Disclaimer: Nobody from the show is mine, more's the pity.

A/N: Here you go...the romance begins. Yes, I will work in some Donna and Suzy, I promise...I just need to establish this first. Feedback is a beautiful thing!

Um, the last line is JJ's...I know it's lame, but I wanted some sort of symmetry, and it's late. Forgive me.

Oh, and y'all can thank witchofnovember for this...she inspired me to get these bits out quicker! ;0)

I feel rather like a monk. Which is actually surprisingly pleasant. Tonight, the place is mine. Chris bolted hours ago, and Becca's got a blind date tonight. I've been listening to the sounds of primping for the last hour. Finally, I hear the door creak open. Thank God.

Whoa. Hel-lo. "That's a nice dress, there, Becc." It is. It's lavender, or lilac, or something, with a halter neck. She's got on stiletto heels, too. Huh. I never figured her for those. "You can walk in those things?"

"Yeah. Of course. What, do they look weird or something?"

"Becc, relax. You look beautiful."

"Well, I was informed the dress sets off my eyes, so…"

"It does." Becca has great eyes. They're big, and turquoise. Really distinctive.

"Well, a girl's gotta make the best of what she's got, so…"

What? "Hey. Rebecca. Come on, don't do that. Don't sell yourself short. You're wonderful. The guy's gonna take one look at you and faint. Talk to him for five minutes, and he'll be yours for life."

She rolls her eyes. "You are such a goon."

On impulse, I kiss her cheek. "I mean it. Have fun, Becca."

Right before she leaves, she turns, and gives me a long look that I can't really decipher.

I guess Chris is making a night of it. A month ago, I would have breezed in sometime Saturday afternoon, but I don't mind. I like the peace. I've been grading papers. I yawn, and stretch, and contemplate making a mug of tea before I head off to bed, when I hear a scuffling outside the door. I look through the peephole, see the top of Becca's head, and then the next moment, nothing. I open the door only to find her sprawl-sitting against the wall. She looks up, and grins at me. Uh-oh.

"Jay!"

"Hey, darlin'. Need a hand?"

"Guess so."

"I should think."

I grab her purse, which ended up on the floor a ways off. As I help her in, she asks a question that stops me in my tracks: "Am I really that repulsive?"

"Wha…"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm not a blonde. Blondes have more fun. Do you think I should be a blonde?"

"Becca, sweetie, why don't we hold off on the decisions 'till tomorrow, okay? You need to sleep."

"But I want to figure it out. That's all. That's all."

She sounds…forlorn. Woebegone. Disenchanted. Hey, I'm an English teacher. The need to become a walking thesaurus strikes at the oddest moments. These aren't normally Becca-Synonyms, though.

I realize, suddenly, just how much I count on Becca. I count on her smile to cheer me in the mornings. I count on her ribbing me about everything. I count on her to listen and to yell at me when I leave my towel on the bathroom floor and put me to bed when I'm drunk and to tell me whether my outfit looks okay. Hell, I count on unmercifully teasing her for leaving her jogging gear all over the place…especially the sports bras.

Hey, I'm no saint.

And besides, I count on her smacking me with any available object in return, too.

So. Becca matters to me. Therefore, I need to figure out who my father needs to arrange to have audited. "What happened, hon?"

"Nothin'. Zilch. Zippo. Nada. That's what happened. He never showed."

Bastard. "Maybe, something just…"

"Save it, JJ. You know that's not it."

"Becca, I don't know anything."

"Sure, Mr. Gorgeous. You don't know anything."

"Sweetie, you've had too much to drink. You need sleep. I promise, things will look better in the morning," I say firmly.

She nods sleepily, and drops off. I get her to her bed, taking off her shoes and removing the clip from her hair. For the first time I notice the glints of gold in it, and its silky feel. I cover her gently with a blanket, and she burrows into it. "Turn the tables," she murmurs, deep in a dream. "Turntables."

"Yeah," I say softly. "The tables are definitely turning."

"Hey, sunshine."

I will kill. I will so kill.

"Up, up. I've got coffee."

Well why didn't he say so? I open one eye, wince as I register the light, and roll over, grabbing my pillow and slinging it over my face. He tugs it away, and I give in. I feel too shitty to do anything else.

His eyes are big, deep brown. Full of concern, not teasing like I expected. "Come on, I've got breakfast. You should eat."

He leaves, and I notice for the first time that I'm still in my dress. "Jeez, JoJo, you had me sleep in the dress?" I pull on boxers and a t-shirt, and emerge grumbling. "It's not like you've never seen me in my underwear…" I glance in the mirror on my way out, see that my mascara is doing that raccoony thing. Oh well. It can wait. I need coffee.

"Well, yeah, but…"

Oh my god, he's actually blushing. That is too cute. "You weren't, ah, the worse for wear then, so…"

"It's not like I haven't seen yours when you're drunk."

"Yeah, but you're a girl. You have…girl stuff," he stammers.

I scowl at him over the rim of my coffee cup.

"Whatever, okay? Here, eat," he commands. He takes a plate out of the oven. Toast and scrambled eggs. A bowl of fresh melon. And…a muffin. A fresh, apple-cinnamon muffin. From my favorite bakery. I look up at him, and he shrugs. "I went running this morning."

"Thanks, Jay."

"You're welcome."

It's funny how two words can sometimes mean more than the most eloquent speeches, the most passionate love poems.

I eat in silence for a while. He sips his coffee and watches me. Eventually, we bicker over who gets the comics first and the last piece of toast. After we clean up, I walk over to him and put my arms around him, squeeze tight. "That was a really nice morning to wake up to. Anytime I can return the favor…"

"You do. Probably more than you should. Listen, Becc, can I tell you something?" Nonplussed, I nod. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, okay? I just want to make sure you know."

"Know what?"

"You're beautiful, Becca, inside and out. Regardless of whether some loser stands you up or not. Don't devalue yourself because some gomer's got his head up his butt, okay? Please. It upsets me."

I'm about to tease away the gravity in the conversation, when I really look at him. He's serious. He's got this worried, pleading look in his eye, too, like he's honestly distressed. I go up to him, give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Then I go to my room.

Well, it wasn't much, but it's a start.