“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Pippa yells in frustration. If she could, she would pull the black strands out, but she would rather not be bald.

“Well you can’t go into a fight with Brainwash with this anger. You’ll make it easier for him,” Cotton points out. He’s reclining on an the couch, laying in a way to take up as much space as possible.

His relaxed state boils her blood even more. She’s pacing as Beacon’s name is being tarnished, and he appears perfectly unbothered. He might not care that his name as Water Craze hasn’t changed. But she does care what the town thinks of her alter ego.

“He made me a villain,” she seethes.

The one thing she didn’t want to be.

Cotton’s head lolls to the side, staring at her with his unnerving eyes. “Yes, and he’ll do it again if you come at him.”

While logically she knows he’s right, it doesn’t help the volcano of irritation threatening to erupt. Preferably at Brainwash.

“What am I supposed to do?” She asks, exasperated and just done with his attitude.

If he isn’t going to help her, he may as well not be there.

She wonders briefly if he is guarding himself from her because of her killing Ink Spill. But that’s a thought for another (not stressful) time.

He sits up slightly, still slouching enough that it makes Pippa’s spine ache just looking at him. “You can’t attack him, Tink. He knows you killed Ink Spill. He knows you have it in you.”

The nickname cools down some of the heat that is bubbling. It’s ignited again with his last sentiment though.

“I’m not going to kill him,” she says. It sounds defensive which is not how she wanted it to come out. Her pacing stops and crosses her arms at his lazed form.

“Debatable.”

What hurts her the most is that he isn’t even joking.

Joking and teasing she can deal with. That was their whole dynamic in the beginning before they even knew who each other was.

But this seriousness? It hurts.

Cotton actually thinks she would kill Brainwash.

“I did it to protect you,” she reminds him. Because that’s what it was. She didn’t do it to get revenge. It was out of love. But she gets the thin line it is.

His body becomes tense, his eyes serious. He leans his elbows on his knees, his chin in his palms. “I know. If that’s your justification, then you can use that any time you kill any villain.”

This conversation is circling which frustrates Pippa, her ire creating this tension in her muscles and banging around her bones. Just talking with him usually settles something within her, but it’s doing the exact opposite now. “Cotton, I know you don’t approve of what I did, but I need solutions right now. If you don’t have any, then I need you to leave.”

She had hoped that her boundary was clear and he would leave if he wasn’t going to provide help. Too bad things rarely go how you want.

“You’re right. I don’t approve of what you did. I have a code believe it or not. I’m just worried that you don’t,” he says.

That last bit slices into her flesh, exposing the most vulnerable parts inside her. She physically feels herself react to his words, flinching and stepping away from him.

It’s like she is outside of her body, seeing herself do things instead of experiencing them. Shaking her head, attempting to gain any type of sense, she tries to bring this conversation back, “I can’t deal with this. People aren’t going to trust Beacon anymore. That’s what we need to focus on.”

“Should they?” Another piece of herself is peeled back and then promptly stabbed by his question.

Her vision blurs but she blinks to rid herself of them. She can’t cry. Not now.

When she begins, it’s hard to stop.

She clears her throat which almost aches from the motion. It’s like she swallowed something thick and sticky. Like blood. “Cotton? What are you even saying right now?” She manages in the smallest voice she’s ever heard herself use.

Having these abilities for most of her life, she was used to being powerful or having power. She never really had to be scared of being in pain or getting hurt.

Cotton’s doubt on her character punches a hole in her confidence. Which is only possible since she didn’t have her guard up with him.

“You need to take accountability,” he says firmly.

“And how do I do that? I go on TV and own that I took a life. I can’t just do that, Cotton.” She is losing her last nerve. Her palms are heating up from her frustration.

Her control used to be perfect. Precise and intentional. Ever since Salen’s death, she has felt that flicker and waver.

“Why not?” He counters.

“Because I would be lying if I said I regret it,” she confesses being fully truthful to him. It is something she hesitated to say before. It felt wrong to feel.

But she is beginning to not care what Cotton thinks. He clearly opposes everything she has done.

What’s one more thing?

“Pippa…” His mouth opens and closes. He’s at a loss for words.

It gets serious when he calls her by her given name. Normally, it’s his nickname for her or her hero name.

She continues, “The only thing I regret is that I didn’t do it sooner to save Salen.”

It may be hard for him to swallow, but this is how she feels. Salen would be alive if she had been willing to kill Ink Spill before.

“This is a slippery slope you’re walking,” he warns. She hates his tone. She is the same age as him with sound of mind. Whatever she does is her decision. Her consequences.

He is trying to save her.

But she doesn’t need saving.

“I have great balance.”

He frowns and gets up and stands right in front of her. Still at arms length, but his moment is more intentional now. “This isn’t a joke.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” She yells, her hands clenching into fists. “I know the severity of this all. It’s happening to me. Not you.”

His eyes have this fire in them. One that she’s sure she shares at the moment. “I care about you,” he says.

He says it like it should make it final. That he’s right and she’s wrong.

It only adds to her anger.

“Don’t you dare say that you’re only making this difficult because you care,” she warns, glaring at him.

Using his feelings towards her as a weapon is something she will not tolerate. Emotional daggers were never their weapons of choice.

“What do you want me to say, Tink?” He is exasperated. Short of throwing his hands up, he is the epitome of someone at the end of their rope.

They didn’t used to be like this. Pippa longs for how they were before.

But when she thinks of them before, she thinks about the differences between each of them since then. And she can only come up with one major difference.

“You can’t stand it can you?” She accuses.

This is the first time in this conversation that he looks legitimately taken aback. “Can’t stand what?”

“That in some way, I am not the innocent girl you first met. That I am more like you than you realized.”

His eyes shine with rage. Like she is missing his point. Which isn’t the case. She gets it, she just doesn’t feel what he thinks she should. “This has nothing to do with me,” he growls.

She’s tired of their fights.

This isn’t them.

They haven’t been them for a long time.

“Oh it’s not? Not even a little bit? So you’re extreme reaction has nothing to do with the fact that you saw me as this perfect little fairy. And now that I’ve done something that doesn’t fit that image, I’m bad.” Her vision is blurring but she wipes her eyes. She’s determined that she will not cry in front of him.

They both had their parts to play in this downfall. If he doesn’t want to admit that, then fine.

“It’s because you crossed a line!” He bursts. Water bursts out from various sources, surrounding him in a flurry.

Pippa observes his display of power with a deadpan expression.

“Your line. Not mine.”

And with that, she leaves.

She has more things to do than worry about a spiraling relationship.