Joan had no idea of where she was going when she left Oxford. The bank manager was able to give her good references and she was getting along well enough at her new job in London, but she was lonely. She missed her family. She missed seeing them every day. She missed her friends.

And she had only been here for three weeks.

She was a little surprised she had been able to hold out for that long. To be honest, it had been the three loneliest weeks of her life. She had picked up the phone numerous times, but every time her courage would rally and she would say to herself, "Not yet. I don't need to make that phone call yet."

But hold out any longer, she could not. Her shaking finger pulled the rotary around. She watched as it reset itself, mesmerized by the simple action, before pulling it around for the next number. Then she listened as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

Joan took in a shaky breath. She breathed out, then said, "Morse?"

"Joan?" He sounded relieved. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she told him, though she certainly felt better now that she'd heard him. "You called me by my first name." She almost wanted to giggle. She'd been trying to get him to do that for years.

"Slip of the tongue, I suppose," he said.

"It's fine. I prefer it, actually." She paused. "I'm sorry I called so late," she apologized, realizing for the first time that she had decided to make this call after midnight.

"Don't be," he said.

"I just... Well, I needed a friendly voice."

"Where are you?" he asked, then after a pause he continued quickly. "I won't tell, I promise. I just…"

"I know you won't tell, Morse," she interrupted him. "I also know I can trust you. And to be honest, you're really the only one I can talk to just now. After the bank…" She stopped, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.

"I know," he said. The whole bank affair had been tearing at both of their souls for the last three weeks.

"I got a job in London. Managed to find a place that rents to professional women only. We're a house full of secretaries for the most part. It's a bit different than living with Mum and Dad." She trailed off for a moment. Leaving her parents had been hard, but it had to be done.

"Making friends?" Morse asked.

"Somewhat," Joan said. Morse could tell from her tone that making friends was where she was having the most trouble, and he thought he knew why, too. Going through trauma like that made people wary. Morse was wary to begin with, working in the police. Joan was new to that and in a city like London, she would be having an even harder time.

"It will come, Joan."

"How are Mum and Dad?" she asked suddenly.

"They're coping," Morse said. "It took a bit of convincing to keep your father from trying to track you down in the first place, but he understands why you left."

"He thinks you helped me, doesn't he?"

"He did at first, particularly as I was outside the house just as they found your note." Joan began to shake her head. Of course Morse had gone straight back to the house after speaking with her that day. He never did understand the idea of laying low. He probably didn't even think twice about going there after he tried to stop her.

"Morse?" Joan asked, then stopped, unsure how to continue.

"Joan?" he questioned.

"Thank you. For everything. For being you. For picking up the phone. For… Well… Everything."

"Always," he replied, sounding sincere.

"I should let you get back to sleep," she said, "But Morse?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for looking out for Mum and Dad for me."

"Of course. Joan."

"Good night, Morse."

"Good night, Joan."