John

It was nice to see The Mill once again in a flurry of activity. The roadies were unloading sound equipment and lighting from the truck, there was a line at the box office, for the first time in weeks. It had been much too quiet lately. There were a few young men replacing boards on the side of The Mill and touching up paint. John looked over it all with a sense of satisfaction that had escaped him of late.

Mrs. Thornton had stopped by to check on John and check up on the work being done. He appreciated his mother's assistance; her shrewd eyes often caught small mistakes that slipped his notice. While she was watching the work progress on the outside wall, there was suddenly a scream and a scuffle.

As John was about to rush over to see what the problem was, his phone rang, the number of an important promoter flashing on his caller ID. He answered, seeing that his mother has the situation under control, anyway.

One of the young workers had shot through his hand with a nail gun. It was a gruesome injury, making Mrs. Thornton flinch at the sight. The boy couldn't be more than 20 but carried himself with the weariness of someone twice his age. He stuck out his hand for Mrs. Thornton to examine at her request, looking queasy and grimacing in pain.

"I'm sorry, son, you're going to have to go to the hospital. I'll have John call for the ambulance in just a moment." She said, after a cursory exam to confirm that the nail had indeed gone all the way through his palm.

The boy blanched whiter, which she hadn't thought possible. "Please, no ma'am. I can't afford the ER, much less an ambulance ride! I don't have insurance. It'll ruin my family."

She could tell that this young man was more afraid of the financial repercussions of the hospital bills, than he was at the thought of losing his hand. She sighed, hating that this was the way of the world they lived in. Turning to the other young man standing there, she said, "Did you drive here?" When he nodded, she continued. "Take him to the hospital in Midtown, the one near Peachtree and Pine. I'll call ahead, talk to some people for you. Don't worry," she said, cutting off the injured boy's protests. "They'll take care of you. Go straight there, okay? Do as I say, focus on getting well, and everything will be alright."

With that, she sent the young men on their way, hoping that they listened to her instructions. Wearily, she went inside The Mill to make her phone calls, wishing she could pull enough strings to help every youth in a similar situation. She took solace in this small act, glad that she was able to help even one person, as kind hearted people had helped her family in their years of struggle.

John was hanging up the phone from his call as she walked by. "Thank you, mom, for handling that. Everything is okay, then?" He asked, having noticed her sending the boys off.

With a small smile she nodded, glad to help her son, even in the simplest ways. "Yes, I've just got to make a few calls real quick, then I'll be on my way home." She disappeared inside to settle the matter.

Maggie

The Thornton's house was not what she had expected. In her mind, she'd always imagined a bleak, cold, modern building, fitting for someone like John and his permanent scowl. Instead, as she sat in the living room of their house, she looked around noticing the warm touches of the historic home. It was a huge place, as you'd expect, but not ostentatiously so. It was the kind of house she could imagine living comfortably in, filled with happy children and pets, laughter and memories. Shaking her head to rid it of those odd thoughts, she looked up as Mrs. Thornton reentered the room.

"Here's the name and number of my contact at Emory. That's where you'll want to go, it's the best hospital around. My friends will make sure y'all are taken care of. But you could have called if it was so urgent or just sent a message." Mrs. Thornton said as she handed Maggie the slip of paper, looking at her curiously.

Maggie shook her head quickly, "Oh, no, it wasn't terribly urgent. I came because, well, I don't want to worry dad but I'm afraid my mother's health is taking a turn for the worse. Becca said you were on some public health committees, so I thought you would know the best place to take her… when the time comes, you know." In truth, she wasn't sure she would have gotten a straight answer from Mrs. Thornton if she wasn't present in the flesh before her.

Mrs. Thornton seemed at least somewhat sympathetic at the mention of Mrs. Hale's failing health. "Yes, John mentioned your mother was sickly. I'm sure the doctors here will fix her right up, whatever it is that ails her." Maggie doubted that, having watched her mother these months and noted the changes that her father seemed to willfully ignore.

Sighing, she stood up. "I'm sorry to bother you with this Mrs. Thornton. Thank you again for the information."

The older woman eyed her carefully before saying, "It's no trouble at all, Maggie. But maybe you haven't heard there's talk of a boycott. Not just of The Mill, but all the venues in the city. Though I can't imagine that's escaped your notice, considering the crowd you run with."

This, of course, was not news to Maggie. Not sure how to interpret Mrs. Thornton's tone, Maggie tried to skirt the implication that she somehow has inside information on the plans. "What do they think they would gain by a boycott? Cheaper tickets?" She knew the answer already but thought it wise to get the other woman's opinion on the matter.

"Gain?" She snorted. "There is nothing to gain. Of course, they say it's the tickets, the fees, the expense. But they know nothing of how to run a business and are jealous of the men like John who have fought their way to the top. When you're at the top, Maggie, there will always be someone below trying to pull you down." With a solemn look on her face, Mrs. Thornton crossed her arms, indicating the visit was over.

As she walked to the bus stop, Maggie thought about what Mrs. Thornton had said. Was there truth to her words? Was jealousy at least somewhat at the heart of the matter? She didn't like thinking poorly of her friends like Nick, and the other people she had come to know through the Higgins. Regardless, she was trying to see both sides of the issue, somehow knowing that it would soon be important.

John

The call had not gone well, Slickson being his slimy self, somehow always making a bad situation worse. What was he playing at, planning to advertise one price then charge another? It seemed like he purposefully wanted to enrage the masses, to push them past their limit once and for all. John wasn't sure what the end game was, but he'd have to be more careful in his future dealings with that scumbag.

And now he was short two workers, with the outside wall only half finished. He looked critically at the wall, the work left to complete, before rolling up his sleeves and picking up the discarded nail gun. The young men who had remained behind after the accident looked at him in confusion, not used to seeing one of the owners deigning to do manual labor. When John climbed the ladder and motioned to one of the boys to come hold the board he was replacing, they shrugged at each other and got back to work.

The much-needed repairs were done in short order, and John was grateful for the cool breeze that ruffled his hair as he climbed down the ladder. He walked back around the corner, enjoying the energy and calm that he gained from working with his hands. Too much time spent in his office, he knew, made him jumpy and agitated. It would be beneficial to make a point of doing more physical work around the mill on a regular basis. He made a mental note to try and work that into his schedule.

An unexpected sight pulled him from his thoughts, as he noticed Maggie walking over to talk to some young women in the box office line. Curious, he wandered over to see what they could be talking about. Of course, it wasn't polite to eavesdrop. But this was his property, after all. It was better for everyone if he kept aware of the goings on around The Mill. At least that's how he justified it to himself as he listened into their conversation with interest.

Not to mention that it had been some weeks since he had even a chance to speak with Maggie. He wasn't sure that she was actively avoiding him now, but their paths seemed to rarely cross these days. It was with this thought in his mind that he was noticed by the girls Maggie was speaking with, their mouths suddenly clamped shut as they backed away nervously. Caught in the act, he thought ruefully, as Maggie turned around to see what the disturbance was.

Maggie

It was early afternoon, usually the hottest part of the day, but Maggie was beginning to wish she had brought a jacket. The wind had a bite to it, a promising sign that Atlanta was ready to leave the sweltering summer behind. As she rounded the corner by the mill, she saw a hive of activity. People were lined up at the box office, and the loading bay doors were open with workers scurrying around like ants, unloading sound equipment.

"Hey Maggie!" a younger girl in the ticket line called out and waved her over to where she was standing with a friend.

Maggie headed towards her, the sister of one of Becca's friends that accompanied them to a lot of shows. "Hello, Jenny, how's your sister?" She remembered that Becca said Jenny's sister had broken her leg crowd surfing.

With a rueful smile, Jenny responded, "A bit better, though she'll be laid up for weeks, I'm sure. She's right bout to go stir crazy, cooped up in our apartment."

Smiling, Maggie thought about the girl in question. She was definitely a firecracker, and her sister was more of the same. "You're planning on going to a show soon, I assume?" She asked the girls.

Jenny's friend sighed, "I guess, though we thought we could finagle some cheaper if we showed up in person. But I don't think that's going to work out. It's been pretty ridiculous lately."

The same thing is on everyone's mind, Maggie noted. "So, will you join the boycott? If there is one, I mean?" For some reason, she felt it was important to find out how serious this threat of boycott was.

The girls didn't answer; they were looking over Maggie's shoulder in stunned embarrassment, blushing at being caught talking about such a sensitive subject. Of course, only a few people would make someone so suddenly embarrassed, and Maggie thought she knew who the culprit was.

Even though she steeled herself in anticipation, the sight of him still took her breath away. He was right in front of her, steely eyes watching the scene with interest, pinning her feet to the concrete. His sleeves were carelessly rolled up, revealing muscular forearms that glistened with recent hard work. Standing so close, she could see the beginnings of stubble making its appearance on his jaw line, and she could tell by the look on his face that he had heard most, if not all, of the conversation.

Eager to brush off her conversation with the girls, Maggie said quickly, "I was just visiting your mother, she was kind enough to give me the name of some contacts at the hospital."

John's brow furrowed slightly, concerned, "Are you sick?" he asked. Maggie thought it odd that he would assume the information was for herself and not her mother, who he knew to be in poor health. She decided to ignore that strangeness for now.

"No, no, for my mom, of course. Just so I'm prepared, when- if- the time comes that she needs a higher level of care." She didn't like thinking about that, but it was obvious that this responsibility was to fall on her shoulders.

Visibly relieved, John glanced back at the giggling girls Maggie had been speaking with. She imagined that he experienced that sort of thing often, being so handsome yet so unapproachable. She wondered if he knew the effect he had on women, or if he was so absorbed in his work that he remained oblivious. No one ever spoke of John in the context of a relationship, and as far as Maggie knew, he stayed happily single. It was embarrassing, but she had tried to ask around about him without raising too many questions.

He turned and starting walking away, clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention, if only for two young women. Maggie hurried to walk with him, enjoying this strange moment of civility between the two of them. "I think you'll find I'm still struggling to fit in here, but have at least made some friends in the process," she said casually, making conversation.

A half smile appeared on John's face. "I'm sure you could make better friends than with gossipy girls like Jenny and her crowd." Maggie thought it interesting that he knew her by name but figured there wasn't much that escaped his notice.

Before she realized what was happening, he had walked her to the bus stop and stood waiting with her. "They weren't telling me any good gossip, that's for sure," she said ruefully.

"There's no need, they told it all to the reporter who was here just before you. They weren't afraid to discuss the potential boycott and their enlightened ideas on the way we run our businesses." She looked sharply at him as he spoke but couldn't discern any anger in his tone or expression, only a detached acceptance.

Curious to explore his feelings, she asked cautiously, "And do you mind, if people talk to the press?"

John shrugged, as if it didn't bother him at all. "Should I? I won't apologize for how I run The Mill. But I won't be told how to do so by people who have no idea what they are talking about."

"And what if there is a boycott, what will you do if your workers participate?" He gave a startled look at her pointed question, and Maggie worried it was too specific. She was trying to figure out what repercussion there might be for her friends in the future but was afraid John's shrewd eyes saw right through her thinly veiled question.

Looking thoughtful for a moment, he crossed his arms, leaning against the street lamp. "I suppose, as long as they don't do anything to actively undermine my running of The Mill, then it's none of my business how my staff uses their money or spends their free time. Now, if they take to the streets, and are vocal against myself and the other owners, well, that would be a different story." He gave Maggie a long look, peering intensely at her with an inscrutable expression.

She thought he meant this as a warning, to herself and her friends. Was it given in kindness, as though he wanted to protect her from the storm to come, or was it menacing, since he knew Nick and his penchant for grandstanding? Either way, the message was received, whatever his intentions behind it.

John

Lord, if nothing else, she was striking. As they stood, both looking like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, he was hit full force with the intensity of her eyes. It felt like they saw everything, could interpret every nuance of his expression. At this moment, they looked guilty at having been caught discussing the potential for his financial downfall.

Her close proximity was very distracting, making it difficult to focus on what she was saying. That's why he had a moment of sudden panic when she mentioned the hospital. Of course, it wasn't for her, but for her mother. He felt relieved, yet foolish, a feeling amplified by the laughter of the girls in line. It seemed they thought of him as a big joke, and why shouldn't they? Standing in broad daylight, embarrassing himself for all the world to see. He decided it would be best to walk away.

Though he was pleasantly surprised that Maggie decided she wanted to continue their interaction, he wasn't necessarily enjoying the turn the conversation was taking. The boycott was all any one wanted to talk about these days. People on both sides seemed intent on stirring up trouble, instead of working together to find solutions. He knew it wasn't all black and white; judging from the nature of her questions, Maggie knew it too.

What was she getting at, asking about his staff? He could see the anxiety in her expression, making him wonder if it was just friendly concern, or if her interests ran deeper in regard to a certain staff member. For some reason, John didn't like that train of thought.

"Wouldn't it be better to talk to your workers, before it ever gets to that point? They have as much interest in the success of The Mill as you do." He was pulled out of his reverie by another pointed question. Maggie certainly didn't pull any punches.

Noting her bus in the distance, he said, "Everyone here, from the owners, to the staff, to the fans, will do what they think is for their own good. We're headstrong down here, an independent bunch, for better or worse. I can't force them to do anything, to listen to anything. Until we can agree to work together, nothing I say will change their minds, only harden their opinion against me." He didn't tell her that he had already tried her method. The conversations he had with Nick over a beer after work always devolved into an argument. Headstrong, indeed, both of them.

Maggie was looking over his shoulder now, her lips pulled into a half-frown. He turned around to see what she found displeasing and saw his mother at the top of The Mill stairs across the street, watching them with her own frown mirroring Maggie's. It seemed he and Nick weren't the only two headstrong people destined to face off. He felt torn, wanting to say something to Maggie in order to continue their conversation, but her bus was pulling in and her mood had soured.

"I've got to get back to work. Have a nice day, Maggie," he said, stepping back as she boarded the bus. She shot one last glance at Mrs. Thornton, who was still watching their interaction closely from her vantage point on the stairs, before turning as the bus driver closed the doors behind her.

John wondered what the two women were thinking; but he had never been good at discerning what was on a woman's mind. He didn't think it was anything good, judging from the expression on his mother's face. It didn't matter, though, for at the moment there was too much to do. He shook off the strange feeling and went back to work, much to the relief of Mrs. Thornton. That girl couldn't be affecting him too much, if he was able to focus squarely on the tasks at hand. Mrs. Thornton thought perhaps she was worried for nothing. She was wrong, but it was a nice thought.