A/N: Hi everyone, sorry about the wait. I'm not too crazy about this one actually, it was hard to write. It explains some stuff though. Now I know the tobacco smoke hysteria really got crazy mid to late 80's. So I'm guessing by '79 there were some studies saying that smoking was harmful to your health. Sorry if I'm wrong.

Nine

I came into the house, and I could smell bar in the air; a sickeningly familiar smoky, alcohol smell. Mom was home from her shift at the seedy bar down the road. She was sitting on our old ratty couch, nursing a pack of Salems. She shifted her blank gaze towards me. Drunk, figures. You know some people get mean when they're drunk, some people get depressed and even just plain stupid. My mom just gets evil.

"So who was that?" She asked blandly as she got up to cut me off from the stairs.

"Just a friend." So I lied a little. She went to take my carnival prize, and I let it go.

"So how is he?" She asked. Did you catch that ellipse?

"He's nice," I answered, avoiding confrontation.

"He's not good, he's not bad," she pressed, wringing the stuffed animal's neck viciously in her willowy hands. "He's just...nice." I kept my mouth shut; I didn't care what she thought, not really. "You use protection?" Ouch, talk about a loaded question.

"Mom, I—"

"Yes or no," she cut me off firmly. Here's where it gets tricky. If I say yes, then it means I'm having sex. If I say no, well, then I'm just stupid.

"Yes." I answered. The lesser of two evils. I know my mother couldn't care less about what I do with my body, so long as I don't end up pregnant. Not so much because she doesn't want me throwing away my life like that, but because the idea of some little person calling her 'grandma' horrifies her.

"Go upstairs," she ordered, tossing the stuffed animal at me. Bam, end of conversation. I hurried up to my room, my sanctuary from the rest of the house. Double bed, down pillows, two or three incense burners, candle holders shaped like moons and stars, mahogany furniture, nightstand, dresser, vanity always clean. I threw myself across my bed and cuddled my pony until I fell asleep.

I woke the next morning and realized I had overslept my alarm. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothe, and made a mad dash out to my car. I sped all the way to the rink, and ran in as if the devil himself were after me. The boys were running some plays, and Uncle Herb was not happy. I took a seat in the box as he chewed out Rizzo.

"No. No! No! No!" Herb yelled. "Get him to a point. Come on Rizzo! You're quarterbacking this play. I got you running this play. The only thing you're going to run right now it the bench. Mac, get out here." Rizzo hobbled back to the box as Mac hopped over the boards. It was at that point that I realized I hadn't had my coffee, tranquilizer, or morning cigarette yet.

"I'm going to head out to get a cigarette," I informed Rizzo with what, I hope, was an encouraging touch on the shoulder.

"Those things (wheeze) are going to (wheeze) kill you," he made a point of telling me. Great, Doc Jr.

"That," I made a pointed gesture to Uncle Herb. "Is gonna kill you."

"At least (cough,)" he took a quick drink of water. "I can (cough) quit," he told me with a smirk. Rizzo should never smirk, it's not becoming of him at all. There should be a law against Rizzo smirking, ever.

"At least I can quit," I mocked with a frown on my face. So I turned into a two-year-old. You have to remember I still haven't had my morning dose of nicotine.

I came back down the hallway after five consecutive cigarettes to find a row of the guys doing wall sits. And I thought I complained a lot. "It hurts, it hurts." "Not good, not good." Babies, okay, okay. I don't have a lot of room to talk.

I continued out to the ice to find some of the other boys shooting pucks at Jimmy. He was struggling, and swore loudly in frustration.

Coach cut two more guys after practice. He had me worried for a while, but I was glad to see all my babies still had their names on tape above their lockers after the boys showered and dressed and Coach Pat gave me the 'all clear' to enter the lockers. Forgive me if the idea of hockey players in nothing but their birthday suits makes me a tad bit uncomfortable, but as long as I've known some of these guys it would be like seeing your brother naked. And that's just creepy whatever the circumstances may be.

"Hey," I heard Jimmy come up behind me, and he wrapped an arm around my waist. A quick glance around the lockers proved we were alone.

"How's about a second date?" He asked playfully. I laughed.

"Right now?" I asked, as he rocked me back and forth. Jimmy nodded. "Where to?"

"Right here," he said. "The rink's going to be free for another hour, I'm sure we could hunt down some figure skates."

"Jimmy we can't," I started defensively. "Herb's right down the hall."

"C'mon," he urged in his heart melting Bostonian accent. "You know he'll be glued in his office until they come to fix that window." He laughed a little in my ear, and I felt a shudder go up my spine. Oh, Jimmy, if you only knew what you could do to me.

"Jimmy, I don't skate," I admitted finally.

"Jeeze Faye," he teased me. "Don't be such a stick in the mud."

"No, Jimmy," I said firmly. "I can't skate." His blue eyes widened considerably as he gazed at me.

"You're kidding, right?" He asked. I shook my head.

"Herb tried to teach me a bunch of times when I was younger, but I never could get the hang of it." I said. "I haven't put on a pair of skates since I was six."

"I guess that means I have to teach you," he offered at length.

"Jimmy, don't," I pleaded.

"No I have to," he pressed. I don't know how he did it, but Jimmy actually managed to find me a pair of size six figure skates, and after declaring that my feet were freakishly small, he managed to get me onto the ice.

Not that I did well. My weight switched from edge to edge, haphazardly so that my ankles almost skimmed the ice, and I hit my butt the minute I set foot on the ice. But lucky for me, some of Margaret Craig's patience rubbed off on her son. Jimmy helped me up, and helped me find some balance, we skated about ten feet, before hitting a wet patch and I slipped, taking him down with me.

Jimmy just laughed, and got up as I sort-of crawled off to the side and clung to the boards, taking careful baby steps until Jim came over to pry me away. He skated backwards, skates moving in wide arcs, holding my hands until I could glide a little. I fell a few more times, plowing him down once, and grabbing him for support, lost my footing and brought him down on top of me once more.

After the better part of a half-hour I was doing fairly well. He was behind me, one arm around my waist, supporting me. I reached one arm up, around his neck, holding his hand against my stomach with my other.

"Do you know the kind of looks I'll get when people find out that the goalie taught me to skate?" I mused. Jimmy laughed.

"Just because I usually stay in a circle doesn't mean that I don't know how to skate," he defended.

"And just because I grew up in Minnesota doesn't automatically mean that I can ice skate," I returned craftily. Jimmy missed a beat. "Ha, checkmate."

"Do you trust me?" He asked, turning me to face him in the center of the ice rink.

"I think so," I answered. He slipped his arms underneath mine, and pulled me closer to him. My breath was coming quicker as I wrapped my arms around him.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. And so I did, burring my face in his chest taking in the familiar scent. I felt him push off with one foot, and we were spinning, fast. I pulled him closer to me, barely hearing the scrape of metal on ice above our hearts beating. Mine was faster, his was slower. We span around and around, until I felt dizzy. My feet clamped together and we both went down.

He was smiling, but I was hurting by now and my pants were soaked through and through.

"I think I'm done for the day," I said carefully. He got me up and helped me off the ice.

"Do you want to get some hot chocolate?" He offered. "Or coffee or something? Blanket? New clothes?" I could barely crack a smile as I worked on removing the skates. I suddenly had a strong urge to just get away. I was feeling really funny all of a sudden. I had this weird sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and my heart was pounding, and my head was still spinning.

I really liked Jimmy; I really, really liked him. He was a good-looking guy, and I just couldn't tell if I liked him because he was good-looking, or because he was showing interest in me, or because he was being so sweet, or if it was something else. Whatever the circumstances, I was afraid of liking him too much. For my own good and his own.

"Faye!" Jimmy was calling my name. I snapped out of my daze and found him looking at me, concerned. "Are you alright?" I nodded, still a little spacey. "Second date, got you skating. It wasn't easy, wasn't romantic, but we got through it. Mission accomplished right? Faye?" I was off in my own little world again. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm okay," I offered, still dazed. "I just want to go home...and maybe take a cold shower." Jimmy looked a little weirded out, and as much as I might have told myself I should, I didn't want to chase him away. "I'm sorry Jim," I began with growing unease. "I don't usually do this." He nodded, he had heard the story—dad, lack of trust, but that wasn't it, and therein lies our problem. "There's a reason I don't do this. There's a reason I don't date anymore." He sat down next to me, a willing ear. "I dated in high school...a lot."

"And," he pressed. "There's nothing catastrophic about that."

"Yea, but I did some very bad things in high school, very bad things," I admitted nervously.

"Faye, need I remind you, that I live in a dorm with Silky and O.C.," Jimmy offered kindly. "There's not much that surprises me."

"Well I started drinking and smoking my freshman year. Dated half the football team at one point," I began slowly. "I slept with a couple different guys I didn't know too well—okay it was more like seventeen different guys."

"Wow. I stand corrected," he looked a little surprised at that one. "Sorry, I just don't see it. You just seem...innocent." But he meant naïve.

"I know," I continued. "I'm damn lucky I didn't wind up with any diseases. I stole some things, nothing too big. Then one day, when I was fifteen, these two other guys got me to break into someone's house with them, and we got arrested." That one threw him for a loop. "They let me go; they kept the other two guys—whose names I don't even remember—and Herb came to pick me up from the police station. We were sitting at a red light, I was pissed as hell, and waiting for him to break into some big lecture, and he looked over and told me: 'Alright, Faye, be the victim. I don't care, and the police definitely don't care. But when you wind up dead or in jail, you remember it's nobody's fault but yours, because you don't have to be the victim.' He told me I was smart, and that I didn't have to live off of other people's pity. He told me that I could be happy, but I had to work for it, just like everyone else.

"That's when I stopped screwing around, and finished up with high school with a 4.0, joined a few clubs. Herb had been working at the U long enough to help me get in on next-to-nothing tuition. I got scholarships for everything—academics, band, and for being left handed." I never understood that one, but it got me into college, so I really didn't care how weird it sounded. "I got to know Jannie and Mac, and I met Buzzy, and they all made me feel like people could be interested in me for things other than sex. But there's still things I need work on. Drinking and smoking. And I don't think that I could get too deep in a relationship. I don't think I can, I'm too messed up."

"You're not messed up," he assured me, taking my hand. "You just didn't get loved the way kids need—"

"Don't pity me, Jim," I pleaded. "I don't know what the hell I need now, but it sure isn't pity."

"I just want to..." he was angry but he wasn't, and he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. "I wish I could make you happy."

"You do make me happy," I told him. "And that's what scares me. I want to love you, but I can't, I'm too scared off falling back in that pattern." He leaned in a little closer, I pulled away.

"Don't, please don't," I said uneasily. "Please, just don't kiss me. I'm just not worth it, unless..." I searched his face for the right words. "Don't kiss me unless you love me." He just smiled and leaned in and kissed me light on the lips, then a little deeper. I could have been cautious, but this felt just too damn good.