A/N:  Hello all.  Okay, here's chapter five.  Some notes first, though.  One—yes, the cliffie at the end of chapter four was mean (and kind of intentional.)  I do, however, promise to try to keep my sadistic tendencies to a minimum.  Two—I'm glad y'all liked the corndog bit (I swear all of that was off the top of my head.)  However, the whole analysis wasn't a result of too much spent with Luke because, well, he's been at MIT for like seven years.  So, well, you'll just have to wait until the sequel to see what becomes of him and Grace.  Three—I realize that most of you are dying to know who the mystery man is.  Unfortunately, this isn't the chapter where you find out.  Next chapter, I promise. Four—you guys are still fabulous for my ego.  I appreciate it more than you know.  And finally, five—there's a POV shift about halfway through.  I could finally hear Adam and stay in his POV.  And no, I'm not hearing fictitious voices, I swear.  Okay, so here it is.  Enjoy.

            "Ow," Iris squeaked and tugged her hand out of Adam's.  She threw him an injured look as she massaged her hand.  "What did you do that for?"

            Adam tore his gaze away from the scene some thirty feet away.  "Sorry, Iris."

            "You know," she began, "if you'd just be honest, we'd all be happier."

            "What are you talking about?"  Adam glanced at her, confused.

            Iris glared back.  "Don't play dumb, A.  You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

            "Look, I'm sorry for squeezing your hand, Iris."  He took a breath and tried to hold on to his usually even temper.  "What more do you want form me?"

            Iris wilted at the question.  She leaned against her locker and stared at her feet rather than him.  "I can't do this anymore."

            "Do what?"

            "This."  She waved her hand in a vague, inclusive motion.  "I can't pretend that you feel for me what I feel for you.  It's not fair."

            Iris nodded toward the spot Adam had been staring at moments before.  Joan stood with her arms crossed defiantly over her stomach but her expression was soft, almost pleading.  The handsome young man she was talking to gave her a gentle smile.

            Iris looked back at Adam.  He was watching Joan, a mixture of hurt, anger, and longing in his eyes.  "I know that look," she whispered to him, "that feeling."

            Shaken, Adam turned his attention back to his girlfriend. 

            "I feel it every time she's nearby."  Iris averted her gazed from the pained look in Adam's eyes, though, for once, his pain was because he'd realized he'd hurt her.  "You're one of the good ones . . . Adam.  But, unfortunately, I'm not what you want."

            "Iris . . ." Adam began.  He felt like he should apologize but he didn't know where to begin.

            She raised her hand to stop him before he could figure it out.  "It's okay, Adam.  You love her.  You can't help that.  Besides, it's not like she came along out of the blue to tear us apart.  Apparently, that was my role."

            "Don't say that."

            But Iris was on a roll.  It was like she needed to say everything before she lost her nerve.  "We'll still be friends, though.  There's still art class . . . taught by the other Girardi woman you're really fond of."  She laughed a sad little chuckle that tore at Adam's heart.  He'd never meant to hurt her.

            "I'll be okay," she said with a reassuring smile.  Then she looked back at Joan and the mystery guy.  He was walking away and Joan was headed toward them.  She hesitated when she saw Iris and Adam watching her but continued toward them anyway.

            "Hey," she said when she reached them.  When Adam just stared at her and Iris offered her a faint smile, Joan frowned.  "Did I interrupt something?"

            "No," Iris said sincerely before turning back to Adam.  He still seemed torn.  She stared into his eyes to ensure she had his attention.  "Good-bye, Adam.  I'll see you in art class."

            "What was that all about?" Joan asked as they watched Iris head toward homeroom.

            Adam didn't answer.  He hadn't figured out the words yet.  So he took her books out of her arms instead.  "Let me walk you to class."

            *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            The knock on her door startled Joan.  She glanced at the VCR's clock on her way to the door—10:07.  That had better not be Adam, she fumed.  A look through the peephole revealed that it was.  "Where have you been?" she demanded as she undid the locks and jerked the door open.  "I thought you weren't  . . . coming."  All of Joan's indignation seeped out of her when she saw Adam's face.  He looked awful—cold and exhausted. 

            "Sorry," he said, his voice as weary as he looked.  "I didn't mean to upset you."

            Joan shivered in the sudden icy breeze and pulled Adam inside.  A storm was brewing outside to which Adam appeared completely oblivious.  He looked truly miserable.  "I'm not upset," she lied.  "I was worried when you didn't call, though."

            Adam shrugged. Clad in the t-shirt and thin hoodie he'd had on this afternoon, he wasn't even dressed for dinner.  "I went for a walk and lost track of time." 

            "I know it's March and spring is in the air," Joan said as she pulled his hands out of his pockets and began to rub them between her own, "but it's not warm enough for you to go walking around with so little on."  His hands weren't warming up fast enough to satisfy Joan, so she began to blow on them.  "How long were you out there anyway?"

            Adam didn't answer.  The sight of Joan tending to his hands had rendered him speechless.

            "Adam?"

            He lifted his eyes to her concerned ones.

            "How long were you out there?"

            "I don't know," he admitted with another shrug.  "Since the fair ended."

            Joan's jaw dropped.  That explained the messenger bag he had with him.  "You've been walking for over four hours?  No wonder you're freezing."  Grasping one of his hands firmly in hers, she pulled him toward the back of the apartment.

            "Uh, Jane?  What are you doing?"

            "You're taking a shower," she announced.

            He discreetly sniffed his shirt.  "I am?" Adam asked. 

            Joan stopped mid-stride and turned to face him.  "I can't warm you by rubbing alone."  She blushed when she realized how that sounded.  "Not that I'd try to," she stammered as she tried to ignore the laughter in Adam's eyes.  "Just do it for me."

            Adam smiled.  It pleased him that she wanted to take care of him so much despite the state of things between them.  "If it'll make you feel better."

            "It will."

            He edged around her into the bathroom. 

            "Oh, wait.  If you leave the door unlocked, I'll put your clothes in the dryer for you.  They're colder than you are."

            "I'll need something to wear in the meantime."

            Joan dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand on her way back to the living room.  "I have something you can wear.  Don't worry about it.  Towels are in the linen closet," she called over her shoulder.

            Adam shut the door, his lightened mood from a moment ago gone.  So Jane and the guy from the park were close enough for him to have clothes here.  "What did you expect," he muttered as he got a towel and washcloth from the linen closet.  "It's not like you haven't dated other people, too."  He winced as he thought of the current woman in his life.  His relationship with Jane was nowhere near as convoluted as whatever he had with Tanya. 

            Rather than think about his complicated love life, Adam turned on the water and pulled off his clothes, which he folded and stacked on the toilet lid.  Then he stepped into the shower and let the hot, needling spray drive the cold from his body.  If only it would drive away the image of Jane and the mystery man, too.

            Just then, he heard a knock at the door.  "It's me," she said and came in.  He closed his eyes against the wave of longing that hit him as he listened to her move.  This was why he'd come back to Arcadia, he realized.  Not because Helen had asked him to.  He was here for Jane. 

            "Okay, I'm out," she announced as she closed the door behind her.

            And she was with someone else.

            Even though Adam realized that he was being unreasonable, he wasn't able to get past the thought of Jane with another man.  The walk was supposed to help him adjust his attitude so he could have a platonic dinner with her.  Apparently, it hadn't worked.  Not only was the disappointment of knowing that Jane was involved still gnawing at him but he'd missed the dinner.  Get over it.  She's not yours anymore, he ruthlessly reminded himself for the hundredth time.  She's not yours and you have no one to blame but yourself.

            Adam spent more time in the shower than was necessary.  He was stalling.  He wasn't looking forward to wearing Jane's boyfriend's clothes.  It wasn't until his fingers began to shrivel that he finally turned off the water.  Even then, he pulled the towel into the shower with him to avoid looking at the unwanted clothes.  When he couldn't put it off any longer, Adam pushed back the shower curtain and stepped out of the shower.  On the toilet lid was a white Maryland Terps t-shirt and a pair of red Maryland sweatpants.  Slowly, Adam dressed and made his way to the kitchen.

            Jane stood at the counter making one of her trademark sandwiches.  She never ceased to amaze him.  Just standing there in her mint green cotton pajamas with her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  He cleared his throat to get her attention.

            She looked up at him; let her eyes travel over the length of him.  A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she turned her attention back to the sandwich.

            "I spent months looking for these," he told her.  "Do you have the shorts, too?"

            She nodded.  "And the pullover."

            He came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside her.  "Why?" 

            "I only meant to take the t-shirt."

            "Because you liked sleeping in it."

            She nodded.  "I took the shorts because I always wore them with the shirt.  Then I saw the sweatpants.  They were more mine than yours anyway, so I added them to the pile."

            He waited for her to continue, but she didn't.  "And the pullover?"

            Jane braced her hands on the counter.  "It was draped over your desk chair.  I picked it up and it smelled like you.  I still don't know why I put on, but I did.  It was like you were hugging me.  Before I knew it, I was sitting on your bed crying harder than I've ever cried in my life, the other day included.  When I finally stopped, I just picked up my pile and ran."  She lifted her face to his.  Her eyes shone with unshed tears and there was a tremulous smile on her lips as she plucked at the t-shirt.  "For a year, I slept in that shirt.  And then one day, I just put it away."

            She turned back to the sandwich.  Adam stared down at her, stricken by the image she'd painted for him.  At the time, he'd been too angry to think about what she must have been feeling.  After he'd calmed down, he'd been so ashamed that he'd tried to block her out of his thoughts.  "I'm sorry."

            "It's okay, Adam."  Jane sniffed and impatiently wiped away the tears on her cheeks.  She turned on the tea kettle on her way to the sink.  "It's not your fault."

            "It's not?"  Surely, she was kidding.

            But she gazed up at him with earnest, regret-filled eyes and shook her head.  "No, it's not.  I made the decision not to go.  Those were the consequences."

            "Bull."

            She blinked at him.  "What?"

            "You heard me."  Adam knew he shouldn't be angry at her for thinking that she was at fault, but he couldn't help himself.  "I asked you to come to New York with me at the last minute, knowing full well that whenever a new development in our relationship comes up it takes you weeks to make a decision, and this . . . rift between us is all your fault?"

            "Adam . . ." she started, obviously bewildered by his reaction.

            "No, Jane," he said.  "Not this time.  I knew for months that I wanted you to come with me and I chose to wait until the last minute to ask you.  I'd hoped that if I didn't give you time to think about, you'd just come."  Adam moved to stand directly in front of her, his hands imprisoning her against the sink.  "I was wrong to put you in that position.  I wanted you with me so badly, I convinced myself that what I was doing was okay.  But it wasn't, Jane, and I don't want you blaming yourself for my mistakes."

            She looked like she wasn't sure what was happening.  "But . . ."

            Adam shook his head at her and grasped her chin so that she had no choice to look at him.  "No buts.  I'm a big boy, Jane.  You don't have to protect me.  You don't have to put me on a pedestal.  I'm just as fallible as you are."

            "I never said you weren't."

            "Ever since the incident at the art fair all those years ago," Jane cringed, "you've taken all the blame for anything bad that happens between us on yourself.  That's not fair to me and it definitely isn't fair to you."

            "What I did then wasn't your fault."

            "You tried to talk me out of dropping out and I wouldn't listen."

            "That doesn't make it right," Jane said stubbornly.

            Adam smiled in spite of himself.  "No, it doesn't.  But you were just sixteen.  Who doesn't make . . . ill-advised decisions at sixteen?  Like smashing your friend's artwork or deciding to drop out of school or dating another girl because the one you're in love with isn't ready to be with you?  We both did stupid things, Jane.  I just want you to stop taking responsibility for mine."

            Jane didn't say anything.  She just traced the logo over his heart while she thought over his words.  Finally, she raised her eyes to his.  "I did want to go with you."

            "I know."

            "I was just afraid that I'd lose my direction if I did."

            "Okay."

            She still looked like she wasn't certain she could trust his forgiveness.  "You're really not mad at me?"

            "I'm really not mad at you.  I have no reason to be."

            Jane sagged against the sink and laughed with joyous relief.

            "See?" he asked.  "Doesn't that feel better?"

            She nodded.  "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes swimming with tears.

            "You're welcome."