Hello there! Um, what to say? I first started this story a long, long time ago and forgot it until recently. I've started again from scratch, deleting the other chapters and re-writing the first. I hope it's better than it was!

Okay, the story's a bit AU – it doesn't really fit into the series. I guess it's sometime after Adam and Iris have broken up, and Joan and Adam have gotten back together. Just be patient! It'll all full into place... I hope!

Disclaimer: I don't own Joan of Arcardia. Sad, but true.

Enjoy! And please Read and Review.

OUT ON HER OWN

Chapter One: Tension

Joan sniffed dubiously at the chicken she was supposed to be cooking. The skin of the bird looked reminiscent of plastic, and it was difficult to tell if it was fully cooked as it was bathed in a golden glow from the oven light. "Mom!" Her tone carried more than a little irritation. "I don't know if it's ready or not!"

Closing the oven door with careless force, the girl turned to a stainless steel pot on the cooling stove filament. Grabbing the handle of a kitchen utensil, she began to mash the potatoes vigorously. Small parts of potato that saw their chance to find freedom escaped onto the bench as a side-effect from her savage movements.

"Hang on for a minute!" Her mother, who was reluctantly doing some art evaluation for a student, sounded harassed. "I'll be there soon enough!"

Joan gave a 'tah´ of impatience. This sound was followed by Luke's entrance. He slipped into his place at the table, seeming to be unaware of his surroundings, completely engrossed in a book. Needful Things, the cover proclaimed, Stephen King. Joan watched him, glaring silently for a while, pausing in the mashing of the potatoes. Oblivious of her gaze, Luke calmly continued reading until she gave another 'tah'.

He glanced up. "What?"

"Feel like making yourself useful for a change?" she said, voice dripping with unhidden hostility. "That is, if you're not too busy letting other people do the work for you. The table could do with setting, if it's not too much trouble for you..."

"Uh, sure... no problem." Her brother gathered up the cutlery, cowed, but still being able to mutter, "What's wrong with you?"

She gave no indication of having heard him, and stirred the chicken gravy with fading anger. It seemed a rocky patch had been hit in the Adam-Joan relationship. She couldn't figure out why – nothing had been said or done that was wrong, as far as she could tell. There was no other woman. Unless Iris… No. They were just not functioning as a couple. He had been ignoring her, and Grace was following suit.

She'd had to sit by herself, alone, the whole day. The same as every other day of the week so far.

At first she'd thought maybe they were both busy with assignments. Then she realized that they wouldn't even say 'hi' when they passed each other in the corridors or saw each other at the lockers. For the past four school days she had felt so utterly alone and forsaken. Luke must have noticed.

When the last fork was positioned with exaggerated care, Helen came into the kitchen. "Oh, thank you, Luke," she said absently, sailing past to check on the chicken. "It's perfect, Joan. And the gravy's fine too. Thanks for doing that for me."

Joan just gave a slightly bitter half-smile before leaving the kitchen area.

Luke put the salt and pepper shakers in the centre of the table, and flopped back onto his seat. He went back to reading, slightly hurt by Joan's behaviour but too enraptured with his new found love for horrific stories to find out the cause for it.

"Your father won't be with us for dinner," Helen said, putting on red and white checked oven mitts. "He's got some sort of case going on. Something sordid, no doubt." Her son turned a page of the book unheedingly. Helen reached over, pulled the book from his fingers and shut it decisively. "No reading at the table, Luke, how many times must I tell you?"

Kevin wheeled himself into his position at the table, followed by Joan. She sat down and leaned against the back of her chair, watching Helen inexpertly carve the chicken with a resigned expression. The other three members of the family went through the motions of serving and eating and discussing the events of the day without registering Joan's lack of participation.

Soon, however, it came to Helen's attention that her daughter was less than happy. Staring at the person who sometimes seemed so much of a stranger, she had to admit that this had been the case lately. Helen hadn't wanted to press it, but there was a possibility that Joan wanted someone to show an interest in her life. And so, Helen took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

"Are you okay, Joan? You've been very quiet tonight," she said, keeping her eyes averted and catching sight of Luke as he poured himself some gravy, accidentally spilling some on the white cotton table cloth.

"I'm fine, Mom," replied Joan, with a warning hint in her voice. Luke began to rub surreptitiously at the stain with a paper napkin, giving a furtive glance around the table to see if any of the other family members had noticed.

There was a pregnant move as Helen considered her next move. "Has something happened at school? You know you can always come to me if something's bothering you. I just want to make sure you're alright, and lately-"

Joan stood up suddenly, pushing her chair out with a loud protesting squeak. "I said I'm fine," she repeated lowly, her hands balled into fists at her sides. When she spoke again, her voice began increasing in volume, pitch and speed. "Isn't my word good enough for you anymore! Don't you trust me? You always ask me the same thing again and again like you've got no faith in me! I'M FINE!"

Seeing the shocked, hurt expression of her mother was enough to make the anger begin to seep away. Joan was close to apologizing and sitting back down, but she had gone too far now. That satisfaction she got from venting her spleen was limited, and she stormed off with more conviction than she felt.

Joan left the house and hopped on the first bus she came across. She didn't know where she was heading. All she knew was that she needed some time to herself. She propped an elbow against the small protruding ledge of the window, resting her chin in her hand. The window was acting more like a dark, inky mirror than an actual window, and she spent a fair bit of time staring at her reflection as sneaky tears trailed down her cheeks.

A woman came in on the next stop. She was middle-aged, with a general mid-riff and yellow-blonde hair in a loosening perm. The clothes she wore were almost formless; a large white blouse with red floral patterns and a red skirt that went down to the knee. She sat down on the seat opposite Joan and watched her for a few seconds. Then, she cleared her throat. "Hello, Joan."

"It's you, isn't it?" Joan said, still staring at the girl in the window.

God, in the guise of this woman, looked over Joan's shoulder. "Go home, Joan. I daresay your family is worried about you. And you have school tomorrow. You'll need to get some sleep."

Joan gave a tired nod of assent and looked at the stop button. "Get off now?"

The woman nodded.

She hit the 'stop' button, and hung her head defeatedly, the previously supporting arm falling into her lap. "What can I do? I feel so wretched. I don't know why Adam and Grace aren't talking to me, and I keep snapping at Luke and my family and now none of them will talk to me either... I feel like I'm a leper and every one's got to avoid me."

The floral shirt shifted as God sighed. "Have faith, Joan. Time heals all, given time."

"That's not an answer!" The sudden deceleration that almost forced Joan off her seat cut the conversation short. Standing, she complained fretfully of both her physical and emotional state; "I don't know where I am. I feel so… I feel so lost."

"You'll find your way. Good night."

Joan mistakenly thought God had missed the double meaning, and she stalked off through the darkened streets feeling as miserable as ever. She half-hoped she would see Adam or Grace, that they would ask her what she was doing out so late, and invite her in for something to eat and a chat. She was, however, greatly disappointed.

The only people in sight were a group a teenagers, gathered in a circle of light generated from a lamp-post. Their clothes, in some cases, were old and out of fashion, like the wearer had no money to waste on fashionable clothing. Their limbs had the thinness of mild malnutrition, and their hair spoke of the financial stress of hot-water, but they smiled, talked and laughed. Joan watched them enviously.

Hot tears pushed again at her eyes, and the feeling of extreme loneliness swept over and around her. She felt forsaken. Even the knowledge that almighty God talked to her didn't help her feel any more at ease. If anything, the secret made her feel more cut off from her peers. A few self-sorry renegade tear drops trailed over her cheeks, making her eye-liner run. Look at those kids. One of them's even doing her chemistry homework! But they're still having fun. How are they accepted, and I'm all alone…

She ducked her head and walked straight past them. The seventeen year old doing her chemistry homework by street lamp light happened to glance up and see the black tear-trails on Joan's cheeks. Rummaging in her bag, she found something and then ran after her.

"Are..." Joan turned towards her, waiting for some mocking comment. "Are you okay? I, uh, noticed your makeup had run and, uh, I thought you might want a make-up remover wipe-thing." She held the packet out.

Joan took the offered moist tissue, folded it in half carefully and rubbed at her stained cheeks. "Thank you," she said, though it came out as more of whisper.

"You're welcome," the blonde girl murmured. Her eyes flickered over Joan. "Er... You're not… this is going to sound weird," she sighed. Starting again, she continued, "You don't look like the type to wander the streets alone late at night... you, er... you don't want some one to talk to, do you? 'Cause if you do..."

Joan smiled ruefully, thinking of how she would have liked to hear such an offer from Grace or Adam – or even hear anything friendly from either of them. She was about to decline when she caught sight of a worried pleading in the depths of the other girl's pupil, and this changed her mind midword. "N-Yes. Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you. Er, my name's Joan, by the way."

Relief stole quickly over the other's face, disappearing so fast Joan couldn't be certain she'd seen it. "I'm Natalie," she said. "Hold on, I'll just go get my stuff. You can come to my house, if you want. You look like you could do with sitting down and a drink or something."

Joan managed a low, bitter chuckle as she watched the girl – Natalie – run back to the group to get her bag and bid the assembled people goodbye. With a jolt, Joan realized how incredibly self-centered she had been.

"I'm sorry," she apologized when Natalie came back, "I didn't mean to drag you away from your friends... or your chemistry homework."

Natalie laughed. "You're dong me a favour there! Don't worry about it. It's almost time for all good boys and girls to be tucked up home in bed by now, anyway, and we're all good boys and girls."

"Really?" Joan was doubtful that street-kids could be classified as 'good boys and girls'.

Natalie just smiled in response, leading the way to a small house. It was one a quarter acre property that was mainly lawn with a few scraggly and neglected flower beds that were bravely attempting to grow. The house itself looked well looked after. It was made of a rich brown brick, with light-wood doors and window fittings.

Natalie moved into the foyer, begin to search in her pockets for the keys. "Welcome to my beautiful home," she said, opening the door, "if the piles of washing move… the best thing is to probably run for it."

The inside of the house had been carefully designed, but obviously had been done so by someone with the money to furnish it well. However, Natalie and her family hadn't furnished it, so the room looked slightly pie-bald. Joan found herself in a small entrance hall with a Celtic symbol emblazoned on a red, plush rug that adorned a carpet of the same hue. The walls were a golden brown, and the limited furniture was chosen to compliment that colour.

"Whoa," Joan breathed, "Nice house!"

"Hmm? Oh, thank you," Natalie said distractedly, depositing the keys on a small coffee table and flicking on a set of lights. "My Nan left it to me, mostly furnished, in her will. I haven't bought any furniture myself... the place does need it, but I don't have the money... Nan knew I was going to move out of home. I owe her a lot. My sanity included."

"This house is yours?"

"Yeah." The look on Natalie's face said this wasn't something she was particularly happy about. "I live on my own. I've been on the Independent Youth Benefit since I turned fifteen and was eligible to get it. It's tough, but… better than the alternative."

Joan nodded in silent agreement. How many times had she wanted to leave home? But she'd never actually seriously considered it. It was a frightening, distant prospect... and yet...

Natalie led the way to the kitchen, raiding the cupboard and triumphantly pulling out a packet of chocolate-chip biscuits. After investigating the fridge, she found two cups and poured two glasses of milk. "Cookies and milk," she said with a laugh, offering a glass to Joan which was readily accepted. Somehow they ended up in the lounge. Natalie arranged herself to be sitting cross-legged on a dark couch. "So, do you want to watch TV? Or talk?"

Joan managed a strange laugh. "I never thought I'd be in a stranger's house. Doesn't that go against the stranger danger campaign my parent's were a part of?"

"I'm not a stranger!" Natalie laughed, "But if you feel threatened, you can walk out any time, or ring your parents."

"Whenever I talk to any member of my family, lately, it turns into a screaming match. My friends have ditched me. My boyfriend -" She cut off, frowning, and took a bite of cookie to avoid talking anymore. Then, thinking of a question she wanted to ask, Joan talked around it. "Do you always ask strangers into your house?"

Natalie gave her an unusual look. "I help people who need it," she said, after a moment's contemplation, "and I'm lucky in the way that I'm generally an excellent judge of character."

"You sound like an angel."

"I try. But tell me, why are you friends avoiding you?"

"I don't know... I mean, I know I haven't been perfect. Not so long ago, I broke my boyfriend, Adam's, art project, and that really hurt him... and I guess I'm self-involved. And I do things that... I can't really explain to anyone… but I have good reasons for doing them," Joan sighed as the impact hit her once again, "I guess I'm not an easy person to get on with."

"Nonsense," Natalie scoffed. "You're a lovely person."

Joan felt she could have appreciated that more if Natalie didn't happen to have a milk-moustache when she said it. "And if Luke… if I was more tolerant, and he wasn't so annoying... If I didn't just snap at him, maybe I could hang out with him and Glenys and Friedman or something, and then I'd be able to talk to someone at least, and I wouldn't be so lonely. I hate school."

"What school do you go to?"

"The one down there," she pointed.

"Ah," Nat said smugly, "the one I'm supposed to go to. I don't though. I haven't been for, oh, a couple of months now. The sent the truant lady, but she didn't do anything. Couldn't actually, because I barred the door and escaped through the window. That's why I was doing chemistry before – I teach myself enough to get buy, and if all goes to plan I'll be able to pass the end of year exams again."

"That's really… weird."

"You think so?" Natalie cocked her head, as if she hadn't thought of that possibility before. "Hmm... well, school doesn't have anything to offer me. My friends are mainly from out of town. None of them go there any more. And the teachers... well, the less said about them the better!"

Joan's breath caught in her throat as a possibility formed. She knew it was selfish to even ask, but she had to try. "Come! Come back to school! We'll be in some of the same classes! I'll have someone to talk to! I can't not go. Please?"

"Oh, alright," Natalie said grudgingly. She sounded like it was against her better judgement, but she didn't take much persuading. "I'm just going to get into trouble for this. And then I have to explain my absence..."

"I'll help you come up with something! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Natalie just sniffed, and filched the last cookie. Her eyes fell on the clock that sat above the old TV set. "By Jiminy! It's almost twelve o'clock! How long have you been out of your house?"

"Since dinner time."

"Your family will be going spare!"

She was probably right, Joan supposed. Before she may have thought it served them right, but now she thought they didn't deserve the worry. The angered resentment had all burnt out. "Are you suggesting I should go home now?"

Nat shrugged. "You can stay the night here, if you want. It's getting a bit late to be going home and all. And then you can make sure I don't chicken out of going to school tomorrow. Do you want to ring your family now? There's a phone in the kitchen."

Helen bit her nails nervously, a horrible habit she'd been trying to get Joan to stop. Joan... why had she overreacted to a harmless question so much? What was wrong with her? She wasn't doing drugs, was she? She wasn't pregnant? No, after the fiasco concerning pregnancy that they'd had earlier Helen knew her daughter would be careful with contraception if she was sexually active.

She shuddered slightly at the thought of her baby girl having sex.

"I hope she's okay," she sighed.

"She will be," Will reassured her, rubbing her shoulder. He'd been a calming spirit since he arrived home from work, already under strain but somehow managing to cope with this development in family life. "She'll just have gone for a walk to let of steam. She won't have gone far. Soon she'll be back."

"You said that over half an hour ago!"

"That doesn't stop it being true!"

The phone rang shrilly, piercing the night. Helen picked it up before the second ring began.

"Hello? Girardi residence... Joan? Where are you? I've been so worried… oh... well, okay, I guess... what's the address? Uh-huh... will you be okay for school tomorrow? Uh... yeah, that should be fine... love you too… see you tomorrow, then… bye."

Helen hung up the phone with a sad, confused sigh. "She's at a friend's house," she told her husband, leaning into his calming embrace. "She's going to stay there for the night and then rejoin us after school tomorrow."

"See? She's fine. Which friend, Grace?"

"No," Helen shook her head. "Someone called 'Natalie Price'."

"Natalie Price?" Luke walked into the kitchen, and grabbed a packet of chips. "She hasn't been at school for months, or so I'm told."

"What do you mean?" asked Will, suspicious.

"Just that. She doesn't come to school." He looked down at the bag of chips and seemed to realize that he was eating stolen goods in front of the prosecutors. He promptly decided it was a good time to be moving on. "Oh, well, I'm guessing that was Joan? Right then, now we don't have to worry, I'm going to bed. Night all!"

"Not with those chips you're not, young man!" Helen called, but Luke was already down the hall and pretending to be out of earshot. When Helen was certain he was out of hearing, she looked at Will doubtfully, seeking comfort. "What now?"

Will shrugged. "I guess we give her the benefit of the doubt. Let's hope she goes to school and comes home tomorrow. At least we know where she is now." He gave his wife a loose hug, leading her towards their bedroom. "It'll be okay," he promised.

With the news that the trouble Joan was quite safe for the night, the Girardi household reluctantly resigned themselves to preparing for sleep. A couple of streets away, a young girl turned restlessly on an unfamiliar bed, searching for sleep. It wasn't coming easy to her, because her mind was full of half-developed thoughts and ideas. She couldn't shake off the waking dream of being estranged from her family, living to her own rules, being free.

She quite liked the idea. Freedom. She didn't want to go home. Tomorrow, or ever.

Author Note: My apologies to those who read this before. I'm sorry it took so long to get started again, but I find it's easier to start from the very beginning so I can get back into the story.

Please review!