"Where There's Smoke"

Emerald City, Present Day

Balconies had always enchanted him. Normally, his imagination called forth a scene between star-crossed lovers; the lady fair calling to her paramour from high up off the ground. Reality, it seemed, was much more mundane. Lately, Tin Man often found himself in a setting that involved a balcony, but he was always the one who stood pensively with his tin hands resting upon the brass safety rail as the Emerald City sprawled out before him. There was no lover awaiting him; indeed, his mind was as far from such things as it could possibly get. He had not the heart for romance, it turned out. Being made of metal, that was just as well.

His eyes scanned the darkening skyline as the first stars began to show themselves overhead, almost as he were searching for something. A balloon, perhaps. Or a cyclone. He would even settle for a bubble, because that always heralded Glinda's arrival. Surely, the Good Witch of the North would know how Dorothy was faring back in Kansas.

It had been a little over a year, as Oz measured time, and the anniversary of Dorothy's departure hit him much harder than even he thought it would. While he longed for her company more than ever, he found himself craving solitude from the others, and this high balcony was his refuge from the challenges and tedium of being co-ruler of Oz. Being in a position of authority had never been one of his ambitions. In fact, before Dorothy and the Scarecrow had befriended him and persuaded him to join them on their journey to see the Wizard of Oz, his one and only ambition had been chopping down trees. After all, what else was a metal man without a heart good for but tireless work?

He supposed he had merely been depressed all that time. Disheartened, rather than heartless. Even now, with the realization that the 'heart' he thought he lacked was with him all along, he was still prone to bouts of melancholy. Especially now, with his shared sadness over the loss of Dorothy once again fresh and raw.

So preoccupied was he that one could hardly blame him for not hearing the approaching footsteps of his other two friends.

"What're you doing out here all by yourself?"

Scarecrow hadn't spoken loudly, but Tin Man's hand clapped itself against his hollow chest with a clamorous 'bong' as he jumped before turning to face them, looking rather miffed.

Lion jittered back, startled mostly by the loud noise, and he gestured at Tin Man with a paw. "He jumped first."

Tin Man rolled his eyes and turned to face outward once more, but he allowed the other two males to join him on the balcony. "I guess I just wanted to be alone for a little while."

They didn't have to ask why. "We can go, if you'd rather keep it that way."

"No, that's all right. It's just...I miss Dorothy. I keep wondering if she made it home all right. If she's happy..." His voice cracked, but he managed to keep his composure. Perhaps he had finally purged himself of the worst of it.

"Glinda would have let us know," Scarecrow assured him.

"Well, I don't know..." Tin Man tapped his finger against the brass bar with a light 'tink-tink-tink-tink', a troubled frown marring his animated metal forehead. "She didn't tell Dorothy she could have gone home from the moment she arrived. What else doesn't she tell people?"

Lion twisted his tail in his paws; he didn't like that sound, and he didn't like the direction this conversation had taken. "Then she never woulda met us, and we'd still be stuck where we was before!"

"Yes, but after everything she went through," Tin Man noticed Lion's discomfort, and halted in his tapping, "wouldn't it have been kinder to tell her right away and let her go home?" Privately, he thought that it would have also spared the three of them this heartache, but actually wishing for that would have been tantamount to saying that he wished they'd never met her. Nothing could be further from the truth, and he felt guilty for thinking anything remotely like it.

Scarecrow thought this over for a few moments. "I wonder if it's truly 'kind' to prevent every single hardship when there's a lesson to be learned. Think about it. Would you really change anything?"

A soft breeze rustled Scarecrow's straw, and Lion abruptly turned his head and sniffed at a troubling new odor carried to him on the night air. The other two, possessing no functional noses, detected nothing.

Tin Man pondered the question, then sighed. "We all made it through in one piece, so...no. I guess I wouldn't change a thing."

"Fellas, I smell smoke!" Lion wrung his tail so hard that a warning pain lanced its way up his spine, and he let go of it to point at an orange glow in the distance. "Lookit that, lookit that!"

Scarecrow's stuffed legs began to wobble when he followed the direction of the Lion's paw and realized what he was looking at. "Why, it's a house fire!"

"What do we do, what do we do?" Lion looked frantically around, though for what he wasn't sure.

Scarecrow grabbed the Lion before he could begin to pace, and tapped Tin Man on the arm. "We send the city guards out with the fire hoses and hand pumps, um, buckets of water, anything to put it out, hurry!"

Tin Man took up his axe, which up until now had been leaning against the side of the building, and clanked off down the hall to get things moving. "I hope no one's hurt!"

Scarecrow peered through his binoculars at the chaos surrounding the blaze. The fire team was hard at work, and Tin Man, who couldn't get anywhere near the water for fear of rusting, stood well behind them and appeared to be giving orders. Lion was nowhere to be seen.

Wait, no, there he was. The big cat was soaking wet, and probably would have been as mad as a wet hen if he didn't look so scared. Frightened or not, he pitched in just as hard as the others, working one side of the large hand-pumped fire hose.

Scarecrow anxiously shook his head as Tin Man pointed at the East wall of the house, and Lion impatiently flung up one paw and made some kind of retort, perhaps saying that he was going as fast as he could. "I wish I could hear what was going on!"

At least the fire was going out now.

A still figure drew Scarecrow's attention, mostly because she was the only person who seemed to be doing absolutely nothing. Even the rubberneckers who had gathered were talking among themselves, or pointing, or pressing forward for a better look. Tin Man had his hands full keeping everybody a safe distance away, and so he didn't seem to notice the woman. As Tin Man turned aside to speak to an elderly gentleman, Scarecrow adjusted his binoculars and squinted.

Why was she just standing there?

Lion shook out his pelt and sat down on the ground to catch his breath as the crowd began to disperse. Tin Man spoke with the man of the house, who introduced himself as Alan Pryce.

"No, there was no one trapped inside. It's just me and my daughter; she's standing over there. We got out just in time." Alan blinked back tears, though whether they were from emotion or from the lingering smoke, Tin Man wasn't sure. "Everything we had was inside..."

Tin Man nodded sympathetically, patting Alan on the shoulder. He saw the man's daughter, but her back was to them, and he couldn't make out much more than a long red braid and a scorched green dress. "Things can be replaced, sir. People can't. Thank goodness you're both all right!"

Alan didn't look very comforted by this, but he nodded and ran his hand over his balding gray head. "I suppose we'll have to find an inn that's still open, though at this hour..."

"Oh, nonsense!" Tin Man said airily, waving a hand and pointing his axe at the Emerald City Palace. "We have plenty of spare rooms available for travelers, but they hardly ever get used. You and your daughter can stay there until you're back on your feet. In the meantime, I'll cut the lumber to rebuild your house, and you'll see, everything will turn out right."

Alan glanced at his daughter's rigid back (apprehensively, Tin Man thought) and shook his head. "It's a kind offer, but I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Instead of answering him, Alan avoided eye contact and folded his arms. "Thank you for your help. If you're sure it wouldn't be an imposition..."

"No, not at all! I'm sure you'll want to talk it over with her first," Tin Man saw Lion sitting on the glassy green street, and his metaphorical heart twisted in pity. The poor fellow had done all that work while Tin Man had just stood around and pointed his finger every now and then. They should really get back, maybe have a physician check Lion over to make sure he hadn't breathed in too much smoke. "We'll tell the Scarecrow to expect you at some point tonight."

Alan murmured his thanks and walked off, and Tin Man rejoined the Lion. "Are you all right?"

"I'm pooped," was Lion's succinct reply. As if to emphasize the point, he dramatically flopped over onto his back.

Tin Man had to laugh at that. "Come on, get up. You've earned a rest, but the middle of the street isn't the place to have it."

Kansas, Twilight

Hickory stuck the end of a piece of sweet timothy grass into the corner of his mouth as he and the other two farmhands packed it in for the day. Sweat trickled down his face, stained his underarms and back, and his knees and lower back made their usual complaints at the abuse this job inflicted on them day after day.

Someone jostled him from behind, and he nearly spit out his chew.

"C'mon, Hick! You ain't got a gray hair on your head, but you're movin' like an old man!" Hunk, the youngest farmhand, called over his shoulder as he went to wash his face and hands at the water pump.

"I don't know where you get the energy," Hickory swiped Hunk's hat and stuck it at a jaunty angle on the farm scarecrow.

"Hey!" Hunk retrieved his property, only to realize that he'd lost his spot at the pump. "Hey, that's not fair. You cheated!"

Hickory laughed as Hunk tried to muscle his way in, but he was the stronger of the two, and he got his friend and co-worker in a headlock. "Call me an old man, will you?"

"Not your armpit! Mr. Gale! Hickory's trying to kill me!" Hunk flailed his arms uselessly as Hickory ground his knuckles painlessly into the top of his head.

While the two of them were otherwise occupied, Zeke, the oldest of the three farmhands, calmly hung his hat on the fence and began to wash his face and hands. It was only the sound of running water slapping noisily on the dusty earth that brought the other two out of their playful argument, and he was already straightening up by then. "You two're really feelin' your oats today."

The evening ritual resumed with more decorum than before (though Hunk delivered a stealthy kick to Hickory's rear end at one point), and the three of them waved goodnight to Dorothy as they headed for the barn to stow the last of the tools they'd used that day.

"Who's up for a game of darts?" asked Hunk. This was their thing to do after a hard day's work. Henry Gale had allowed them to hang a dart board on one of the walls in the hay barn, and the 'Bull's Eye' was a newspaper clipping of Almira Gulch's face. At least, it used to be; Hunk did a double-take and pointed. "And who took down Miss Gulch's picture?"

"I did," Hickory pried open an old rusty molasses tin, which was where they stored the darts. "Zeke, you playing?"

"Nah," Zeke was already on his way out the door. "If I'm late again, Martha's gonna have my hide for a throw rug."

Chuckles followed in Zeke's wake, and Hunk nudged Hickory. "He's even more henpecked than Old Chester."

Old Chester was the farm's skinny rooster, and he was missing more than a few tail feathers, courtesy of his many wives.

Hickory threw the three darts in rapid succession, snorted, and retrieved them. "That was a lousy set..."

"Sure it was, you didn't even aim," Hunk took the darts from him and squinted one eye, sighting along the length of the dart before throwing it. "And I'm used to aiming for the old biddy's nose. Why'd you take her picture down?"

Hickory folded his arms and leaned against the hay ladder. "The woman's dead. Let her rest in peace."

Hunk had the good manners to look ashamed as he threw his second dart. A little closer that time. "I guess you're right. Speaking of women, Zeke and Martha got me thinkin'."

"'Bout what?"

"When're you gonna settle down with a nice gal? That hair of yours won't stay black forever." He threw his third dart, getting very close that time, but still missing the Bull's Eye. He pretended not to notice how Hickory's expression had darkened. "First it was Maisie. I thought she was perfect for ya, but you said she was too critical."

Hickory's lips tightened as Hunk passed him the darts, and he took his place in front of the board. "She didn't see the point of inventing things," he mumbled, throwing his first dart. "I mean, she was nice enough," he threw his second dart, "but we didn't have nothin' in common."

"How's that?"

Hickory threw his third dart, missing the board entirely. "I showed her my wind machine, and before I could tell her what it was, she asked me what that 'piece of junk' was. That's when I knew."

Hunk got the darts and switched places with Hickory. "What was wrong with Helen?"

Hickory sighed. "Trying to get over some other fella. Spent the whole night talking about him. How's that supposed to make a guy feel? There was nothin' wrong with her, she was nice, but...well, she just wasn't for me. And don't even mention Louise. I can't be with someone I don't trust."

Hunk winced sympathetically. Hickory had been head over heels for Louise about two years ago, until he caught her kissing another man. Since then, Hickory seemed to be avoiding women altogether. Hunk could understand why Hickory might be reluctant to try again after being hurt so badly, but it didn't take a genius to see that Hickory was lonely. "Lookit, Hickory, if you don't get out there and meet people, you're gonna end up alone. What're you afraid of?" He threw his third dart, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hickory stride forward to collect them almost before it hit.

Hickory threw two darts in rapid succession, each one landing on either side of the board. He was ready to be done with this conversation, but he answered his friend anyway. "Ending up alone anyway. And don't you go spreading that around, neither." He threw his last dart, hitting very close to the Bull's Eye, then put a hand to the back of his neck and rocked his head from side to side. "I think I'm gonna head home. My neck and shoulders are killin' me."

"All right. Guess I'll go home, too. No fun playing by myself."

"Night, Hunk. I mean it, not one word."

"Go home, Old Timer."