Late afternoon on a Tuesday, a young woman pushed her way through the crowd and off the platform of North station. She looked up at the vaulted ceiling and hefted a worn out back pack higher on her shoulder. She followed the shuffling, murmuring well dressed businessmen and trendy college students out onto the sidewalk. The gray sky loomed with the threat of snow, taxi's and buses stuttered past spewing exhaust, horns blared and cell phones sounded off and Topper smiled. She was finally home.

She looked up and down the street. Her eyes fell on a figure half a block down. He was well dressed, wrapped in a brown overcoat leaning against the wall. Casually, he checked his watch, looked down the street at her and tapped the face with his finger. She weaved her way toward him, ignoring the implication that she was late. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms as she said, "No car?"

The man pushed himself off the wall and put a long arm over her shoulder. "Not with gas prices this high, kid," He pulled her away from the wall, steering her toward the subway entrance across the street. She put up only nominal resistance, so happy to be home even harry couldn't spoil it. Still, a car would have been nice.

They stepped off the curb into traffic, crossed swiftly, ignoring the cars as if they where the alone on the street.

Down on the platform, Topper looked around at the faces passing them.

"So," she started, "No one else came down?"

Harry shifted his stance and unwrapped his arm from her shoulder, busying himself with his coat buttons.

"Well, kid," he coughed, "You know how it is. Meetings and business and all." Harry knew he was not the first person Topper wanted to see. He cast a short glance sideways to see how she'd react. Her eyes stayed fixed down the tunnel in anticipation of the train.

"Actually," he said, dropping the facade and lowering his voice so she had to turn to hear him, "Most everyone's down in DC. They needed reinforcements of the 'highly organized' variety. He'd be here if he could, sugar, you know that."

Topper could tell by the tone in his voice he was being sincere. Her head turned back to the oncoming train, a look of concern knitting her brow. Life hadn't slowed in her absence.

"Don't worry, kid," Harry went on, "Jack's the best, he'll be back by dinner."

The train pulled up and they rode in silence to Harvard square. Topper watched every detail pass in grateful recognition. She noted the changes and reveled in the familiarities. She beat Harry to the turn-styles and bounded up the steps two at a time. Harry watched, half amused, half amazed she could still have all the energy of youth as he dragged himself up the steps to the square.

On the street, Topper had already bought a coffee and started the last bit of walk to the Liberty. Unconcerned that Harry was now a half a block behind, she quickened her steps the closer she got to home. And then it was there. A tall narrow building squeezed in between the other tall narrow buildings. Raising her eyes up to identify her bedroom window, she spotted a small red rimmed banner with a blue star in the center. She frowned.

"He shouldn't do that," she said to Harry as he came up behind her. "I didn't serve."

"Where you in Iraq?" He asked as he brushed past her and started across the street.

"I was embedded, Harry, it isn't the same thing," she followed.

"Don't tell Jack that," he pushed open the door and started climbing. "'She's gettin' shot at like a soldier," he imitated Jack's gravelly voice, "she gets honored like a soldier.' And that was the end of that."

Topper was genuinely surprised, and touched.

The evening passed with remarkable speed. Harry reacquainted her with Jack's spacious top floor apartment. Not much had changed. A few new artifacts, new couch, new lights. Jack didn't change anything in her room. Not even her clothes. Stacks of spiral notebooks filled every open space, every shelf. The appeared undisturbed. She picked one up off the dresser as she dropped he bag on the bed. No dust. Well, she thought, if anybody snooped, they where brilliant about it. And clean. With slight hesitance, she thumbed through the first few scribbled pages. What she read made her shutter. With effort, she dropped the notes of her life back onto the stack. With considerably less effort, she stripped off her travel clothes, strode through the empty apartment and spent the rest of the night in the hot tub with a few pints of Ben and Jerry's. She scrubbed her skin, washed her hair and scrubbed again. After staying in the water until her skin wrinkled like a bull dog puppy, she wrapped herself in the biggest, softest blanket she could find and put a very loud movie on the big screen. Before settling onto the couch, she opened all the windows so she could feel the cold. And with a sigh, and a beer, she waited for sleep.

When Topper woke, she was in her bed. The windows were cracked, but the shades were pulled and the sound of traffic drifted in from below. On the table next to the bed was a cupcake with an unlit sparkler stuck in it. Next to the plate, a zippo. Topper smiled.

"Happy birthday to me?" shew asked, following the sound of clanking into the kitchen.

"Figure I'd missed a few," said the man over the stove.

Topper smiled at his back and started licking the frosting off the cupcake. She leaned against the doorway and watched him bob around the undersized kitchen.

Everything was short, to match Jack's reduced stature. This morning he had donned a "kiss the cook" apron, which looked ridiculously small tied around his barrel chest.

"Sit," he said, waving a spatula at her, but not turning around, "I made eggs, and bacon. And toast. And some sausage."

"For the two of us?" she asked lighting the sparkler and waving it around as she wandered to the table. She set the zippo on the counter next to him. Quickly, and still without looking at her, he covered her hand with his wide stubby one, he lowered her hand down onto the lighter.

"Keep it," he said. "As a welcome home gift." He gave her hand a small squeeze and went back to the eggs.

Topper blinked at him, picked up the lighter and examined it. She recognized it as one Jack had lit his pipes with for years. It had an old inscription from his years in the service. Under the old inscription with fresh lettering, her name, her dates. She closed her fingers around it tightly.

"Thanks Jack," she said, and kissed him on the top of his bald head, the grabbed a caereal bowl from the cabinet.

As if some unspoken fog had cleared from the space between them, Jackl turned and looked at her. He frowned, grunted and put a plate of bacon on the table in front of her.

"They didn't feed you enough," he said.

"I don't eat much."

He grunted again, "Since when?"

"Since I started eating army food."

Jack laughed.

Topper smiled and helped herself to bacon.

Two helpings and four cups of coffee later a knock came on the door.

"You get that?" Jack asked from the sink where he had started washing dishes.

"Sure," Topper finished off her latest mug and bound to the door.

The door opened to a mountain in blue jeans and a baseball cap.

"Topper!" the mountain stepped through the door, scooped her up and threw her into the air as though she weighed nothing.

"George!" she screamed, coming down with her arms around his neck in a ferocious squeeze.

He bear hugged her all the way back to the table where he dropped her back into her chair.

"I hope you don;t mind, I invited some people," Jack smiled as he pulled out more plates.

Harry had followed George in, followed by a large, though not mountainous, man in slick black denim pants and a red leather racing jacket with the number 23 blazoned on the sleeves.

Topper gasped and lept from the table. She jumped into his embrace and pressed her face into his shoulder. He returned the affection, not as vehemently as George, but with no less sincerity, holding her gently, as if he was afraid he'd break her if he squeezed too hard.

"I didn't get that kind of reception," Harry sipped his coffee in mock hurt as he pulled out a newspaper and a laptop.

"We were in public," Topper retorted, sliding out of Twenty Three's embrace and leading him to the table.

"Never bothered you before," he sniffed into his mug.

She kissed him on the cheek on her way back to her seat, "Better?"

"Thank you, I feel less ignored," he folded the paper in half and frowned at an article. He started typing furiously.

George and Twenty Three had set into the now rapidly diminishing piles of food. Jack poured another coffee and took his seat at the head of the table.
He surveyed his team and with his eyes settling on Harry, he said, "Alright, Chase, what's the damage?"

Harry shook his head and continued to type, "We'll have to go back down."

Topper choked on her drink. Everyone looked at her. "Sorry," she gurgled, "You're leaving again?"

All eyes turned to Jack. He looked a little uncomfortable.

"Its ok, Jack," she said, "I know, nothing stops for long."

He looked a little bit relieved. "Yeah then, Harry and Twenty Three, clean up duty in DC.

"Can I go?" Topper asked.

All eyes swung back to her. Now Jack looked really uncomfortable.

"Ach," he cleared his throat. The eyes turned back to him. He looked at his girl intently. He knew that was coming. "No," he said flatly.

The eyes swung again.

Topper leveled her gaze and said, "Ok."

The eyes where shocked.

So was Jack.

He straitened a bit at the easy win. Nodding he said, "Ok then." he checked for any residual protest. Topper watched him over her coffee cup. Slowly, attention returned to Jack.

"George and I are going out of town," he continued.

"We are?" George mumbled through his eggs. "Where we goin'?"

"I'll tell ya when we get there."

"Can I come with?" Topper asked, knowing she was crossing a line.

Jack looked at her, knowing she was pushing on purpose. "You'll mind the shop for me this week.

She sighed into her coffee, clearly disappointed. "Sure thing Jack," she said without complaint.

Harry and George looked at each other across the table.

Jack continued talking general business with Harry while everyone ate. There was some chat about what Topper had missed, would the Red Sox take the pennant and did she meet anyone "special" overseas. Topper rolled her eyes.

"Everyone I meat is a little special," she said, taking her plate to the sink. "Just like here."

Jack and Harry settled on a plan of attack for his absence, the Jack started on the dishes. Harry pulled a cell phone out and retreated to the den.

Topper took a few pans and set them in the sink.

"You know," she said quietly a she grabbed a towel and started to dry, "I'm not a kid any more, Jack. I can handle whatever. I can help."

"Everyone's a kid to Jack," Harry said as he passed to the fridge to grab a coke.

"Shut it, Harry," Jack growled. He looked at topper. "You've been gone a while. Why don't you just stay put? Relax. You need time to unwind."

"But Jack," she started he argument. Harry could hear the twinge in her voice. He sat at the table to watch the exchange. "I've been down for a few weeks." she followed him to the table. "Kuwait, Germany a few days, NC...

"But you just got HOME," he said, turning to look up at her. She met his stare, trying top rekindle her argument. Harry waited for the fireworks, for the indignant yelling, the adolescent begging. But they didn't come. Topper stared at Jack, who didn't budge, and then she sat down to finish her coffee. Jack went back to the sink.

Surprised, Harry put down his coke. He leaned across the table.

"Let him be the father, will you kid?" he said with a low voice and a grin. "He'll be much less insufferable if he knows you're safe," he looked over his shoulder at Jack, "at least for a week."

Topper sighed, looked back at Jack and went to join George and Twenty Three in the tv room.

"You know She's right," Harry said after she was gone, "she hasn't been kid for a long time." There was an awkward pause. "And its not like she's never been shot at before."

Jack sighed. He dropped the dish rag in the sink and walked out of the room.