Brennan squeezed herself into the last available seat on the crowded streetcar and tucked her handbag in her lap, along with the thick red folder that she'd carried out of General Cullen's office. Recent bulletins in the evening news programs over the wireless had been rife with stories of pickpockets and petty theft on Washington DC's crowded buses and trams and although she'd never seen even a hint of such activity, she was cautious nonetheless. She sighed and closed her eyes, and leaned back to rest her head against the window behind her, only to bump against the wide brim of the hat worn by the woman sitting next to her. She murmured an apology and sat up straight, then was jostled into a gentle sway as the streetcar jolted forward.

Two stops later, past the Department of Agriculture and the Bureau of Engraving, and the small public conveyance was filled to capacity, every seat taken and the aisles full of chattering government workers hanging onto straps and metal poles, all headed home after the long workday.

Brennan closed her eyes and tried to close her ears to the cacophony as a stream of foul-smelling cigar smoke blew in her direction. She needed a cup of hot tea and a headache powder, if one could be found in the women's boarding house where she'd been living since coming to DC. If she were lucky and no one had reserved the tiny bathroom on her floor, she might even get the luxury of a long, hot bath. If nothing else, she'd settle for the tea.

The afternoon had been interminably long. Her return to the typing pool after the meeting with General Cullen had been met with an explosion of questions, none of which she could answer. She didn't know why she had been plucked from relative obscurity to organize a bond drive with an injured pilot she'd never heard of. She had no idea which cities the tour would reach, or how long it would last. She certainly didn't know if any movie stars would be appearing on the tour, as well. All she knew was that she was to report to the Treasury department the next day, for what she hoped would be a set of thorough, detailed instructions.

Mrs. Bridges seemed to take Brennan's escape from the typing pool as a personal affront, and spent the remaining hours of her dominion over the younger woman muttering about what fate lay in store for girls who 'got above themselves' and threatening dire consequences for 'putting on airs.' By the time she was allowed to pack up the few personal belongings she kept in her desk, Brennan thought she just might owe this unknown pilot a kiss of gratitude for getting her out from under the old lady's thumb.

The streetcar was no less crowded when a tinkling bell signaled the stop that Brennan used. She squeezed through, clutching both the red folder and her purse close to her body, until she stepped onto the sidewalk to began the three-block trek to the boarding house. She hesitated briefly, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh spring air and the evening sky settling into dusk above her head. Despite the lingering headache and the uncertainty of her new assignment, a sense of freedom . . . of anticipation . . . surged through her. The meticulously-planned path she'd laid out for her life, rudely derailed and disrupted by the war and the closing of her degree program, now branched ahead into new and uncharted territory. Never one to enjoy the unpredictable, she found herself now strangely eager to meet the unexpected, to peer around the corner solely for the joy of discovery.

She headed home with a new lightness to her step.

The front door of the three-story, red brick townhouse was unlocked, a fact which her already-burdened hands appreciated and which gave her cause to hope that she might be able to escape upstairs to her room unnoticed by the group she could hear gossiping in the lady's parlour to the left of the door. Alas, it was not to be.

"Dr. Brennan!" The perky voice was as bouncy as the dun-colored ponytail swishing on the back of her head as a young woman bounded out into the foyer. "Oh my gosh! There you are!"

Brennan kicked the door closed with the toe of one shoe, unable to prevent the smile that curved her lips at the enthusiastic greeting. "Yes, Daisy, here I am. You know, you may call me Temperance. There's no need to stand on formality here."

Daisy's eyes grew round. "Oh, no. I couldn't do that. I like calling you Dr. Brennan. I've never known a lady doctor before. You're an inspiration!"

Brennan shrugged and, ignoring the anticipation in the quickly shushed voices in the parlour, turned toward the staircase that lead to the upper floors. "As you wish. Well, if you'll excuse me . . ."

The subtle hint went unnoticed; Daisy stuck to her heels, chattering all the way up.

"Is it true what they're saying?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," Brennan said dryly, as they reached the next floor. Her room was behind the second door on the right, the farthest from the noise of the stairs but closest to the communal bathroom located at the end of the hall. When she opened her door, Daisy followed her inside.

"Oh my gosh," she giggled, hiding behind the hand covering her mouth. "You sound so smart, like a teacher. Or a college professor!"

Brennan sighed as she put the over-stuffed red folder on her bed, and set her purse on top of it. The headache was creeping back across her temples and entertaining a young puppy with a case of hero-worship wouldn't help. "Daisy, was there something you wanted?"

The girl was clueless. She glanced around the conspicuously well-kept room, furnished with a neatly-made bed and a dust-free dresser and mirrored wardrobe, with a hand-painted privacy screen in the corner with a robe thrown across one end, and against the wall, one final piece of furniture that Brennan had purchased herself: a sturdy desk and chair, with a small black typewriter sitting squarely in the middle.

"I don't know how you keep everything so neat and tidy! I can't stop scattering my stockings everywhere!"

"It's merely habit," Brennan answered curtly. Deciding that only plain-speaking would get her the privacy she wanted, she walked over to the still open door and gestured through it. "I've had a long day and I would like to be alone now. Could we talk later?"

Daisy stayed where she was and began to babble at a frenetic pace. "Oh, but Dr. Brennan, my friend Cheryl, you've met her, she came for dinner once. She works in the filing room at the Treasury Department. She doesn't get to see money being printed, though. Did you know that's a completely separate department? You would think that since treasury means money it would all be in the same place but go figure! Anyway, Cheryl's friend Barbara Jean, her fella is in the Army, only he works at headquarters because he was hit by shrapnel in Italy and now he has a bum knee. I don't know his name but he told Barbara Jean that General Cullen - can you imagine it! - General Cullen met with this lady doctor and put her in charge of a whole trip across the country selling war bonds with Captain Booth, and he's a real hero and everything! Barbara Jean told Cheryl and Cheryl told me and, well, I knew that it had to be you that they were talking about because you're probably the only lady doctor in the whole country. So is it?"

It took Brennan a full thirty seconds to process the flood of words enough that she could make a reasonable response. "Yes, that was me. I mean to say that, yes, I have been re-assigned. But I can assure you that I am far from being the only woman in the country with a doctorate," she added, "not to mention the many women serving as medical doctors. Although I will admit that those numbers are woefully inadequate. Women are more than capable of - -"

A peremptory knock on the door cut her off just as Brennan realized that she was babbling as much as Daisy had been. Caroline Julian, the owner of the boarding house which she, Daisy and six other women called home, stood in the doorway.

Like Mrs. Bridges' control of the typing pool, Mrs. Julian ran her boarding house with an iron will and little room for argument. Unlike Mrs. Bridges, however, Mrs. Julian's instructions were never mean-spirited or created out of ill-will. Curt and abrupt and even acerbic at times, she was a stern maternal presence to the young women she housed, but was also quick to offer a listening ear or a handkerchief to wipe away tears, or a word of advice - whether asked for or not.

Just now, she looked at Brennan with a disapproving eyebrow raised high. "You have a gentleman caller, Dr. Brennan."

The words shocked both Brennan and Daisy.

"I do?"
"She does?"

Other than a scowling frown that plainly told Daisy to be silent, Caroline ignored her. "A sailor," she told Brennan, with a look that made it obvious she did not approve of sailors.

Brennan frowned, unable to think of a single male acquaintance who fit the description of her mysterious guest. "Are you certain that he wants to see me?"

Caroline's full bosom swelled even more with outrage. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with my hearing. I've put him in the visitor's lounge. You can meet with him there."

There was obviously no question of bringing a man up to her room. Brennan nodded and shuffled Daisy ahead of her as she followed Caroline out. "Yes, Mrs. Julian. Thank you."

"And mind you keep that door open, too," Caroline called after her as Brennan stepped quickly down the stairs. "I won't have behavior of a loose moral character in my house!"

"Of course, Mrs. Julian."

The visitor's lounge was on the main floor, directly across from the lady's parlour, and shared one wall with the stairs that led to the second and third levels. The door stood half-open but even standing in front of it, Brennan was unable to see her mystery guest until she pushed it open fully. When the dark-haired young man turned to face her, she gasped in surprise.

"Sully! What are you doing here?" Her gaze slid down the length of him, from the newly-shorn hair, dented at the crown from the hat he now twisted in his hand, to the sparkling white uniform that was so new, she could still see faint traces of the creases made while it had been folded and stored on a shelf. "And what have you done!"

He gave her a smile, as boyish and handsome as ever, his teeth white against the teak-brown tan of his skin. "I joined up, Tempe. I'm going to do my bit. How's about a hug for an old friend?"

She went willingly into his arms and when they wrapped her up tight against him, was swamped with memories. They'd met when she moved to the tiny community of Marco Island, Florida, for an anthropology internship in the Everglades in the mid '30s, just after the end of Prohibition. He skippered a fishing trawler, and owned a fleet of two more to boot. Friendship became a passion-fueled romance, that Brennan had ended when she realized his dreams of their life together differed from her own. Now, with his lips on hers, his kiss familiar and warm, held in his arms again after so many years apart, her affection for him made her fear for him stronger.

"You foolish, foolish man. You were doing your bit! You're a fisherman! The country needs food suppliers, especially with rationing and so much fresh meat being used to feed the troops."

He leaned back, his soft brown eyes in their web of sun-worn creases traveling over her face as gently as a caress. "The boats are still going out. The old men who can't fight, or the ones too young to join yet, they can handle it."

Brennan touched his cheek, aware of the heat from his hands against her back, through the silky rayon dress. The casual slide of his fingers raised goosebumps on her arms. "You never mentioned your desire to enlist, not in any of your letters."

Sully shrugged. They both knew there was much more that had gone unmentioned in what had become a regular exchange of correspondence over the years since their breakup. "I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?"

"It certainly did." She took his hand and led him to a sofa just out of view of the open door. "When do you ship out?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" The single word took the air out of her lungs. "But, Sully . . ."

"I got a 24-hour pass, I just didn't realize it would take most of that time to get here. The buses were all full . . . Never mind." He still held her hand, and turned his body so that their knees brushed. "I'm shipping out of Norfolk, on the USS Essex. You should see her, Tempe. She's beautiful. New, as of last year. We're headed to the Pacific."

"Oh, Sully." Brennan did not share his excitement. With her father too old to serve and her brother determined to stay with his wife and handicapped daughter, the war had not yet touched her on a personal level. Now, despite the years that had passed since the end of their fledgling love affair, it felt very personal.

Sully seemed determined to keep this brief interlude on a light note. "Come on, doll. How's about you let me buy you dinner. Gotta be a place around her we can eat, right?"

With her heart heavy, Brennan nonetheless smiled. "Of course. Give me a minute to freshen up and I'll be right down."

Curious faces poked out of the parlour but no one called out as Brennan quickly skipped upstairs. When she came back down, however, Caroline was waiting with Sully in the foyer.

"I'm going out for dinner, Mrs. Julian."

"Hrrumph." Caroline gave Sully a scathing once over, then turned to Brennan. "These doors are locked promptly at 10:00 pm. You just keep that in mind."

"Yes, Mrs. Julian."

Sully managed to wait until they were a few feet from the house and definitely out of earshot before he wrapped an arm around Brennan's waist and laughed. "Whoa. Roosevelt should think about sending her over to tell the Jerry's what's what. I know I'm quaking in my boots!"

"She has a house full of young, single women to protect in a city filled with soldiers," Brennan said loyally. "I find her presence comforting."

"Well, I'm glad to know you're in good hands." Sully squeezed her in close to his side and held her there. "Now, which way to the grub?"

.

.

The daily special in the small diner was meatloaf. Brennan only picked at her meal but watched as Sully plowed his way through two helpings of everything, served by a helpful waitress who shared the news that her son, too, was in the Navy. Over coffee, Sully apologized for his appetite.

"Feels like I haven't eaten since this morning . . . probably because I haven't," he laughed. "The bus stops didn't have food and I didn't think to bring my own."

"Where are you staying tonight?"

His eyes twinkled at her, teasing. "The bus depots let us sleep there while we're waiting for the next transport. Why, are you offering?"

Brennan laughed, feeling her cheeks grow pink. Memories lay between them, of hot, sultry nights serenaded by the sounds of the swamp, or lulled by the sway of a boat drifting in the water. "Should I re-introduce you to Mrs. Julian? If I took you back to my room, I might have to stow away on your ship afterward."

Sully reached for her hand, his face growing serious. "That's okay. Come with me."

This moment, too, felt familiar. Brennan tugged at her hand, only to find it held firm. "Sully . . ."

"I'm not asking you to wait for me, Tempe. That wouldn't be fair, me showing up like this out of the blue. But I promise that I'll come back, and when I do, then we can talk."

She got her hand free then, and dropped them both to her lap. "We've already talked, Sully. Years ago. Nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed!" he insisted. "And with the war, well, now you've got all the time you need to get all that other stuff out of your system. All that education and . . . whatever. When I get back, when the war's over, we can talk about the future. Our future. One where you marry me and we have a couple of kids and . . ."

"No." It was the crux of their disagreement all those years ago, that the future he envisioned was not a life she wanted to live. Forcing her to make the decision again, especially now, with death an ever-present cloud and Sully preparing to sail right into it, angered her. "I'm not going to marry you, Sully. I don't want to marry anyone."

He brushed aside her words as he had before. "Of course you do. Every woman wants a husband and a couple of kids. I'll go help save the world and you go ahead and do this school thing and you know, when we have kids you can take them out and dig up bones with them. It will be fun."

Brennan was almost grateful for his cavalier dismissal of her hopes and dreams. It made it easier to push aside the memories of the passion and love they'd shared. It made it easier to walk away, again, from his version of her future. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to say what she must.

"Sully, I'm glad you came to see me and I hope that you'll write as often as you're able. I'll worry about you and I want to know that you're safe. But . . ." She met his gaze dry-eyed and hardened her heart against the hurt she saw there. "Don't come back for me. I don't love you, not like that. Not anymore. I'm sorry."

She left him sitting in the diner and walked back to the boarding house on her own, managing somehow to hold back the tears until she was alone, finally, in her room.

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I apologize to any of you WW2 experts who know that the USS Essex' home port is in Rhode Island. Work with me, people. It's fanfiction.