in the Valley. She lines the cookies and pastries on the dainty tray in a most appetizing manner and pours some fine smelling fruit juice for both of them. As she brings the arrangement to Jenevieve, presenting the snackery with great glee, she thinks about the recent, heartfelt confessions. There was no denying that a single talk wouldn't be enough to deal with the problem. You could say so many things, but did you mean them? No, Jenevieve need the care and companionship that only her family could provide, and right now Anita and the rest of the Connors would be doing their best to help her feel at home. Anita's thoughts idly drift towards Victoria, Dora, and the sad events of history, but her outward smile hides her anxiety from the world. Silently, though, she says a little prayer for all of them...

Jenevieve sits down at the table, eagerly partaking in the small feast....it's just what she needs to replenish her stores of energy, after this release of pent-up emotions, trying to deal with things far bigger than the child that she was.