Darcy’s sandals tapped quietly on the ground as she and Andrew descended down the steps into the apartment garage. He sat in her hand, watching the world go by. He inched closer to the edge, daringly, looking down on the ground- it seemed so far away. He knew it was only a couple of feet, to be sure, but to him the distance was far too long to fall. Moreover, there were feet down there. 

He watched Darcy’s feet step lightly down the flight of stone stairs, barely making any but a light sound, despite her wearing her gladiator sandals. He wondered, absently, if the doors they passed by had ever heard louder people stomping by. Maybe. They probably didn't hear Darcy and her tip toeing. Even if they did, they probably had no idea that there were in fact two people were passing. 

He was here yet not here, he mused.

"Hey," a voice called from above. It shook him out of thoughts. He looked up to Darcy who was looking down simultaneously at where her feet were going and her other hand placed on the rail for balance. After she stepped back onto the blackened tar ground of the garage, she regained her thoughts. "Um, would you like to go to Tino's after this? Maybe split a burger?"

Andrew nodded at the prospect.

"That sounds like a capital idea. You pay though," he added quickly. Then, as if to amend and justify the claim, "I think you'll be eating a fair bit more than I will."

Darcy chuckled at that, retrieving the keys from her purse. She clicked a button that caused a green Subaru to chirp in the corner of the garage.

"That sounds fair. However," she started, a smirk coming to her lips, "since I'm paying, I get to decide what burger we get. None of your weird pastrami and Swiss burgers. Straight up, good old all-American beef and cheddar!"

Andrew scoffed at the idea. 

"Oh come on, pastrami and swiss make for good burgers! Just because you're too..." he made chicken wings from his arms and imitated the noise, "to try anything new..."

"It's a classic, distinctly American," Darcy said empathetically, ignoring the rebuttal. She swung the car door open in a wide sweep of her arm, "and that sort of thing just has to be. It's like apple pie, or fireworks on the fourth, or,"

"Indentured servitude? That's pretty American."

Darcy frowned down at him as she sat down into the car seat. She closed the door and then set her hand which held him down onto the passenger car seat, letting him scootch off her hand and onto the plush cushion.

"You know what I meant," she droned, placing her handbag on the seat in front of him. She then paused, looking at him and the seat. A thought crossed her mind that never had before- a question of logistics.

Andrew seemed to perceive that Darcy was thinking about something- that was a look he knew. 

"What are you thinking?"

Darcy put a finger to her lip, squinting her eyes. Then finally, she set her hand down in front of him once again, prompting him to hop on. Once he did and was safely out of the way, she set her purse right before the crack where the seat and the back cushion met. Once that was done, she reached over, took the seatbelt, and fastened it over the purse, securing it in place. 

Andrew might have seen where it was going. He was about to ask her when, all of a sudden, her palm started to move. She held him just over the back of the seat and the purse, carefully cupping her fingers, apparently anticipating him falling from her own instability. He did not, however. Her other hand reached over, and with lithe fingers, opened a small space between the back of the seat and the purse. 

He had guessed right. 

Gently, but maybe a little too speedily, Darcy overturned her hand and sloped Andrew into the tiny crack. He slipped down and fell with a soft plop between the two encompassing walls. She eased the purse back, creating a tension that held her tiny passenger in place.  

“There we go,” she said, not suppressing a smile. Andrew shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Yeah, there we go to the chiropractor’s… let me… if I could just…”

He struggled and wiggled himself up- he was pinned between the purse and seat cushion, something that wasn't terrible, but not exactly comfortable either. He pulled, grunted, and shimmied up to his legs, not without considerable work.

He noted, wryly, that Darcy had not helped. 

He sought to find a more comfortable position for himself, maybe sitting-

"Ahh." He breathed more than said.

His leg caught on the buckle of the purse as he shifted his weight and he started to tilt. His leg was fixed to the buckle, but the rest of him kept going. He flipped down, his head rushing down. He yanked his weight away from the purse and into the small space between cushion and handbag, extending his arms out in front of him to break his fall on, naturally, air. 

He came to an abrupt stop, his arms wedged into the tight space, facedown. 

As he tried, nay, struggled to get free, Andrew thought he heard a joyful laughter above him, booming yet feminine, but unmistakably familiar. 

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

"Hmm, looks good, looks good," a gruff and well-travelled voice thrummed. The voice belonged to a white haired doctor who was currently hovering over Andrew with a magnifying glass, making his already large brown eye seem positively enormous. He eye would blink every so often, and the entire lens would turn a skin color, then open up back again, minute changes in the iris flaring out, in, then reaching an equilibrium. 

"Demeanor looks alright," he said to no one in particular, perhaps himself. His hand flicked a check across a box on the clipboard he held. He made the movement with years of experience behind it.

"No mental issues, babbling, delusions or anything like that?" His eyes flicked over to Darcy. The girl, watching intently with her arms over her handbag, quickly shook her head.

"No, I haven't," the patient piped up, his voice a bit louder, a bit more distinct.

The doctor made a grunt of approval, checking another box. His eyes turned back to his clipboard, where he scrawled some final notes in a practiced hand- one that, if Andrew could only guess, was in a style that was legible to the doctor alone. In law school, Andrew had been ridiculed for his sloppy handwriting, his professors often commenting that he'd chosen the wrong graduate program, and should switch over to the university's medical studies. He wondered briefly what his Juris Doctors would think of this doctor's chicken scratch. 

The doctor in question seemed to be satisfied, as he had cleared his throat and set the pencil down on the table next to the examination table.

"Well," he started, placing aged hands on his knees, glancing at Andrew and then back to Darcy, "y'all've got some choices to make." His soft Dixie drawl bespoke his birth, hidden deep behind years of formal education and worldliness. "I don't see any defects that are troubling- as far as his health, he seems to be just fine, and I don't foresee any issues in the future given his good condition."

"That's good," Andrew said. "So I'm healthy."

"Yes," confirmed the doc. He scratched his chin, the afternoon stubble just now appearing. "This may not interest you two, but there're some pretty great social programs put into place, some very recently. They call them diminished homes- they have entire communities built, from houses, workspaces, parks," he rose from his seat and walked over to the display of pamphlets and grabbed a few. He handed them to Darcy, then continued.

"All sorts of things. My wife's niece is a social worker, at the one called, mm, 'Leafstone,' I believe, and she's got nothing but good to say about it. Best part is that it was only just recently cleared by the UCA- it's become a government operated deal, so it's free to family to send their loved ones there."

Darcy leafed through the pamphlets- they all showed stock photos of happy smiling people having dinner or playing in the park. A few of them contained the odd photo of their facilities. The 'Leafstone' community boasted of some famous residents (former actors and the like), a swimming pool, tennis courts, and a real live honest-to-God play house. It also claimed round the clock security, a specialized medical team and appropriate facilities, and in-house counseling.
Words like 'dignity' and 'safety' were quite frequently seen in the descriptions, she noticed. It then struck her- this wasn't for the small people it spoke about- it was for their families.

She saw Andrew motion at her from the corner of her eye. She sauntered over to the examination table, setting the pamphlets in front of him. She watched him eye them intently.

"New York?" He asked, pointing to the very impressive pamphlet. "The Leafstone facility is in New York?"

"Oh, yes," the doctor didn't say but instead reassured, "there, somewhere upstate. Another's in Colorado and another one, the not so great one, located in California."

Darcy's heart dropped. So far away. She hadn't even considered the prospect of him leaving, and she had to admit, it wasn't the most pleasant idea- she figured that it would be a big change.

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, sitting down on one of the pamphlets. 

"Well," he began, putting his hand to his chin, "I think I don't want to go to one of those, if possible. I mean," he scowled and shook his head, "I'll probably not be working any more at the firm, but I should have enough in reserves to pay rent for a while." He looked up at Darcy, expectant for a reaction. She caught herself with an open mouth and a wry smile.

"I mean," he added, "if that's alright with you." He grinned sheepishly. "I really like that apartment, and it just got a lot more roomy!" 

Darcy chuckled and gave a warm smile. 

"Our grocery bill would be quartered, so we could even live on my salary!" She pointed at Andrew and looked at the doctor. "Guy eats like he's twelve. I've never seen someone pound down so many burritos."

The doctor smiled tiredly and nodded his head at them- he seemed satisfied with that answer. Something told both Andrew and Darcy that he'd seen a lot of people pass through in the same condition, and probably not all of their varying circumstances were favorable. It was a good thing, they thought, to see such well-meshed people. Hopeful, even. The aged M.D. gathered up his clip board and magnifying glass, and hurried to the door.

"That seems settled. Good. I’ll speak to the nurse and have her draw up a couple’s diminished cohabitation form. The Feds have been cracking down on registration of each diminished, so you have to fill it out prior to leaving. Oh, and everything’s covered by the Universal Care Act." He was about to leave for another appointment when Darcy piped up.

"Oh, doctor, we're not... Uh, together or, cohabitating; we're just roommates, actually. Is there a different form we need?"

The doctor stopped and peered at Darcy, then Andrew. 

"Huh." He wore a surprised expression. 

He looked back at his chart, scribbled out something, and then wrote another scrawl. 

"I see. That's fine. I'll tell the nurse. Thank you for stopping by."

The doctor left and shortly after Andrew donned his clothes again, so did they. He didn't say a word after, even when Darcy had picked him up of the examination table to carry him out. He sat stoically and looked ahead. However, when they arrived at the nurses' station to fill out the forms, he blurted out and asked if he could see that Leafstone pamphlet again. Darcy dug it out of her purse, and unfolded the propaganda in front of him. He looked over it once, and then cleared his throat.

"I've thought about it, and I think I'd like to go to Leafstone."

Darcy was thunderstruck. Why in the world had he suddenly had a change of heart? The nurse that was attending them looked confounded as well. All the same, she tore up the current form and began a new one. 

Darcy couldn't wrap her head around it.

"What? I- I mean, are you sure?" She asked the little man in her hand. He nodded assuredly. 

"I am," he began, confidence bursting in his voice. "I've thought about it, and, Darcy, you can't live and look after me. It wouldn't be fair to you. You've got friends and family and it shouldn't be wasted on taking care of someone who would have to be brought with you everywhere." He looked up at her with honest eyes. For a split second, however, Darcy thought she saw hurt. "I can't be that guy, Darcy. I couldn’t live with myself."

She swallowed and nodded. Couldn’t live with himself? Her heart skipped. But again, this had to be his decision. It made her a little more than uncomfortable, but she figured that it was just the prospect of change.

Still...

The nurse handed the form, a lengthy document that contained words like 'guardianship,' and 'release' and 'liability.' It had an overly long title punctuated by a very official looking form number like 4-7dh or 1078. Darcy didn't get a great look at it. She watched passively as Andrew was handed an ink pad to use his finger to sign, followed by a witness signature by the nurse. The form was filed, and the nurse said in a very articulate tone that the social workers would come not tomorrow morning but the morning after to pick Andrew up. A that time, Darcy's temporary legal stewardship of Andrew would end and he'd be put into the hands of the state, something the nurse said with a little less that discomfort. 

"You know, I voted for that... that Johnson candidate and..." 

She continued on for a bit but Darcy didn't hear. The whole process of it all, the doctor's appointment, the changing of forms, it all unsettled her. Most of all, however, she was puzzled over why her friend's sudden change of heart.

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

Darcy had decided to not broach the subject over lunch. They'd kept their promise and went to Tino's for a burger and fries to split. Darcy had gotten her wish, much to Andrew's chagrin- an all-American beef and cheddar. Then again, she was the one paying for it, and she would in fact be the one who ate the most of it.

The burger itself was massive, even by Darcy’s standard. It easily dwarfed Andrew and then some- in fact the sight of him standing next to the kaiju-like monstrosity was near comical. He stood up very nearly to the top of the crown bun, and the doctor had put his new height at two point fifty three inches- a little less than the length of Darcy's lithe thumb. As he stood there gathering a handful of bun, burger, cheese, and trimmings, she watched him. She wasn't going to dig in to her lunch until her friend was clear from any potential areas where he might grabbed and harmed by mistake.

It was then, like an unbidden and unannounced houseguest, that an idea creeped into Darcy's head. She imagined, just hypothetically, Andrew crawling between the buns of the burger, just above the cheese, just below the lettuce and pickles and onions. He would do so willingly, not making a peep, but instead resigning himself to his lot. She then, impossibly, imagined reaching down with both hands. 

Uh oh, she thought to herself.

Her nimble hands gripped the burger, tiny passenger still snug between condiments, not even complaining. She brought it up, her heart pounding, rising every inch in anticipation that was to come. Still he lay within, wriggling only slightly. Did he know what was going to happen to him, to his life?

Despite herself and the growing urgency to show self-restraint, the hamburger sandwich kept coming towards her face, a patty (all-American, she remembered) topped with cheese, lettuce, pickles and Juris Doctor. 

She had licked her lips, she guessed, because she was suddenly salivating, her mouth open wide. She could only imagine what it looked like to him, sitting there, about to become a meal for his best friend. She wanted to scream out, throw the burger down and save her friend's life.

But she was so hungry. And… excited?

Her lips felt the soft sponge dough of crown and heel when she heard a cry. It couldn't have been Andrew- she would have barely heard him, buried under all that food. But there it was again, clear as day. She felt her pearly whites sink deeply into bread, beef, trimmings. He was saying something…

"You can start now."

Darcy blinked. Once, twice. 

"What?" She could only gape, suddenly woken from her daydream. It took her a split second to realize what planet she was on, then another to remember and become very, very embarrassed. Andrew, she saw, was standing on the other side of the tray with his fistful of lunch, watching her with curious eyes.

He took a bite of greasy meat. “I said,” struggling through a full mouth, “that you can start now, I’m clear. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Well… yes. Just not…” she trailed off from what little retort she could muster. Before she made a bigger fool of herself, she practically swiped up the burger and took a huge bite of it, a small irrational part of her cursing for not checking between the buns for any tiny roommates.

What the heck was that, she wondered.

“Geez, it’s like you’ve never eaten,” he chuckled, dipping a bit of bun into his dap of fry sauce.

She ignored that quip; though that would normally have earned him a punch in the arm, she was a pretty concerned with the day dream that was, in her opinion, a little too vivid. She would never dream of eating Andrew, let alone anyone for that matter. Sure, she’d heard of it happening in the past when the whole diminished person thing came into being, but that was few and far between.

Still. She couldn’t, try as she might, deny that she had felt during her imaginings. She had felt something like anticipation, like butterflies in the stomach, like excitement, like… Something like a lust, munchies, whatever it might be called. It was that feeling one got whenever they knew something was waiting for them at home after delivery, like a package from a courier service, or a week out before you see a movie in theaters you just know you’re gonna love, or popcorn in the microwave…

She sulked, kicking herself for that last bit. Why, she wondered, taking another bite of burger, did it always have to go back to food?