A/N: Thank you so much.  I'm glad y'all liked it.  Since I have chapter two pretty much done, I've decided to go ahead and post it.  Now for responses:

- Yes, I definitely need to work on incorporating inner dialogue.  It's sort of a weak spot in my writing.  However, I think this chapter has a lot of it.

- Admiral Lily: I know that I can promise to deliver one and two.  As for three, I may go a bit overboard (I'm really trying not to, I swear), and I'm pretty certain I can promise number four.  I haven't figured out the end yet, but I'm something of a hopeless romantic, so the odds are good. 

Okay, then.  On with chapter two.

Disclaimer:  I own nothing in relation to Joan of Arcadia.

The park was as alive as it had always been.  Sunlight danced on the leaves and rocks and people.  Kids played with gleeful abandon on the grass while their parents gazed on, adoring and content.  A world of beauty was laid out at Joan's feet.

But she wasn't aware of any of it from her perch on the park bench.  All she could see was Adam leaning toward her, giving her a perfunctory peck on the cheek.  "Good-bye," he said.  Then he boarded the plane without a second glance. 

He was gone. 

Joan closed her eyes against the fresh stab of pain the memory brought.  He hadn't even said her name.  Not Jane.  Not Joan.  It was as if she had ceased to matter to him. 

"You know that's not true."

Joan turned toward the voice.  Little Girl God pushed her glasses up on her nose.  "He still loves you, Joan.  He's just hurting right now."

With a mirthless laugh, Joan drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.  "He's not the only one."  She lay her head on her knees and let the tears come.           

            *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Joan sat in her car staring at the Roves' front door.  Now that she was here, she didn't know what to do.  She couldn't just walk up to the front door and say, "Hey, how's life."  Not after the way things had ended between them.  Fighting her uncertainty, Joan got out of the car and picked her way through Adam's sculptures to the porch.  She hesitated.  What would she say when he answered, if he answered?  "Stop stalling," she admonished.  With courage she didn't feel, she knocked, anxious to see Adam but hoping his father answered.  When no one answered, she knocked again and tried to keep the cold and her growing dread—perhaps they were the same thing—at bay.  He probably didn't want to see her anyway.  Not that she blamed him.

She had just decided to go home when the door opened.  "Joan."  He didn't sound surprised to see her.

"Hi, Mr. Rove."  Joan risked a glance at Adam's father.  An indulgent smile softened his grief-worn face.  Relief filled her, temporarily driving back the fear of the moments before.

"Long time, no see."

Joan could only nod.  Her relief at Mr. Rove's mild greeting faded when she realized he might have answered because Adam really didn't want to see her.  What was she going to do if that was true?  What if . . .

"He's in the shed."

"Of course."  Where else would he be?  Out with potential buyers.  Or friends.  Or a girlfriend.  Or . . . .  "Thanks, Mr. Rove."

He gave her an encouraging smile and closed the door.

After a deep, fortifying breath to calm her strained nerves, Joan walked down the porch steps and made her way around to the backyard.  She tried not to think about what might happen.  He could still be mad at her and tell her to go and never come back.  Or patiently listen to what she had to say—whatever that was; she had no clue—before announcing their relationship irrevocably dead.  Or he could . . .

She stopped just short of the shed's door.  Blue light flickered in the doorway—he was working.  Tentatively, she peeked through the door.  Adam stood bent over his work table, apron and gloves on, a welder's mask covering his face.  He was putting the finishing touches on a piece. 

Joan leaned against the doorjamb and soaked in the sight of him.  He moved differently—with more purpose than she remembered.  A flourishing art career in New York City could do that for a guy, she thought with a smile.  His shoulders were broader.  He seemed taller, more substantial, stronger somehow—no longer the boy she'd known and loved.  In the last four years, her Adam had matured into a man.  She'd missed it.    And he wasn't hers anymore.  She needed to remember that.

He turned off the blowtorch and set it down before taking off his mask.  Joan expelled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.  Adam hadn't changed as much as she'd originally thought.  The boyishness was still there.  The same endearing, expressive eyes that saw everything and nothing simultaneously.  The soft, sensitive mouth.  The sweet, faint blush in his cheeks.  He was a perfect combination of strength and gentleness.  She could have stood there the rest of the night and just watched him.

Instead, she knocked. 

Adam's head jerked up, his mouth falling open at the sight of her.  "Jane."

Jane.  It was a good sign.  Joan pushed off the doorjamb and ventured into the shed, poised to leave if he told her to.  He just watched her.

"Hi."  She stopped at the table.  Now what?  What exactly did you say to the man whose heart you broke four years ago?  I'm sorry?  Despite what you must think, I've always loved you?  I'd do anything to change what happened but, since I can't, I hope you'll one day forgive me?  "How are you?"

It was now official.  She was pathetic.

Adam didn't answer.  He just sank onto his stool and stared at her as if he couldn't believe she was really there.

The silence grew, painfully stretching her already tense nerves.  This was a mistake.  She should have listened to Grace, asked her to mediate, feel him out first.  Anything but rush over here and have Adam gape at her incredulously.  Why shouldn't he be incredulous?  She'd only broken his heart and practically severed all communication between them.  It didn't matter that she'd done so out of the sheer, unadulterated terror of messing up yet again.  And now she just waltzed into his shed like nothing had happened.  What had she been thinking?  This couldn't end well.  Joan stuffed her hands in her pockets and offered Adam a sad smile.  "I should go."

She had almost made it to the door when she felt his hand on her arm.  She stared down at his long, slim fingers and her breath caught in her throat.  Such magnificent hands.  How could such fine hands hold so much power over her?  Hesitantly, she laid her hand over his and almost moaned with the pleasure the simple act gave her.  She'd missed touching him.  Without a word, she leaned into the solid warmth of his body.  If only for a few seconds, she would pretend nothing had changed.

Adam still didn't say anything.  He just accepted her weight, put his arm around her waist, drew her closer.  Joan didn't give him time to reconsider and snuggled against him.  Her eyes drifted closed as she inhaled Adam's scent.  His warmth consumed the chill she'd felt all evening.  His arms tightened around her, drawing her even closer.  Giddiness welled up inside her and a giggle escaped before she could stop it.

"What?" he whispered as if he didn't want to break the spell.

She shook her head, not wanting the moment to end either.

"Tell me."  His voice was gentle as always but firm.

With a mental shrug, she said, "I was just thinking that a person would have to be very, very patient to put up with me."

Adam chuckled and gave her a little squeeze.  "Unchallenged."

The tenderness and humor of his answer proved her undoing.  Joan turned her face into the crook of his neck and sobbed.  All the love, sorrow, guilt, and regret she'd bottled up for the last four years poured out.  Adam just held her and stroked her back, murmuring nonsensical reassurances into her hair until her tears slowed to a trickle.  Finally, spent and a little embarrassed, Joan pulled back but couldn't bring herself to leave the comforting circle of his arms.  She couldn't look him in the face either. 

He kissed the top of her head then pulled away until he was holding her at arm's length.  Cautiously, he released her.  Satisfied that she could stand on her own, he crossed the room and came back with two Kleenex.  He dried her eyes and cheeks then handed her the napkins.  "You have to blow your own nose."

Joan took the tissue with a watery chuckle.  "Thanks."   She turned her back to him and moved as far away as the space allowed before blowing her nose.  After she threw the tissue away, her awkwardness returned.  She was the heartbreaker, after all.  What right did she have to cry on his shoulder?  To hide her discomfort, she focused on the various wires and tools hanging on the wall before her.

"Jane?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you here?"

Joan didn't answer immediately because she didn't know.  Why was she here?  What had she hoped to get out of this visit?  Suddenly, she realized that she hadn't hoped to accomplish anything.  She'd just needed to see him.  "I missed you."

She frowned and shook her head.  That wasn't quite right.  She turned slightly as if she were about to look at him.  "I miss you."

Then Joan turned and looked at Adam.  He seemed surprised.  She shrugged and gave him a small, bittersweet smile.  "I have to go."  There wasn't anything else to say now.

Still smiling, Joan walked past Adam.  At the door, she stopped.  "Good night, Adam," she said, then left the shed.