Once he was entirely sure Cynthia wouldn't try to make a grab for it, Tracy set the liquor back down on the table it had come from, settling into the couch beside her. In the back of his mind, he'd imagined this conversation at least a dozen times over the past couple of weeks. What he'd do, what he'd<span style="font-style: italic">say,</span>but now he was drawing blanks. There was so much to ask and yet he couldn't think of one question.<br/><br/>"I guess I want to know why," he said after a long minute, crossing his arms loosely over his middle and sinking back into the cushions. "Why? What is so bad about your family that you hide them from me until they die? I don't even know your parents' names, Cynthia. You've never talked about them, and<span style="font-style: italic">actively</span>avoid me when I ask."<br/><br/>Tracy wasn't going to pretend that he'd had the best home life. Being the youngest of three brothers was rough. Having a creepy uncle was rougher. He wasn't<span style="font-style: italic">proud</span>of his family by any means and he refused to talk about a lot of his experiences, but he didn't just try to write them off the face of the planet. In all the time he'd known Cynthia, which was a considerable amount of time, she'd never even in passing mention her family. It was like she was running from the fact that she had one at all, and Tracy for the life of him could not understand why.<br/><br/>"We're a<span style="font-style: italic">team,</span>" he assured the both of them, rolling his head over to look at her. "I'm supposed to be the guy you can tell things to. And you're kind of a cool person. I'd like to get to know you."