AN: Okay, so this isn't really "next day," but it's along the lines of what everyone else is thinking.

The Next Days – Chapter Two: Waiting

"Just what do those cops think they're doing?" the woman next to me groused for, like, the thousandth time. "Why don't they tell us anything?"

I bit my tongue, just barely. After all, I was thinking the same thing. What the hell was going on inside that school? Where the hell was Billy? Why hadn't the cops told us anything? They were going to have to soon; the crowd around me, full of terrified parents, was fast approaching unruly.

"We should storm the place."

I snorted. "Stupid," I muttered.

"Excuse me?" Ah, crap. "What did you just say young lady?"

"What do you really think you can do, ma'am?"

"Get my Frances back!" She took another step towards me, right into my own space.

"Really. Do you actually think an untrained, unarmed mob has any prayer in this situation without killing someone inside?" I shook my head. "We need to let the police handle this. This is why we have them."

"Really," she sneered back. "Somehow I don't think you have a child trapped inside with those madmen."

And, just like that – maybe it was her tone, maybe it was just my own exponentially increasing frustration – I went from docile to pissy in 0.26 seconds.

"Ya know, you're right. I don't have a child. I have a younger brother – my only brother. Thanks for the fellowship and compassion."

I turned and tried to march away. Didn't work all that well with the crowd surrounding us, but somehow I managed to sidle off in a huff. A few moments later I popped out into one of those small clearings that miraculously appear when large groups of humans congregate like cattle in one place.

God, how can people be just so…. annoying and right at the same time?

I got here just after the first news reports, just in time to see the police lock down the school. Since then, nothing. We knew there were gunmen inside with the kids, that some people were hurt, but not who or how badly. And all I could see was Billy's face as I dropped him off this morning.

"Glad you're here sis."

God, please, keep him safe.

I checked my cell again, the third time in the last 15 minutes. No calls, no messages, nothing. I called Mom as soon as I heard the first reports, to let her know I was heading to Billy's school, only to leave a message. Three more messages since then, and a call to that gallery she "worked" at, and still nothing. The girl who answered the phone said she'd take a message, but if she remembered the phone call at all I'd be highly surprised.

Hell, it wasn't like I'd heard from Mom in the last day anyhow.

My little clearing was shrinking around me as the crowd shifted. Moving off to the side, I placed the call I'd been dreading, somehow even more than hearing anything from the school.

The phone rang, once, twice, sure enough, before the third –

"Central Coast Real Estate."

"Hi Maria. This is Julia. Is Dad around?"

"I'm sorry, he's not in yet. Can I take a message for him?" That was the thing about professional secretaries; they always sound sincere and concerned.

Crap, again. "Yeah, have him call my cell as soon as you see him, please. It's… really important."

"Of course, dear." She hesitated briefly. "If you don't mind me asking, it's somewhat early for you to call."

She was fishing, but then I never called him until after hours, or when I knew he wouldn't be interrupted. Dad was kinda picky that way.

"I'm in Gotham. It's almost noon here. Just, he needs to call, right away."

With that, I sank down onto the closest curb and let the crowd flow around me. This really wasn't the vacation I'd had in mind last week. This was just suppose to be a quick visit between quarters – I really couldn't afford to miss much school, what with the amount of money even the Cal State system was charging me. Plus, I was a senior – whatever that meant. This being my seventh year of higher education you'd think they come up with different terms than just "freshman," "junior," and "senior." Almost no-one gets out in four years nowadays. Not unless you have major backing at home.

Me, I found a job the day I turned 18.

The divorce two years ago had been bad enough, but then Mom decided to "pursue her dream" of art and get that big break in Gotham. After all, she already had a job lined up – working in a nice, little gallery in the city's art district. So, when I refused to give up five years of college to follow her like a good puppy dog, she'd called me ungrateful and left with Billy in tow.

Too bad she didn't tell me at the time she'd been fucking the gallery owner for three years on and off. I discovered that little bomb four days ago, just after getting to her place by taxi ("We don't own a car, dear; don't really need it in the City. Why don't you just call a cab when you arrive?")

And, of all people, Billy's the one to tell me. How wrong is it if your 16 year-old brother is the one to tell you, his 26 year-old sister, that Mom and Dad divorced because Mom was having an affair, and moved to Gotham to be with the boyfriend?

Crap, again, let me tell you.

We finally "discussed" it, Mom and me, a few days later. That ended when Christian arrived, and Mom promptly left with him, leaving me a seething, shaking mess and Billy hiding in his room. .

That was a little over a day ago. And, judging by how blown out Christian's pupils were, I hadn't expected to hear from her anytime that night.

And then, this. Friggin' Columbine, right in the middle of Gotham City – with my little brother trapped inside. For hours.

I'd say somebody shoot me, but that would be in really bad taste right now.

Thank God there hadn't been any more shots since the ones that started this whole mess. At least, I hope.

"Here."

The appearance of a handkerchief startled me out of my increasingly morbid thoughts. I raised a hand to my face in shock. I was crying?

"Thanks," I replied, and cleared my throat, hoping the stranger didn't hear how my voice shook.

"No problem." He took a seat next to me. "You have someone inside too?"

"Yeah, my little brother. Flew out from Berkley to visit this week." Why did that just come out of mouth? "You?"

"My daughter. She's a freshman."

I've never been good at small talk. It felt even harder, in this situation. What do you say, "Hope your daughter doesn't get shot too?"

"How long have you been here?" I finally managed.

"Since about nine this morning. A co-worker told me about it. Nancy wanted to come with me, but I told her to get Kimberley out of school instead and stay home with her." He shrugged. "At least one daughter will be home safe."

"Probably a good thought." I sighed. "It's not like we're actually doing any good, just sitting here."

"Yeah. I've never felt so powerless in my whole life. Not even when the girls were born." His eyes turned distant for a moment, then he turned back to me. "Name's Pete. Pete Junson."

"Julia. Julia Horner." We shook hands. "Sorry to meet you this way Pete."

He snorted. "Me too."

Then, Lord, to my utter horror, my eyes started welling in earnest, not just that pitiful little stream of earlier.

Please, God, let him be okay.

What if…

I slapped the hand with Pete's handkerchief over my mouth, stifling the sobs. "I'm sorry," I choked out somehow.

What if…

"It's okay," he pulled me against his chest, this perfect stranger and offered me his clean shirt as well as his handkerchief.

And the only things running through my mind were Mom, and Billy and – God, Dad doesn't even know yet –

The tears just ripped out of me. Not those pretty cries, the ones that make you seem delicate and worthy of protection. No, these were the ones pulled right out of my gut and shook my whole body.

After about five minutes of eternity, I pushed back and Pete let me go. "Sorry about that again." I wiped my eyes with his now thoroughly soaked handkerchief.

"Like I said, it's okay. Expected even." And if his eyes held a sheen, we both ignored it. "You're here alone?"

I nodded. "Yeah." And left it at that. Fuck Mom and her little coke-head boyfriend. Who looked about my age, for crying out loud.

Pete and I made a little more small talk, his accounting job, my engineering courses, the lastest Spider-man movie; odd somewhat, what with me crying my eyes out on his shoulder and waiting for some kind of word from the cops. But, it was better than driving myself slowly insane wondering.

Guess he felt the same, cause he didn't move either.