Disclaimer: The rights to Miracle belong to Disney and their fellow associates. The fanfic is in NO WAY intended for profiting (at least monetarily). This is ONLY a fanfic that I have decided to dedicate time and thought into. I do however own my main protagonist, Jo Evans.

Author's Note: First off, I would like to personally thank meadow567, Bellalou, Klinoa, Emador, Lia06, and killerkeanegirl for taking the time to read and review. As this is my first web-posted fanfic, that means a lot to me. I forgot to offer fair warning that I'm a novice writer. Anyways, as most or all of you guessed it, Jo Evans is indeed related to Herb. Their history won't be revealed until later down the story, but not too long. It'll give people some fun to speculate till then! On another note, I'm a full-time college student, so my updates will be on an irregular basis. Till then, enjoy and please review!

CHAPTER ONE

August 1979

Herb Brooks crumpled yet another paper and tossed it carelessly onto the growing pile at the base of his desk, a clear sign of his frustration. For the last hour or so, a tricky but extremely clever Soviet strategy had dominated his mind. The challenge of finding a counter play had brought about a boyish enthusiasm earlier, but even that had begun to wane by the twelfth failed idea.

The impatient tapping of his pen was suddenly interrupted by louder knocks. "It's open," he called out absently, still engrossed with the sheet of paper.

"Hey, Herb," greeted his assistant coach, Craig Patrick.

"Craig," Herb nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Though Craig was very much used to Brook's informal ways by now, he still felt awkward at times. His superior must have picked up on the man's sense of urgency, for Herb finally looked up to give his assistant his undivided attention.

"There was …another … disagreement," Craig finished hesitantly. Another thing that he was well used to by now was the Minnesotan's unpredictable temper.

Sure enough, Herb Brooks didn't fail to disappoint as his face quickly took on a displeased expression. Herb took off his glasses and asked in annoyed resignation, "So who did he disagree with this time?"

"Apparently with Avery."

"That god-damned kid," cursed Herb vehemently. "Two months already, and the only thing he's been using more than his hockey stick is HIS FISTS!"

Craig wisely remained silent during Herb's long tirade, cringing then and again at the more explicit content. "This kid is gonna wear me out, Craig," Herb sighed exasperatedly. "He keeps this up, and I just might voluntarily hang myself."

"You want me to handle this?" offered Craig.

"No, just send him to my office tomorrow afternoon," said Herb. "I'll deal with him then." The day had been long enough as it was, and he wasn't keen about tackling with another hockey player.

"Okay," Craig replied simply and turned to leave.

"So who won?" Herb called out, as Craig closed the door halfway.

"Tough to say," Craig's voice took on a neutral tone. He couldn't, however, keep his growing grin in check. "Avery's sporting a black eye. O.C.'s mouth is bleeding. Neither of them has gotten off the floor, last time I checked."

Herb rolled his eyes and waited until Craig left to allow an escaped low chuckle. Boys would always be boys. But even that statement took on new interest in the constant clash between Minnesotan pride and Boston cockiness. True, the situation was a far cry from the outbreak of the first practice. Nonetheless, that comfort, if it was ever warranted as one, did not ease Herb's reservations about the team selection that he made.

He turned his attention back to the ink-stained sheet on his desk. Just as he was about to sketch, the telephone rang and interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello?" Herb sighed impatiently into the phone.

"Herb," he was admonished by a familiar feminine voice.

"I was on my way out, Patty," Herb spoke quickly. "And before you ask, yes, I know where Kelly's ballet studio is. I've got the directions written out."

"And as wonderful as that is, Herb, Kelly's friend is giving her a ride home," reminded Patty. "You're supposed to pick her up next week."

Herb's brows furrowed. "Oh. So then …?"

"You were, however, supposed to pick up someone else," Patty spoke. "This morning, if you will recall."

"What? Patty, I think you've gotten this mixed up. I have tomorrow morning off. Her flight comes in tomorrow."

"No, Herb," corrected his wife. "The arrival was today. I even have it labeled on the fridge."

Herb stared blankly at the phone before letting out a low breath as recognition hit him….HARD. "Oh, boy," he muttered and ran a hand through his hair.

"Herb,…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted hastily. "It was very careless of me."

"Herb, you ..."

"Honey, I've really got to leave right now," he cut her off again as he hastily gathered the papers. "We'll talk later tonight, so don't wait up for me for dinner."

"Herb, she's already at campus!" Patty exclaimed before her husband could hang up. "She took a cab earlier and is already settled at the dorm."

"So why wasn't I informed earlier?" demanded her husband.

"The information didn't arrive until ten minutes ago," Patty explained wryly. "Apparently, she didn't want to 'trouble' you that morning."

Herb groaned inwardly and slumped back into his chair. The day, in his mind, couldn't get progressively worse as it had at that moment. Patty luckily decided to take pity on him. "Herb, it's too late to ponder over this," she said sympathetically. "I'm sure if you explain, the misunderstanding can be resolved. She's residing in Morrison's Dormitory, Room 323."

"Maybe now wouldn't be the best time," he chuckled nervously. "I could…..you know…a day or two."

"Herb, this can't wait," said Patty firmly. "You both decided on this arrangement for a reason. Avoiding her isn't exactly communicating well now, is it?"

"No," Herb sighed. "So…how did she sound?" he asked warily.

"Perfectly calm and normal, actually" replied Patty. "I may or may not have picked up on some hidden sarcasm, but overall, I think we have a talented actress in our hands."

Herb sighed again. "Alright, I'll see you later tonight," he promised, absently massaging his aching head. "So what was for dinner?"

"Your chicken and potatoes will be warm when you get back," she laughed.

"Alright," smiled Herb. "Kiss the kids goodnight for me."

"I will," Patty said in sing-song voice. "Oh, and Herb," she added just as he was about to hang up, "try to make a good second impression."

"Not too bad," murmured Jo.

The New Yorker took a further step back to admire her handiwork. Upon arrivingthat morning, Jo had found the double-occupant dorm room rather bland and sparse with its paint-worn walls and simple wooden furniture. At the present, it resembled nothing more than a cluttered mess of boxes, books, and clothes randomly spread about, but it radiated comfort. So far, the only décor she had up was the assembled collage of world architecture on the wall above her desk.

Very loud knocks soon broke into her thoughts. Loud, not surprisingly, due to the resonating volume from the radio. Jo cautiously made her way through the clutter and opened the door ……...

Herb stood a bit awkwardly before greeting her with an equally awkward "Hi."

"Hi," Jo replied a bit flatly, with a half-hearted wave.

More than an eternity's worth of silence passed by as both remained rooted, unsure and hesitant. To a casual standby, the scene would appear to be of one between two strangers. And yet, the observation would oddly enough be accurate in its reflection.

"So…can I..?" Herb gestured mildly.

"Sure," Jo replied calmly, and opened the door wider. "You'll have to excuse the mess."

Herb didn't respond, opting instead tosurvey her room. Jo went about and continued unpacking in companionable silence. From the corner of her eye, she could amusedly make out Herb wincing slightly from the heavy music. "The Clash," she explained at the look of his blatant curiosity.

"I can see that," Herb winced again. "Of what?"

"No, it's the band. They're called The Clash."

"They decided to go for accuracy then?" he joked lightly. Jo smiled weakly and preoccupied herself with organizing her books.

Herb picked up a random one. "Principles of Fluid Dynamics," he read out. "Some light reading?"

Jo shrugged. "Depends on what you classify as 'light' in mechanical engineering."

Herb only nodded and glanced through the rest of her books. The thickness and titles of some of them made him raised his eyebrows. "So, …how's Howard?"

"Fine," Jo answered, struggling to keep her voice impassive. "Or last I heard."

"And your flight?"

"Long," she replied curtly. Jo shelved another book before asking bluntly, "Are you just here for small talk?"

Herb grimaced and exhaled softly. "Jo, I … I wanted to apologize for this morning. I had mistakenly thought your flight would come in tomorrow."

Instead of the expected disappointment or irritation, Herb only received a blank, controlled expression. "I got here, didn't I?" she said lightly.

"Besides," she smiled, though maybe a bit forcefully, "you've got the Olympics to worry about."

Herb was rendered momentarily speechless. His gut instincts immediately told him that her simple words didn't convey the whole truth. On the other hand, he wasn't exactly willing to experience any more uncomfortable moments. Herb simply left it at that.

"Alright,…well, I actually stopped by to also hand you this," he took out a folded sheet. "It's a list of useful contacts, campus sites, my office number just in case you want to talk. There's … um….also a map to the house, if you ever decide to visit or eat over."

"Can't say it won't come in handy," she answered truthfully. "Thanks," she added with what appeared to be a genuine smile this time.

Herb smiled in return. Just as he turned to leave, a lone picture frame on her desk had caught his attention. More specifically, the photograph within the frame intrigued him. Its liveliness was etched in face of the light-haired beauty leaning over a steamboat railing in reckless abandon. Her eyes conveyed a nature of playful mischievousness, and yetharbored tints of deep desolation.

"Ten years ago," replied Jo at Herb's object of interest. "It was on a ferry ride from Manhattan."

Herb forced himself to swallow the bobbing lump in his throat. Still hadn't changed even then, huh, Meg, he thought sadly. He turned his attention away from the printed, lively eyes to a similar lively pair that slightly hardened with resentment.

Jo gestured towards her unkempt room. "I still have some unpacking."

"Right," said Herb understandably. "I'll…see you around."

"Goodnight, Herb," Jo said quietly, and turned back to continue unpacking. Herb Brooks proceeded towards the door just as quietly. Halfway out, he caught afinal glimpse of his sheet that his daughter left on a corner of her bed, unfolded and ignored.

Author's Post-Note: I hope this fic doesn't seem too boring so far, but I promise that the romance will be coming sometime in the next chapter or so. I haven't decided who to pair Jo up with (temporary/ permanently), but I will promise to try to write it in a way that prompts constant guessing.