Disclaimer: See Part 1

Feedback:A Halloween treat! Pretty please! I finished this as opposed to studying for my chem. exam. It was more fun, and I'm really proud of this, so I'd really like to hear what you think! I shall be studying feverishly until Wed., so feedback would brighten my day, as usual.

Notes: Okay, this part is unbeta'd, as I am impatient. I read it over numerous times, though, so hopefully it's basically okay.

Many of you have been asking for a Darrah/Donna moment or two…or three. They will be coming…probably not the next bit but the one after…hopefully I will live up to the expectations.

A word of advice: When writing, and trying to wind up a story, never listen to the Drifters. I fully intended to end this after two more parts, but I was listening this morning, to "This Magic Moment" and "Some Kind of Wonderful" and "Stand By Me," and this caused Liza to begin a covert operation for a romantic part of her own in my head. So, you shall be treated to three more parts, not two. Thank the Drifters, as well as a petulant Liza, who whined until I listened to her! :)

P. S.: I hope you have all had a "bewitching" Halloween (heehee) with plenty of sugar. 

I jog back from the bakery. I went to get muffins. Yes, I can make muffins myself, and they're good, but these, these are fabulous. Fresh blueberries turn the entire muffin blue, and there are fat sugar crystals on top. They're not overly sweet or perfumey, either.

Walking towards the house, I notice that Josh is up, reading the paper, sitting in the armchair next to the couch on which a sleeping Sandy is sprawled.

I don't really know what to make of Josh. Donna's great, Phil's hysterical, Liza and Adi are sweet, and Norah's nice. I'm a little in awe of her, but she's nice.

But Josh? I don't know; he's confusing. He's ridiculous, sweet, intense, caring, and an occasional, okay frequent, asshole. Which Josh is the real Josh? I mean his family obviously adores him, for all their arguing, and vice versa, but I just can't figure him out.

Josh doesn't look up as I quietly enter the house; I figure he's too engrossed in his paper. When I look closer, I realize he's not looking at the paper, he's looking at Sandy, who's sprawled out with his arm flung over his head. Josh has this gooey, tender look in his eyes, and a tiny smile on his lips. Awwwwwww.

As if that weren't enough to start me tearing up, Josh bends over him, all "six feet and some" of him, and kisses the top of his head, stroking it a moment. Then he gently readjusts the covers, and with a sigh both contented and wistful, he settles back down to his paper.

Awwwwwwwwwwwww.

"Josh."

He looks up, surprised, and then his face reddens in embarrassment. "Darrah," he says cautiously. "How long have you been there?"

God, the man is so transparent. "Long enough."

"Yeah. Um, so I guess I have this weird thing about watching them sleep."

"Don't worry, Josh, I won't tell the Republicans what a closet sentimentalist you are." He looks up sharply, and I laugh at him. "Actually," I say softly, " I wish I knew if my father ever looked at me that way."

"I'm sure he did, sweetie." His eyes are warm and full of compassion, and he takes my hand in his.

"Wait, how did you know?"

"Um, I may have done a teensy bit of, um, research."

"Seriously?" He looks like a six year-old with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and that seals it. I now officially adore him. "Wow. I really posed that much of a security risk?" I tease.

"Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly…" He looks up to find me grinning. "You're messing with me," he states.

"Yup."

"Okay then. What's in the bag?"

"Muffins."

"Don't you make those yourself?"

"These are special. Want one?"

"Sugar in the morning? Heck, yeah." He grins, and then looks around cautiously. "Don't tell Donna, okay?"

I throw a napkin at his head.

God, I needed this. I stretch out, savoring the beat of the sun's rays on my back. Maybe I should transfer to a law school by a beach somewhere. Heck, maybe there's one on a beach somewhere.

Darrah, Liza and I lazing the day away on the beach. Perfect. The guys went fishing, and Mom's getting stuff ready for CJ's arrival later.

Darrah's sweet. Perfect for Sandy. She's quiet, but no pushover. Sometimes I have trouble believing she and Liza are the same age. In some ways she's so much older, and in other ways much younger, more unsure of herself. I like her, though. A lot.

I watch the progress of Liza and Darrah as they make their way towards me, lemonade and fries in hand. They flop down beside me, and we dig in. Darrah pauses to lift her thick ponytail off her neck and wipe at beads of sweat dribbling down her back. "God, it's hot," she moans, piling her hair on top of her head.

"You know, Darrah…" Liza begins.

I cut her off. "Liza, if you even think the word makeover I will personally flail you with every copy of "Clueless" I can find, and then brain you over the head with a blow dryer."

She glares at me, miffed. "Geez, Nor, how shallow do you think I am? I was merely going suggest an idea for consideration…"

I roll my eyes. "Hey, I have a sense for these things. I'm in theater," she defends.

I groan, but Liza doesn't hear, she's too busy babbling to Darrah about fashion this and fashion that. "… and you just might drive Sandy absolutely crazy, even more than you already do," she concludes triumphantly.

I make no pretense at stifling yet another groan. Two pairs of wide blue eyes stare at me. "What?" Liza asks.

"Now it starts." After today, I think I'll be eligible for official martyrdom.

I slip my arms around my mother's waist, chuckling as she jumps. "Hey, Momma."

"Sandy! You scared me! You're as bad as your father!" she scolds.

"Good-o." I grin. "I came back ahead of the rest of them. Can I help?"

"Could you grab the groceries from the car? And maybe squeegee the windows?"

"Squeegee the windows?" I sputter. She looks at me. "Okay, sure thing," I amend hurriedly.

"Thank you."

"Well, well, well," says a voice behind me. "Looking to grace the next cover of GQ, are we?"

I turn and grin broadly. "Hey, CJ!"

"Well, hi, gorgeous."

"How are you?"

"Just fine, of course. Am I ever not?"

"Good point."

"You know, you really know how to make a girl regret her age, there, buddy."

"CCCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-JJJJJAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!"

"What, am I that repulsive?"

"Nooooooo," I stammer, "but…"

"I was kidding, pal. Relax, wouldya?"

The door opens, and Mom rushes out, and the two reunite like they haven't seen each other in years. At my incredulous stare, CJ frowns. "No mocking of the Sisterhood on my watch," she proclaims. I bite my lip, and she glares. "Wash windows, oh young one."

"Yes ma'am."

Adi and Phil are making fun of Dad for being squeamish. Seems he can't stand to touch fish. Figures.

I really want Darrah to meet CJ. Like, now. I miss her. I've barely seen her all day. They were just going to the beach, and it's almost six. Where are they? I feel a niggle of worry; I can't help it.

Suddenly, Phil lets out a long wolf whistle. I look around, and my mouth drops open.

She's got on this lacy, white spaghetti strap tank, paired with dark blue jeans that emphasize every curve of her body. Her hair's different, too. Short. Kind of like Meg Ryan's in that "You've Got Mail" movie that Liza made me watch once, although not as messy. It's flippy and cute, and looks great on her. But now I know what she felt like when she asked me why I couldn't just get nipple piercings.

No, I'm not a possessive chauvinist. It's just, Darrah's special. There's something so, I don't know, refreshing about her. She seems so innocent and sweet, but it's deceptive. She's strong and tender and wise and a force to be reckoned with. She's so unselfconscious, so genuine. I thought she was above all that "look at me" type stuff. I mean, I've always thought she was sexy as hell, even right after she wakes up in the morning. Especially then, in fact.

Okay, so maybe I have her on a pedestal, maybe I'm holding her to a higher standard, maybe it's not fair to her. In fact, I know it isn't. But it's the way I feel. I feel betrayed, kind of.

"Son, stop with the fish impression and go talk to her," Dad says quietly. He walks over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "You look beautiful, Darrah."

I wait. I wait while CJ and Mom gush over her. I wait while she gets hugs from Adi and Phil. I wait through the sly look she gets from Liza and the thumbs up Norah points in her direction. I wait till we're alone.

"You don't like it."

"It's not that."

"Then what do you think?"

"You look fabulous. But for what it's worth, you looked fabulous before, too."

"So what, exactly, is the problem?" she asks irritably.

" I guess I just don't understand why."

"What, so you get to go off on your 'I made peace with myself so now I need to change' jaunt and I don't get extended the same courtesy?"

"You don't need to change."

"And you don't get to make that call!" she shouts angrily.

"I just, I thought you were above all that," I say, and even to my ears it sounds pathetic.

"My god! What do you think I am, a goddess or something?"

"Maybe."

"Unbelievable." She sighs, and begins speaking quietly. "Sandy, do you know how long it's been since I've done something entirely frivolous, thought of nothing and no one but myself for once? Ten years. Ten years, Sandy. Since my mother and father died, it's always been about something, or someone, else. Not being any trouble to my foster parents. Helping Dave support us, lessening his burden by staying home, staying safe, on the weekends. Taking care of little brats whose mothers have money to blow on whatever their materialistic hearts desire and are still stingy on tips. Oh, they weren't all like that, but…. I haven't had the luxury of only worrying about myself, of really sitting down and figuring out what I want, what kind of person I really want to be. Or the luxury of forgetting about those worries. Until today. Do you know," she continues, "that that's the first time I've been on a shopping trip like that, one full of giggling and jokes and… bliss? First of all, I didn't have time for things like that, friends like that. I was always working. I didn't have the money either. So I guess once I got started today, I couldn't stop. Making up for lost time. I don't know. I don't know, maybe I got carried away…"

"No." I step forward to hug her. "You're right. I'm an idiot. And I don't have any say. But next time, would you give me a warning before you come waltzing home all gorgeous like that? I wouldn't mind being included, but more importantly, I would also like not to die from a sudden heart attack, like almost happened today."

"Really?" she squeals, her eyes shining, and then it really hits home, how good today was for her, how much it meant to her.

"Oh, yeah," I say, and then I lean forward to kiss her, and it's long and warm and involving, and there's forgiveness in it. "That's what it felt like. When I saw you."

"Like being out of breath for a full minute?"

"Bingo."

Dinner's over. CJ raved about it; she wants Darrah to become her personal chef. She's only half-kidding, too. We're setting up for another rousing game of Cranium, when there's an urgent knock at the door.

It's Becca, a girl who lives with Darrah above the bookstore. She nods at me and makes a beeline for Darrah, not bothering to tell her how great she looks, which is odd, 'cause I thought girls did that.

"Darrah? There was a call for you. From the army."

Darrah's face drains of color. "Dave?" she whispers.

Oh shit. See, her brother Dave was in ROTC to pay for college. He didn't start till he was twenty, so Darrah would be old enough to be emancipated when he was stationed. Even so, he managed to wrangle a posting relatively close while she finished high school. He's in Germany now, so I don't really know what could have happened.

"- the guy said he'd call again, but not when. He wouldn't tell me anything other than that," Becca says apologetically, squeezing Darrah's arm sympathetically.

Darrah reaches down and picks up a glass. "Hon? Darrah, honey, what…"

Suddenly, she throws the glass down, wincing as it shatters. "Dammit!" she screams, and then, bursting into tears, she runs out of the house.

"Shit." Without another thought, I follow her.

A few minutes later, I lead a subdued Darrah back into the house. Once inside, she runs straight into Mom's open arms. I flop into a chair, drained, and survey the somber faces around me. All except one. "Where's Dad?" I ask, and Adi points, a small smile forming on his face.

There he is. Pacing, gesticulating, hair standing up wildly. On the phone. He's on the goddamn phone. Son of a bitch. I grin, sit back and listen.

"Listen, Bill, I'm sorry, but I need this to happen now. Right now…Yes, right now, as in the next two minutes, tops. Thank you…Morgan, Lieutenant David Christopher Morgan. And I want to talk to the doctor, you understand?…Well, good, I'm glad you figured that, now put him on. Doctor? Josh Lyman. Can you tell me of Lieutenant Morgan's condition right now?…Ah. Mmmmm-hmmm. Yeah. Wow. Yeah, okay. Thank you, Doctor. Sorry to disturb. Bill, you there? Yeah. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Good night, Bill. Thanks. You too. Bye."

He shuts off the phone and takes a deep breath.

Then he goes over to Darrah, curled up on the couch, and bends to her eye level. "It was a Jeep accident. It flipped over, there was some fire. He's pretty beat up. Both legs are broken, a couple broken vertebrae and broken ribs, burns, scrapes, bruises. A concussion. But you know what, hon?" he says, smoothing away a few of the tears that are running down her face. "He's gonna be fine. He's gonna be fine. And you can talk to him tomorrow, okay? I promise absolutely that you can. It'll be fine, sweetheart."

And then Darrah does something totally unexpected. She hurls herself up and into Dad's arms and squeezes him tight. And Dad, an expert from years of practice, rocks her and hugs right back.