Lame Author's Notes: OK. Folks, I'm a little nervous about this one. There's sort of a tangent that makes sense to me, but I don't know if it will to anyone else. Also, Grace is probably a little too honest and self-aware here, but I didn't know how to get around it. Also, I have to put in a SPOILER ALERT. I don't give anything away, but I allude to something about Grace that hasn't come up on the show yet. If you know what it is, you're fine. If you don't, hopefully you won't be able to tell what's spoilery and what's my own speculation. (I hate to even put up the spoiler alert. It's like saying, "there's a little red mark on a white shirt, I hope you don't notice it"). Anyway, enough of this.

Demolished Resolve

I wasn't expecting him to walk me home. His brother was heading home, and I figured that he'd go with him. Of course, he asked me if I wanted a ride. I just shrugged, said I wanted to walk, and made my way to the exit. I heard murmurings behind me, and footsteps running to catch up with me before I had even left the hospital waiting room. I shouldn't have been surprised. It was just like him to have some code of honor that wouldn't let me walk home alone.

Thankfully, he was uncharacteristically quiet for the first ten minutes. I assumed he was worried about Joan. The doctor had said that she could have been having the hallucinations for months. I made that crack about how that explains things, but I was as freaked out as Rove was. This was Joan, the person we had gotten to know and accept as one of us. Formed the us, actually. Rove and I weren't always tight. Friends, yes, but not friends. Not like we are now. Before Joan came, we were like two balls, floating in water, bumping into one another, but then drifting apart.

I was the closest thing to what he had as a best friend when his mom died. My father told me about the letter from Adam's mom, after he met with Adam's dad. Mr. Rove had come to the Rabbi searching for advice after his wife killed herself, even though he wasn't Jewish. I guess the fact that my dad and Mr. Rove knew each other for over a decade, although not very well, was more important than what religion they belonged to. When my dad ushered Mr. Rove out of his den and said goodnight at the door, I could tell that the conversation had been awkward, and my dad hadn't been able to offer any comfort or advice.

My dad asked me to keep my eye out for Adam. Keep my eye out for him? Who was keeping their eye out for me? I almost envied Adam, then. His crisis was obvious. His mother had died, so everyone understood why he was having a hard time. No one knew what was happening to our family. Even my own father seemed oblivious to the fact that my own life was crumbling around me. Sure, my mom was alive, but that didn't give me much solace.

After that, I put away all my hurt and fear and kept only my anger exposed. Anger at authority. Anger at the establishment. Anger at the entire world. I became steely while Adam became withdrawn. I never asked him about his mom, and Rove never brought it up because words weren't adequate. The only bond we had was our respective grief and anger.

And then Joan came. I thought she was just another hair-and-makeup girl when she did dumb things like try to ascertain my sexuality, or tryout for cheerleading, but she always surprised me in the end by calling people on their pettiness and shallowness. It was enough for me to not completely write her off. I wasn't looking for a bosom buddy, but I had to give her credit for being more than a cream puff.

We began going over to Joan's house to study where there was so much love that it nearly choked you. I wanted to hate her for it. Hate her for having two parents that loved her and each other, and would lay down their very lives for any one of their children. Instead, I spent as much time there as I possibly could.

Her mom, who knew me by name by the third day of school, always looked at me that way my mom used to. Exasperated. Amused. Knowing. I'd never admit it, but sometimes I'd say and do things just to get that look from her, like the day I cracked that dumb joke, "The reason for my tardiness is I am late." I'd work hard to be sure I was inscrutable to the world, but for some reason, I liked getting that knowing look from Mrs. Girardi.

Her father, the former chief of police, carried himself with authority, yet was obviously adored by all in that house. I always had problems with authority, and the fact that I was spending time at a cop's house confounded me until I stopped trying to explain it to myself.

Then there was Kevin, whom I knew least of all. When I first started going over there he would come through the kitchen where we studied, saying nothing, or making some snide comment before taking his lift up to his room. I could relate to his anger and bitterness, but what struck me was the way the other four people in that house treated him. They didn't walk on eggshells or act embarrassed or excused his behavior. When he was sardonic, they would razz him and move on, the same way his siblings razzed each other. They just accepted him, and as time went on, his comments were less in anger and more in jest, matching the amity of the rest of the family.

If it had stopped there, I would have been able to watch, detachedly amused by this bizarre, yet tight-nit group of people. But, of course it didn't stop there. Mr. and Mrs. Girardi had to give it a go one more time and produce one final human who, I feared, had the ability to throw me completely off balance. Their youngest son, the skinny teen walking beside me, made everything about that house more tangible. He was the embodiment of everything I felt every time I stepped into that house. Warmth. Kindness. Humor. I really wished he'd let me walk home alone.

My mind wandered to the stone he'd given me. Not sure what to do with it, I'd dumped it on the table beside my bed, and hadn't touched it again. It's the last thing I see when I go to bed, and the first thing-- I shook my head, refusing to finish that thought.

What was he expecting? Had he always had feelings for me? And if so, why Glynis? I didn't have the answers, and I was pretty sure I didn't want them. Suddenly I was very aware of his nearness as we walked and the questions became more pressing in the silence until I had to speak to keep from blurting out something stupid.

"You didn't have to walk me. You could have gone with your brother." I said, my voice sounded harsh in my ears as I spoke into the night.

"It seemed un-gentlemanly." He said, matter-of-factly. He wasn't trying to woo me. It was just a statement of fact. I barely paid attention to the conversation between us as he started to ramble about the amount of walking we were doing and the finer points of distinction between being smart and intelligent. I don't know why I thought talking to him would be easier than walking in silence. His chatter only exacerbated my inner turmoil.

"I like the quiet." I said, hoping to rectify the situation. Of course it didn't work. He continued to ramble for a while, and then mentioned the stars. Stars! Did I look like someone who appreciated the stars? The situation was quickly becoming unbearable.

"Why did you give me that rock?" I asked suddenly, unable to avoid the question any longer.

He stopped short, and looked at me, bewildered. "It's a geode."

"To me it's a rock," I countered keeping his gaze. Usually I welcomed diversion tactics, but not now. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It was a gesture...of friendship." He paused and I waited, fearing. Hoping. "Possibly courtship." He finished.

"Courtship?" I couldn't help smiling at his choice of words. "That went out with the corset or the walkman or something."

"I don't follow trends," he stated, looking into my eyes with determination that I didn't know he had.

I'd started this, and now my only option was to finish it. "Did you break up with Glynis because of me?"

"Of course not," he answered, breaking eye contact. "Don't be ridiculous."

"OK," I nodded, slightly. Maybe this would turn out the way I needed after all. "I won't. Because that would be ridiculous. So let's not go there."

"Right," he agreed, and I turned away from him and began walking.

"Why is that ridiculous?" he called behind me. I turned to him and frantically thought through the millions of reasons I kept telling myself why this could never happen.

"I'm friends with your sister." I began.

"Right," he said, unconvinced.

"I'm older than you."

"A year. Eight months, actually." He needed another reason.

"I have a reputation." I continued, walking back to him. I had to make him understand. "I've worked hard to build it. Do you know what my reputation is?"

"You hate me?" he asked.

"I'm anti," I replied, ignoring the question.

"OK. Anti what?" He challenged.

Anti anything that threatened my image. "What have you got?"

"So you're never gonna fall in love."

Love. Me? "I'm never even gonna fall in like. And I'm certainly not gonna be courted by some rocket-head geek. If it got around school that you were giving me things?"

"What do you care what people think?" Again, he was challenging me, as if this were up for discussion. "I mean, if you're anti. You know, shouldn't you like the idea of us if you're so anti?"

"I'm not that anti." This wasn't going well. I had a rep. Everyone knew what it was, but here he was questioning my motives and feelings. No one did that.

"Oh, so you're moderately anti," he stated.

He had to understand. I tried again, "Look, geek..." but he interrupted me.

"and besides, you know, love is irrational. It's like this anesthetic goes off in your brain eliminating all reason so the act of procreation can occur."

"Hey," I started, but he continued. The conversation was quickly degenerating, and I couldn't let it go on any further. It wasn't going to work. He just had to accept that.

Desperately grasping for the last argument I had, I interrupted him. "Look, I am not into you. Got it?" I cried, raising my voice to compel the words to ring true.

He stopped, and looked at me in the eyes. "Yeah."

He was finally convinced that it wasn't going to happen. I saw the resignation in his eyes, and suddenly I was terrified. I couldn't pull away from his gaze. At that moment, the scariest thing to me was knowing that I successfully pushed him away. I reached for him without knowing it, and in the next instance, felt the pressure of his lips and his hand rest firmly on my waist.

I held him as our kiss deepened and only one thought that was able to penetrate its way into the back of my mind. Luke Girardi would be the cause of my complete and utter undoing.

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A/N Yay! OK, so there it is. Will I add more for season two? Maybe. It depends on how inscrutable Grace is (the more inscrutable, the more likely I'll add more) and whether other people see the situation the way I see it (again, the less I agree, the more likely I'll write). Anyway, I'm not making promises, but it's definitely possible.