He was here for business, Laurie reminded himself as he made his way to the threshold of the March house. It was dusk now, and fast growing dim outside, but his feet still remembered the number of steps, the dips and the falls of a path that that had changed little over the past two years. Everything was the same, except for a curious bareness on a porch that had often bloomed with flowers, year-round. That, he thought with a sudden chill, spoke more for Beth's death than anything else. He inhaled sharply, wishing for a cigarette; then remembered Amy's disapproving look when last he'd smoked, and smiled despite himself.

"Bless the girl, what a torment she is," he said softly, remembering saying that about her sister, several months ago. Then, he lifted his hand to knock, biting his lip, stomach knotting despite himself. He'd never been good at this, except with Jo. And if he found her changed---

You're here to see her, to comfort her, Laurie thought sternly. Then, business, off to the duty of being himself, without the influence of his grandfather, of Amy, of Jo, of any of the Marches, for that matter--

Then why, some other part of his consciousness redemonstrated, was he standing in front of the March family home, hat pushed low over his forehead, grandfather dumped unceremoniously at their home without so much as changing his clothes? He was almost relieved when he was spared the work of answering the question, as the door opened.

It took Laurie almost a minute to recognize the figure in the doorway, it was so unexpected. He'd pictured what he would say to Jo, to Meg, to Mrs. March, to Mr. March, even, over and over, on the ship and on the way here—but the stooped, white-hooded little figure in the doorway made him start, then break out into the smile he hadn't shown to anyone for as long as he could remember.

"Hannah?" he said, extending his arms; and his voice cracked once, so boyishly that he began to laugh at himself before the poor woman could even answer. She'd obviously been doing the washing-up, since her hands were covered with soap, and she was frantically wiping them on her apron. "Don't say you don't remember me now, it hasn't been that long—"

"Why, it's Mist'---" the old servant began, but she was soon cut off, swept into a hearty, if rather inappropriate embrace by her former neighbor. "Mist' Laurie!" she scolded, but it was no use; her blows to the broad shoulders of the man in front of her were as ineffectual as a gnat's, and they were both laughing by the time he let her go.

"Saints above, you've not changed a whit," Hannah cried, pulling her cap off her head and backing up, extending a soap-covered hand as if to ward off future attacks. She wrung the poor little cap until it was nearly unrecognizable. "If I known it was you, I'd have brought the wooden spoon—"

"I'm far too big to feel your blows now, Hannah, so I come unafraid," he cried, flashing his teeth in his old endearing manner. It was true; despite weight he'd lost on the voyage, Laurie was still as much a 'young giant,' as he was when Aunt March had christened him so, years ago at Meg's wedding. "Where is everyone?" he added, dark eyes surveying the entryway.

"Wipe yo' feet," Hannah ordered, pointing to the mat with her ruined cap, as much in her element than ever. Touching reunions were only meant to be had after any danger to her rugs had been averted, and that was how the good Lord intended it, and that was all. "An' let me take your coat, young Laurence, there—"

"It's good to hear you say those words again," Laurie said, smiling slightly now as he surrendered his things. "And where is everyone, Hannah?"

Her face darkened momentarily. "The church, dearie. Leaving flowers for Beth."

Beth. His face sobered as well, and he looked away, only to be brought back when Hannah touched his arm, gently. "Have a sit in your old place," she said, quietly. "It's just as you left it, and they'll be back soon. Tea?"

He shook his head, then bent and kissed the grey head that barely reached his shoulder, an impulsive little gesture that served to hide some sudden moisture in his eyes, more than anything else. She patted him on the back, made her way down the hall with that queer shuffling gait of the aged; and Laurie was left to his own devices.

He hesitated on the stairs before making his way to the old garret; the house had changed since he'd been there last, and not just physically. I'm not part of this any more, he thought with a sudden pang; but he overcame the feeling when his feet started moving, and he was upstairs in what seemed like an instant, remembering to duck before making his way through the low doorway. The air in the room was musty, and smelled vaguely of dried flowers and ink. The little old horsehair pillow was in its old place, he saw—and his mouth curved up slightly as his eyes fell on a figure beside it, head bent low to the arm of the chair as if exhausted.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he tilted his dark head and spoke.

"It's lying flat, Jo; don't mean to tell me you're keeping me from my old place, dear."

The small head snapped up, and Laruie's mouth went dry as he met the eyes he hadn't looked into for over a year. He hadn't time to reflect on it though—why she was here and the others weren't, or why he'd known instinctively that it was she, because Jo leaped up, threw her arms around his neck, held him tightly, and with a sob—

"Blessed boy—what—where--- how----"

"Jo, dearest," he said softly; and to his surprise, his voice was husky. "Yes, I'm here now."

XXXXXxxxXXXXX

Laurie, with a pang of guilt he hadn't felt since he'd been abroad, knew he would receive a stern talking-to from his grandfather when he returned home for the night, and he knew it would be with good reason, too. It was well past what his old tutor would call a 'decent hour,' and he and Jo hadn't even covered half of what he felt they wanted to say. He was sitting up in the garret with her now, talking quietly over the remains of a spread of olives, bread, biscuits and butter Marmee had brought up hours ago. Jo had lit a fire, and it now cast a cozy glow over the whole room, illuminating her face and long, lean, frame. When she saw him looking, she smiled and stretched, much like a cat.

"I should put you out, really," she said dryly, a hint of her old sprit returning as she looked at him with more than a touch of mischief. "It's far too late for you to be here, Laurie; when we were children it was fine, but we have to play propriety now," and she grimaced, as of the thought held little appeal for her.

Laurie laughed softly, looking down at his hands. They were splayed comfortably on his knees, and his whole frame was relaxed, now. More so than it had been in months. "You're right," he admitted—and raked his fingers through his hair, letting it all stand on end. Jo's eyes followed the movement, looking hungry and almost sad, but then she said quickly, cheerily---

"I see you've kept your hair long, for which I'm heartily thankful. I wasn't expecting a Dorian Gray, mind you, but I braced myself for a dandy."

Laurie's mouth curved up slightly. "Don't give your boy praise that's not due him, Josephine," he said, mockingly—then grinned and ducked the pillow, grabbing it and holding it to his chest to discourage future attacks. "I….was for a while, I'll admit," he continued, eyes suddenly downcast. "After…everything that happened here."

Jo's cheeks warmed, and she looked away. "Laurie—"

"No, it's fine." Laurie reached for her hand, then thought better of it and leaned backward, instead. "Your sister straightened me out," he added, trying to lighten the mood. "By Jove, what a lecture the child gave me at Nice! A regular rouser."

"Amy?" Jo raised a brow, amused as well as surprised.

"Yes, little Amy." His voice quieted somewhat, and he found himself unable to meet Jo's eyes, for a moment. "I'm wrong to call her a child, not that she'd mind as much now….but she's quite the woman, actually. You'll hardly know her." He paused and when Jo said nothing, continued. "I don't know if it's the European sensibility or what, but she…she's grown up. Led me around by the nose, practically. And she does it so prettily you only want to obey her every command."

When Laurie finished his speech, he was a bit out of breath, and the surprised look his companion gave him made him flush automatically, despite himself. "As you see, she's quite captivated me," he said lightly, still unable to meet Jo's eyes, feeling his old bashfulness return. "And half of Europe, as well. She has a Count panting at her heels now, you know." A plague on him, he added silently.

"Indeed?" Jo arched a brow.

"Yes." Faintly aware that he was digging his own grave conversationally, Laurie forged ahead as manfully as he could. "Met the little fellow at a ball in Nice."

"And then there's Fred Vaughn," Jo remembered, tilting her chin, interested in the conversation as she was in the fact that her companion suddenly looked quite uncomfortable.

"Yes. Fred." Laurie bit his lip; it was obvious that Amy hadn't written her family since things had changed between them. "Well. She refused him," he finished weakly.

Jo's dark eyes widened. "He proposed?"

"Yes." Laurie shifted in his seat, suddenly wishing he'd worn a shirt and trousers instead of the full dress-suit he'd donned that morning. The garret, which had been cosy up until that point, suddenly seemed far too warm.

"She seemed rather keen on him, before."

"Um," Laurie said rather noncommittally, trying to ignore the knot deep somewhere in his stomach. Why, he thought, was talking about Amy so hard, when it was Jo he'd been nervous to see?

Jo eyed her prisoner, watching as he wrapped himself around a stale piece of bread-and-butter. She waited until he'd placed two olives in his mouth before asking casually, "How long were you in Nice?"

He choked a bit, trying to swallow. "Well….can't say exactly. Time in Europe seems to go away during the summer months."

"And you were there twice?"

"Yes."

"And when you returned Amy decided to refuse Fred."

Laurie made a face at her in an attempt to make a joke of things. "If you intend to play inquisitor and ask questions all afternoon, Jo, I'll go home. Or better yet, I'll go to Meg's; she does it ever so much better than you."

Jo laughed, and extended her long, thin hands, gripping his with a gentleness he'd missed so much. "Don't go! I fancied for a minute that the two of you had gotten into some mischief, and I wanted to tease you about it. You and Amy would suit very well, I actually used to think."

"Jo…." Laurie said warningly, though he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Better than you and I, at any rate." Jo's voice was quiet now, and his gaze darted up, meeting hers quickly. The eyes were downcast; the cheeks were flushed. Instead of letting go her hands, he bit his lip and drew her close—and for once, she didn't object. She needed to feel a closeness to someone that bypassed all ordinary propriety, now.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, his voice very quiet in the garret, competing only with the crackling in the hearth. He rested his chin on her head.

"Don't think for a minute that I want you to propose again—heavens, that's not it, but---" a sniff caught her off, despite her trying to keep a brave face.

Laurie swallowed hard; ignored the comment. "You've been lonely, dearest;" he said tenderly, feeling her pain almost as if is was his own. As a boy he'd often been lonely, as an adult even more so; and he knew it was one of the worst feelings in the world. "I'm sorry I went away."

"I'm not," said Jo so decidedly he had to smile.

"I know," he said quietly, after a beat, but he didn't release her and she didn't try to get away. She was starved for love, he knew, but wasn't sure if he could give it to her. He could try, of course, but would she feel taken care of, or instead feel she always had to watch over him?

I can't think about this now, he thought, and shifted. Jo felt the change and pulled back. Her eyes were wet, but there were no tears on her cheeks. "I'm glad you're home, Teddy."

His lips twitched upwards slightly, but he didn't reply. Instead, he leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, both cheeks, and stood up.

Jo glanced down at her hands. "See you soon?"

He nodded, turned, and left.