DISCLAIMER-I do not own Joan of Arcadia or any characters affiliated to the show. I also do not own anything in New York, or wherever else this story might lead.

"Stupid Fascist Psycho!" she muttered angrily as she shuffled her way onto the subway. "The prototype must be designed by blah-de-blah blah. Color contrast wa, wa, wah! Interior decorators. Grrr-Ugh!" A man looked at her amused, before returning to his newspaper. She looked around and realized a couple other people were giving her strange looks. "What?" she snapped at them furiously. Their eyes darted back to whatever signs or graffiti could suitably hold their attention. "That's more like it." she murmured and then noticed that one man hadn't stopped staring at her. She gave him an annoyed look and started to face the other way, but something about him caught attention; He looked vaguely familiar, with his lanky frame, blond hair, glasses..."oh my God," she thought.

"Grace?" he asked, his mouth slack in surprise.

"Luke?" She felt a warmth creep up the side of her face.

"Oh my God! Grace!" He stood up, walked to her and enfolded her in a large bear hug. She hugged him back tightly, her chin resting on his shoulder. He was basically the same as he'd always been, but there was hardness to his body, a depth to his voice that hadn't been there before. She pushed him away from her, holding him back at arms length. "Luke Girardi, what is up?" She slapped him heartily on the shoulder.

"Nothing much, I live in New York now. I work for a local company currently examining the effects of radiation on subatomic particles dipped in..."he drifted off sheepishly as she laughed, "and you?" He finished, moving his hand gallantly.

"I work for the Times...." He looked at her urging her to continue.

"And..."

"And what? It's a job. I'm not fighting the man, but it's a job." She shrugged. He smiled broadly.

"Grace Polanski, star reporter."

"Actually it's Mitchell now, Grace Mitchell."

Alarmed, his eyes darted to her ring finger.

"You're ma-"he pointed down at her hand.

"Wha-," she looked at him confused, "No, Luke no. Married?" She laughed. "No it's a pen name."

"Ohhhhh." He looked at her with what, she couldn't help but see, was relief.

"You?" She asked, trying to break the awkwardness. He laughed slightly, shaking his head.

"No, course not."

She tilted her head at him curiously. He coughed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"So, do you want to..." they laughed as they spoke in unison.

"Ladies first." She raised her eyebrow. "I insist."

"Very well, do you maybe want to have dinner tonight. You know go for a stroll down memory lane, fill each other in on the gaps?"

"Well, I don't know, I am awfully busy" He looked at her, laughter ringing in his eyes. She hit him playfully. "I'd love to."

"Okay dork, how bout 7ish at Di Marco's? You know the place?" He nodded.

"Okay then, I'll see you at seven. You better be there on time dork, or I'll grind your face into the pavement. This is my stop." She hugged him, before stepping off the car."I mean it Girardi. Don't make me hunt you down like an animal." And the doors closed on his laughing face as he waved goodbye, before disappearing down another tunnel. She waited until the car had completely disappeared, before squealing loudly.

"Oh my God, Luke Girardi." She said happily and again people turned to stare at her. She scowled at them. "What?" she snapped and then darted up the stairway.

An elderly woman turned to her husband. "Crazy, honey. I tell you, everyone in this city is just plain crazy." His eyes wide in astonishment, he nodded in agreement.

Luke checked his appearance in the window one more time before opening the door to the small Italian Restaurant.

"Calm it Girardi," He murmured to himself, "You'll do fine if you don't hyperventilate." He walked up to the headwaiter, scanning the tables as he walked. He saw her at a table in the corner, and gesturing to the waiter, he made his way over to her.

"Good lord, she looks amazing." He thought. Seven years had eased the hardness from her face, had made her more lovely, "and much more approachable." But beneath the made up exterior, he could still see the same rebellious grace and defiance. Confidence flashed in her eyes confirming it.

"Hey Girardi. For a while I thought you wouldn't show." She stood up and he embraced her warmly.

"Me, not show up, and miss you in that dress. I have a genius I.Q. remember." She swatted at him in reproach, but a smile lit her face. An awkward silence fell. He picked up a menu, scanning it briefly, "Do you know what you want?" "Yeah, I come here a lot." She looked down sheepishly, "I always get the Pizza Primavera with a glass of red wine."

"No freaking way." She looked up at him.

"That's exactly what I get, and I come here a lot."

"Wait, where do you live."

"About half a block that-a-way."

"I live half a block that way." She pointed down to the opposite side. "That's freaking weird man, we live on the same street."

"On the same block and we eat at the same restaurant."

"Weird." They murmured together and glanced up at each other. Bursting into laughter they eased their way into conversation.

~*~
"You're kidding me right?" He shook his head. "Joan and Rove are getting married? What took them so long? They're perfect for each other, always were."

"Well they did break up, like eleven times in the last seven years. Of course the last break up lasted only about two hours, and then Adam showed up at school with the ring. You should see them, Grace, the two of them. I mean it was always like they had their own little world you know." She nodded. "But now, its like they're in their own universe. They're so happy...I'm kind of jealous."

"What, no girlfriend?" He looked up at her his eyes serious and shook his head. Suddenly that warm feeling at the back of her neck was back. She looked down, breaking eye contact and shook her head, laughing uncomfortable. When she looked up, the look was gone. The waiter arrived, and the next ten minutes were spent deciding who would pick up the tab. When they left the restaurant laughing, Luke walked her home.

The night was cold and foggy, and their breath hung above them suspended, leaving a trail of ghost white patches behind them as they walked. Grace shivered as the cold win pierced her thin coat. She kicked herself mentally for not having dressed for the weather. Beside her she felt him shift and wordlessly he slid off his coat and laid it gently on her shoulders. They walked a bit further and she slipped her hand into his. He smiled. When they finally reached her apartment and she opened the front door, she slid off his coat.

"Thank you for the coat, ...and for dinner." She said smiling.

"My pleasure." He nodded back. They stood there awkwardly, neither wanting to stand in the cold, and neither of them wanting to leave.

"Well, good night." Her voice was shy and disappointed as she turned to go inside.

"Wait, Grace..." he said, catching her hand in his. She turned around and he pulled her to him, slid his hand around her waste and kissed her. Softly, yet passionately they seemed to melt into one person and at that moment she realized what it must be like to be like Joan and Adam, completely alone in their own personal universe. Unknowingly she sighed.

He pulled away, not smiling, but rather radiating with happiness and pushed her inside. Leaning in he kissed her once more and backed away.

"Good Night Grace Mitchell-Polk-Polanski." He whispered to her as he backed away from the steps on which she stood. "Good Night." He proclaimed joyously to the world and ran home. And so she stood on her doorstep, grinning happily and shaking her head, until the glint of his glasses disappeared into darkness.