The video conference meeting with his firm lasted only ten minutes. Darcy had stood by the side while Andrew talked at his request, but he didn’t make it entirely clear why. When the call had started, she quickly moved to the side so as to be out of the camera’s view but still able to watch the screen. The withered, down right ancient man on the other side of the screen had nodded a lot, occasionally hmming and huhing at Andrew’s long-winded explanations. The boss at the first seemed pretty surprised as to his employee’s condition- he asked a few questions as to how he was found, was he alright, could he breathe okay, queries that were not dissimilar to the ones that were put forth by the doctor that very same morning; but soon after he and Andrew were all smiles and chuckles.

Darcy had to assume that something similar happened to a coworker of Andrew- they had talked at length about the circumstances of the other case rather than Andrew’s own. In fact, they hardly seemed concerned about the situation at hand, by the sound of them. She wondered how closely this resembled any given workplace conversation. She then imagined, a wry grin creeping across her face, a big conference room where ‘shop talk’ ceased and several lawyers in Sid Mashburn three-pieces buddied and biddied it up like bros in college or women at the washing well- talking about the big game or big gossip in place of the big case.

The final word came quick as heat lightning. Andrew had agreed to leave the company amicably and all his holdings transferred over to his bank immediately- in fact, a couple of hours; their accountant, Audrey (“You know, the one with the nose ring?”), would be heading over with a fresh cut check chock full of real American dollars- after tax, of course. 

“Best of luck to you, Andrew. You will be missed.” The screen flicked over to the placeholder screen all a-bubbly. Andrew turned on his heel and held is arms out. 

“’Tis done.”

Darcy walked over to the desk and sat down at the chair where he might’ve sat were he normal-sized. He was hopping along the keyboard spelling out gaudy words. 

“So, how does it feel,” she began, setting a hand under her chin and crinkling her nose at a word he spelled out and ignoring his self-satisfied chuckle. “Oh, Andrew, gross. Are you going to miss it? Working there, I mean?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Also, 'you will be missed?'"

Andrew hopped over, with considerable effort, over to the ‘n’ key. 

“Nah,” he completed, realizing he couldn’t get over to the ‘o’ without crashing. “I think it was best. I dunno,” he hopped on the spacebar and then slid down the edge of the board onto the desk. “It’ll be nice to be independent. Kind of felt like I was working for Dewey, Cheatam, and Howe some days. Still.” He sat down on Darcy’s finger. “I will miss them.” He resisted Darcy’s playful fingerwag, keeping on and holding.

He slid down again onto his butt and lay down next to her finger. God, he was so small, she again realized. Not even as tall as her index. He just lay there, hands behind his head, and she could easily just pick him up and take him anywhere he- or she, Darcy realized with a start- desired to go. To the dinner table, in front of the television, to the kitchen- that last a bit difficult considering her wild mind wanderings this afternoon- anywhere. 

As if he had read her thoughts, he piped back up again. 

“Besides,” he said, closing his eyes, “I don’t think I could do much for them at this point, not at this size.”

There was an unmistakable sadness in his tone, she realized- tried as hard as he might have, his sunny disposition of always belied anxiety or grief this time. Darcy had to admit, she had never thought of his situation in relation to how it affected him in spirit. Sure, she focused plenty on the physical, making sure that he wasn’t crushed or suffocating or say, starving, but she thought that maybe a clear examination on his psyche would be in order now or in the future. 

Did being diminished of body also diminish your spirit, your soul?

True to form, Andrew appeared his own self quickly enough. He got up and prompted Darcy to set her hand down for him. She complied, placing it flat on the desk next to the computer. He hopped on again, sat down, then lay down with his hands behind his hand, like a beach goer catching some sun. 

Darcy bit her lip. Again, that pervasive sensation. A low pit in her stomach. Bigness. Potential. A thought crossed her mind, one involving her hand and the little man on it... but she quickly pushed it out of her head. 

She blinked. There it was again! Why did that happen? This morning after the shower, at Tino's, and now. Why did these thoughts invade her mind so? Why were they so frequent now, so at times disturbing?

So desirable?

Her revelry was disturbed by Andrew calling out to her once more. Her eyes focused, slowly, and the picture came to mind. He was kneeling in her palm again, his head cocked very cutely to the side, Darcy had to admit. He has his hands on his legs, tapping away. She suddenly became very self-conscious of her and diverted her eyes.

"Are you alright? You're being a real space cadet today, kiddo."

"Um. Yes, I'm okay."

Darcy blushed, finding the courage to lift her eyes again. Andrew smiled at her moment of embarrassment.

"You sure?" 

Darcy nodded at him, pushing a toothy grin at him, which he responded in kind. She knew, honestly, that her pushing those thoughts out probably wasn't the best solution, but... Why did she have to deal with it at all right now? Couldn't she just forget her own deal right now so she could concentrate on supporting Andrew? Almost automatically, she sauntered over to the couch and sat down, pulling off her sandals and lifting her feet up onto the coffee table, pushing a cup out of the way with her toe. She placed Andrew on her thigh and leaned her head onto the back of the plush couch.

This was nice, she thought. Just her chilling and feeling Andrew sitting on her leg, warm yellow midday sunlight pouring through the windows. 

She could do this forever, she thought. Just lounging with her pal. 

"Oh hey, you're going to hate me, but..."

Darcy opened a single eye and peeked over at her leg. She frowned at him, pouting her lips. 

"But Andreeeeeew,” she whined in a sing-song voice, “I just got comfy!" She teased, barely suppressing a smile that came out from behind the frown. 

"I know. I don't think we have to go now, but later I would like to go to the bank. Like, after two thirty- that's about when Audrey will drop-"

"Wait, Audrey with the lip ring?"

"Nose ring!" He corrected with a pointed finger. "And yes, the very same. She'll drop off the check into my account, and I'd like to go to the bank to close things up, maybe move some around."

"Sure. But..."

She looked down at Andrew hopefully. He rolled his eyes and smiled at her. 

"Yes, yes, we can chill here for a bit. We've got an hour anyway."

Darcy smiled and lay her head down back again.

"But set an alarm! I can't wake you up if you start snoozing.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Darcy sat on the cold marble bench waiting for Andrew. She half watched him speaking with a banker at a big oaken desk, and saw him occasionally waving his arms and gesturing emphatically. She smiled, knowing that he could often not communicate to people without the aid of his hands- it was something of a quirk of his, one that Darcy poked fun at every chance she got. There was something endearing about them, the little ways he operated and functioned- little signs that gave away his mood or his attitude. She remembered when they had first started rooming together, how some of his more... Masculine habits, such as leaving towels on the bathroom floor, leaving the milk out, and for gods sake why can't you lift the damned toilet seat I feel like your mother sometimes. They really had etched marks into her. They were certainly annoying at the time, but the course of many 'rent due' periods, she had grown accustomed to it. She wondered if that had been a bad thing. Of course, that was not to say that he didn't improve in at least some areas, but just... Used to it. His habits, and him, grew on her. 

She wondered, half watching him, half flipping through a copy of People, wholly shivering, if she'd ever pick up after another roommate when he left. 

She couldn't lie to herself and say that she wasn't going to miss him. He was probably her best friend, ever since graduation- he had, technically, and slightly embarrassingly for Darcy (and possibly him), met her parents more than any boyfriend. She'd cried on that now tiny shoulder more times than she could count, had listened to her vent her problems long into the night, had relied on him from being swindled in a car deal thanks to his eagle eye for law... To speak nothing of the late night Tampax runs. 

To say that Andrew was a large emotional element in her life would be a gross understatement. 

It felt like he was moving away, somehow. On the drive over, she had told him that she'd built up frequent flyer miles over the past few years and could visit him often enough and "oh did you know I found this one website and its basically like a search engine for flights and..."

And on and on. 

Through the whole chat though, Andrew had only smiled softly an nodded. 

"I'd like that." But he also added, "but you should concentrate on yourself! Use those miles to go to Switzerland, or visit your mother's family homelands. Not many people get to do that!"

She admitted, that would be a grand idea... But she couldn't. It was difficult to imagine doing those things without her best friend. Traveling had always been something they shared since that wonderful trip to DC and the Smithsonian. To go new and exciting places like Europe or Africa without Andrew would be... Well, not Europe or Africa. Not the kind she wanted.

"So wishy washy." She whispered to herself. Then, because she liked the sound, she said it again three times fast. 

She was just turning the page on a downright uninteresting piece on the pregnancy of some such other celebrity when she felt someone come near her. She looked up and saw a plump, bespectacled, and pretty woman holding an envelope. It was the banker that had helped Andrew, she had realized.

"Ms. Darcy? This is for you." She gave her the envelope, the sealant still wet from closing. It was thin and light, but sill opaque- it had security scattering inside that helped prevent snooping. On the corner of the envelope was the prestigious bank's logo, timeless yet crafted by modernity. On the front of it, in writing that was certainly not Andrew's own was 'Darcy'. Under that, in neat and anal little parenthesis, (for rent). 

She flipped it over in her hands, puzzled. He hadn't mentioned anything about this. Wasn't he supposed to close his bank accounts? Maybe transfer it over to some place or put into government hands? Or maybe it was a letter. 

"Darcy, huh?" 

The so-named looked up- the banker was grinning and twiddling her fingers. "Your parents must have really liked Pride and Prejudice."

Darcy chuckled at that. She'd never actually read the book itself (she found herself more a fan of the Bronte sisters), but this, or similar variants of the same question, was asked quite frequently at her.

"My mom teaches English literature up north."

"Well, that certainly explains it!"

It was true. Her mother, a certified bibliophile, taught lecture in Western European literature. She had a particular fetish for all things Austen. 

"Anyway," the bankette continued, "you're a lucky gal. Not many people would leave that kind of thing, especially that much, to their friends. He must really care for you!"

She waved and took off back to her desk, sliding down and continuing talking to her little client. 

'Especially that much?' Darcy pondered. How much could he have left, she thought. They had discussed setting aside a years rent for just in case in the car, but Darcy had tried to dissuade him of the idea. She was a big girl ("literally!" He'd cried out in the car ride), she could take care of herself. Worse comes to worst, she could find another place if rent proved too insurmountable a challenge. She found herself getting huffy- yeah, it was sweet and quite a gesture to pay rent for a bit, but come on. She wasn't helpless.

The sealant was still wet, she realized, not yet set. Temptation. Temptation like Sunday morning before church.

Before she even completed the thought, she found herself opening the envelope with lithe dexterity, and not a small amount of guilt. She probably didn't expect her to open this until rent time and the-

"Oh my God," she said as the breath leapt out of her. 

The cashier’s check inside was addressed to her, her full name written out. Under that was a number that she had to read thrice before truly comprehending the import of it. She read the numerical amount, written, then numerical once more- she almost couldn't pronounce it.

Two hundred sixty eight thousand, four hundred and twenty nine point fifty four.

Over a quarter of a million dollars.

This had to be a mistake, she concluded- no one could ever give her that much money. That's... Illegal, right? Wait, Andrew couldn't even have that much! He bought generic brand all the time! He squirted spare ketchup packets from burger joints into the Heinz bottle at home, for God’s sake! 

Her heart was racing. There it was, her name, from the first to her embarrassing middle to her last, then six digits just below it, and the plump woman's signature that below that. Satisfied on the one but also deeply anxious on another level, Darcy calmly put the check back into the envelope, and resealed it.

One breath. Two.

A quarter of a million dollars.

She had dreamed as a young girl (and maybe a young adult) what she might do if she ever came into that kind of money; vacations, dream homes, fast cars had come to mind. But now, actually having that amount, she felt nothing but unease. 

Three. Four.

No one just gave that kind of money out on a whim. There had to be something behind it. Some, some, some thought process driving and motivating such absurd generosity. Why couldn’t he use it, at Leafstone? Surely they might’ve had a way in place to manage his finances. He might use the funds to help the facility, promote research, heck, even start a law firm for the diminished. There had to be something there for him.

Unless, of course, there was nothing there for him. Nothing left. The pit dropped in her stomach even lower- she found herself remembering, that sense of terrible dread growing within, what he had told her this past day.

Andrew wouldn’t really take his own life. Right?

Then she remembered. His intonation that he couldn’t do anything for anybody, not at his current size. He couldn’t lawyer up, take cases, continue working for his law firm. And why couldn’t he? Who would take in earnest contracts written by a man the size of a mouse? Who could trust the words of a tiny speck?

She shuddered. And that wasn’t even the worst part of it, she realized- Darcy had recalled his admission as she held him in her hand at the doctor’s office. The defeated affect when he resigned to Leafstone, citing that he didn’t want to be a burden. Not to anyone, not to her.

“I can’t be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself.”

Live with myself.

Darcy found her heart racing again- the thought that Andrew could kill himself, might kill himself set her ill at ease, no doubt- more so than any event that had been in the past thirty hours. She had heard of this happening before- articles and news videos on the internet, the growing concern of the behavioral health community over the psychology of being small. Record number of suicides growing among affected diminished- most psychologists pontificated that it was the extreme trauma, emotional helplessness, or shame that came from new life conditions. In fact, an entire journal had been published just to address these problems. Still, try as everyone might, there was still a terrifying rise in the number of suicide cases- and those just being the ones reported.

He didn’t want to be a liability, she realized- he didn’t want to live with the shame of being waited on. He probably truly meant it when he had told her that he didn’t want to burden her and keep her from living life. He was independent from his family, she knew, maybe even estranged, from high school. He just wasn’t that guy to depend on others.

“I can’t be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself.”

The thought made her want to cry. Why did he have to be so goddamn noble? Hell, she wouldn’t mind being his roommate forever - he had taken such efforts to be a good guy, a wonderful roommate, and an even better friend! She could be with him, take care of him, cook for them both… ah, what was she even thinking? That’s exactly why he wanted to die.

She grimaced, closed her eyes. She gripped the envelope tightly in her hand, crinkling the paper and bending the check. She couldn’t let him go through with it. She simply couldn’t. Biting her lip, she thought about what she might say to him. She had to confront him- she couldn’t let her friend, (she shuddered) no, her best friend murder himself. Not while there were still people out in the world who supported him.

Tonight, she thought, watching the plump banker bring Andrew to her in an open palm, tonight she would confront him, stop him from this madness.