A.N. – Thank you to those who responded positively to the beginning of the story, and thanks for being patient waiting for an update. The next chapters should be coming within the week. For now, I hope you enjoy this. The usual disclaimers apply—some language and adult situations. Also, I still don't own the characters.

1

Crystal Blue Persuasion

Holtzmann had been out of the hospital for exactly thirty hours, and she was already about to lose her ever-loving mind.

She was freaking ecstatic to be off Dr. Menken's leash, of course. Whether at the behest of the Ghostbusters or their Homeland Security overlords, Holtzmann was sure the hospital had subjected her to just about every possible test to reassure her fretting family that Jillian was, indeed, going to recover from the spectral attack and resultant coma and ruptured spleen (plus the reaction to the anesthesia).

Did that mean Holtzmann got to return home? Of course not.

Mainly, because there wasn't a home to return to anymore. Artie had thoroughly demolished her apartment (what the ghost hadn't smashed, the resulting flood had ruined), leaving her effectively homeless until the repairs were finished. Also, there was the fact that Holtzmann was still healing from abdominal surgery and couldn't so much as sneeze without fear of tearing her incision. Menken had ordered her to rest and refused to clear her to go back to work yet (hefting a thirty-pound proton pack was simply out of the question).

Abby had insisted Holtzmann stay in her guest room, where she'd be able to make sure her friend was recovering and following the doctor's orders. She'd been careful not to leave anything in the apartment that Holtzmann could remotely use to build any kind of gizmo or gadget (and since her friend didn't need much material to engineer with, it was a challenge for Abby to "Holtzmann-proof" her apartment).

She couldn't guard the building's dumpsters. The minute she was left alone, Holtzmann planned to scavenge every recycle bin on the block for material and be back at work, she didn't care if her incision opened and all her guts spilled out. She had been kept away from her lab for too long.

It was getting them to leave her alone that was the trick.

"I can stay at the firehouse. Kevin's there. He can help with the heavy lifting." Holtzmann had tried pouting, pleading, and when those failed she'd even tried reasoning with the other Ghostbusters when they came to pick up her up from the hospital that morning.

"Nice try." Abby wasn't falling for that again. The Ghostbusters had needed sleep and made the mistake of thinking Kevin could keep Holtzmann out of trouble while she was in the hospital. When they'd returned seven hours later, Holtzmann had "fixed" the motors on a pair of wheelchairs, challenged their receptionist to a race, and added a broken right pinky finger to her list of injuries.

After that, Holtzmann's mother, and sometimes Agent Hawkins, took over for Kevin when the Ghostbusters had to answer a call.

"Kevin brought the stuff from your apartment...well, whatever Artie didn't trash. Everything except your tools-those are locked up at the firehouse. No working." Erin was in full lecture mode. Holtzmann still had use of her other fingers to make a rude gesture in response. "That's not going to change my mind. Hawkins said the repairs to your place will be done by the time Dr. Menken clears you to go back to work."

"What am I supposed to do with myself for two weeks?"

"Three weeks," Patty corrected her. "Prank call Erin, I know you enjoy that."

Erin huffed, "I knew that was you!"

"Catch some daytime t.v. or binge watch something on Netflix," Abby suggested.

Daytime t.v.? Holtzmann cringed at the very thought. "You have a gas oven, right?"

Abby gave her a warning stare. "Not funny."

Holtzmann would have made a show of melodramatically throwing herself back on the hospital bed if not for the dizziness and the spectacular stab of pain from her stomach that such a gesture would earn her. "There has to be something work-related I can do. Research or something. Anything."

The other three Ghostbusters exchanged glances, silently debating. Holtzmann felt like a kid begging her big sisters to let her go outside to play. Erin nodded, "That might be alright…but strictly computer work. No lifting heavy books or going to the library without help." She set Holtzmann's beloved silver duffel bag beside the engineer. "There are some new clothes in there. Most of yours had too much smoke and water damage."

Holtzmann unzipped the bag, inspecting the new garments. She pursed her lips at the yellow blouse with the tiny bow tie and the dress shoes with the heels. "You picked these, didn't you?" she asked Erin.

"I did. Janine's taking you to lunch; you said you wanted something nice to wear," Erin answered.

I should have sent Patty shopping instead, Holtzmann mused. Still, if it got her out of the damn hospital, she'd wear a potato sack. "I appreciate all this, guys."

Abby stayed behind when Erin and Patty stepped out into the hallway. "You having second thoughts?"

"About the heels? Yes."

"Funny. You know what I mean."

Holtzmann did. She fussed with the tattered silver bag a bit. "What? No. Janine's…nice."

She had spent a little time with her birth mother in the last week, but never completely alone. Janine visited at the hospital, but usually her friend, Ray, was with her or one of the other Ghostbusters was within earshot.

Privately, the Ghostbusters had misgivings about leaving Holtzmann in the hands of a biological mother, especially when she was just being discharged from the hospital, but that wasn't their decision to make. Janine had been nothing but kind, appreciative of that fact that her daughter had agreed to see her at all, but then Dr. Jekyll had been perfectly charming before Mr. Hyde showed up. It might be unjustified, but (having dealt with Holtzmann's other "mothers" Lydia and Sophia), they were worried that Janine would open up a bag of freak as soon as she had her daughter alone.

Holtzmann would have preferred dealing with her psychotic foster mothers. She could do crazy. Going to lunch as just a normal mother/daughter was a completely foreign concept. She'd had to blackmail Dr. Menken just to get permission for the outing when he wanted her resting. Then, she'd had to persuade her friends that she was up for it because they were fully prepared to shadow her for the lunch date. Now that the arrangements were made, Holtzmann nerves were kicking in.

"But-?" Abby prompted. If Jillian wanted Janine in her life, Abby would be kind to the woman. If she wanted Abby to help her bounce Janine back to Pawtucket, Abby would do that, too.

Holtzmann unpacked the god-awful blouse, pants, and shoes (and heaven help her, why did Erin think olive pants went with a yellow floral shirt?). "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with a mom. Like, when she comes to get me-am I supposed to give her a hug? Shake her hand? Do I give her a high five?"

"Holtz, do not high five your mother."

"No? Fist bump then?" Abby rolled her eyes as she helped Holtzmann hobble over the tiny closet to change out of the pajamas and hospital robe.

Her friend was babbling a litany of questions: "Seriously! If she comes to the apartment, am I supposed to put out snacks? Make coffee? I don't have a coffee pot anymore. Is she going to inspect my kitchen? My bathroom? My medicine cabinet? Isn't that what moms do? Or is it only mother-in-laws that do that? And why do they do that? Are daughters too stupid to hide the Zoloft or the Oxycontin before their mothers come over?"

Abby put a hand on her shoulder. If her friend twitched any harder, she was going to shake her stitches loose. "Holtz! Relax! I have some Cathy cartoon strips I can loan you that will explain all of that. It's not like you never had a good mom…what did you and Mrs. Holtzmann used to do?"

"I remember when I was five, I took the engine out of Mr. Holtzmann's lawn mower and built a go cart. I drove it to the drive-in movies…but I didn't get to watch the movie because the police came."

"I would hope so…but that's not a mother/daughter story," Abby pointed out.

Holtzmann thought for a minute as she struggled into the ugly blouse, her stomach protesting when she lifted her arm a little too high. Her gaze was drawn to the red scar on her abdomen and the smaller scar on her temple. The marks would never completely fade. Holtzmann kind of liked them. Scars were for survivors. Janine, however, had barely hidden a wince when she'd accidently seen the marks.

Abby had asked her a question. Holtzmann tore her gaze from the marks and rummaged through the bag. "She took me to some concerts."

Abby smiled. "See? That's a nice mother/daughter memory."

"It was Brett Michaels. She flashed him. I have a picture in my wallet…"

"No, no, I already have a mental picture now, thanks," Abby declined.

Holtzmann lapsed into another minute of silence while she fussed with her "Screw U" necklace. She finally put it back in the bag, deciding it might not be the message she wanted to send when her mother came to pick her up.

The next bit was spoken so quietly that Abby almost didn't hear it: "What if she doesn't like me, Abby?"

What if I don't like her? No…I do like Janine.

What if…I let her down?

What if she lets me down?

Holtzmann really did want to get to know her birth mom. There were questions she'd stored up for thirty years about her parents, her biological family. The bottom line was that she wasn't sure that she wanted another parent. Biology didn't make a parent. Neither did a piece of paper from the DSS. Parents died. Parents abandoned you. Parents bundled you back to the DSS when you set your bedroom on fire. Janine had already abandoned her once. What if she did it again?

God, she could use a beer. Damn doctors had said no alcohol…and Erin had told her not to order beer. She'd said people having brunch with polite company drank mimosas. Holtz had no idea why mimosas were more 'polite' than beer…

Holtzmann stifled a groan. Give her machines. She understood the hows and whys of machines. The only family dynamics she understood was how to be part of a dysfunctional family.

Abby wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I don't think you have to worry about that. Holtz, you are smart, loyal, beautiful, and you have a great big heart. Be yourself. She's your mom, she's going to see that." Besides which, shouldn't Janine be the one worried about making the good impression? She was the one who gave up her daughter and returned without warning, Abby thought.

Be myself, Holtzmann frowned at the odd woman in the mirror with the hideous bow-tie was she supposed to 'be herself' wearing clothes that aren't hers, eating at restaurants that she didn't pick, and drinking mimosas when she wanted beer? She wasn't sure she owned anything nice enough for the place Janine's taking her even before Artie destroyed most of her belongings. All her clothes had come from the St. Augustus Thrift Store (it was all Holtz can afford and it supported her old children's home).

"Abby?"

"What?"

"There's no way I can get into those pants and shoes without help."

GBGBGBGBGBGB

If her hands shook any harder, Janine was convinced the friction would cause her to spontaneously combust. She hid it by wrapping her fingers around a Styrofoam cup of coffee. The awkward silence that had settled over the sitting room when Erin and Patty returned wasn't helping.

The three of them sat, waiting for Dr. Menken to finish signing the discharge papers and the orderly to bring Jillian down (very specifically in a non-motorized wheelchair). Janine had some interaction with the other her daughter's surrogate family during her two visits that week, but that had always been in Jillian's room. Their shared desire not to do anything to affect her recovery (like, say, interrogate her long-lost biological mother about her intentions toward their friend) had made the Ghostbusters keep things polite.

Now that they were alone for the first time, Patty sat in a chair opposite Janine's, studying the older woman with undisguised suspicion. Erin sat in a chair between the two women, trying to make polite conversation despite her own misgivings about Janine. "So…what are you two doing for lunch?"

Janine knew her only usefulness to Jillian's mistrustful friends was to help them keep the engineer away from the firehouse and her laboratory. The trio would probably find a way to tag along for lunch that day if they weren't using the diversion to catch up on calls. "I was going to try Squares on the Square."

"Oh, I've heard of that place! Supposed to be very trendy." Erin was impressed.

Patty groaned. "Oh Lord, we're going to get a bill for damages…remember what happened last time?"

Erin winced. "She might be right. Holtz doesn't do well in fancy places like that. We tried taking her to this new wave fusion place, but she's distrustful of overly complicated food served in exceedingly tiny portions. Also, she thought an amuse-bouche was a spa treatment."

"That's nicer than what I thought an amuse-bouche was," Patty said. "Besides, I don't blame her for not liking that place. There was some dude trying to make us read a wine list the size of a phone book and they had someone called a 'mixologist', which by the way had nothing to do with music. That was a huge disappointment."

"The mixologist was the bartender. The man with the wine was a sommelier."

"See? Too complicated. At a good restaurant, you should only need to know three words to order booze: 'Red', 'white', and 'beer'." Patty turned to Janine, warning her: "Definitely don't take Holtzy to a place like that unless you've got money to pay for damages when she sets the sommelier's tie on fire."

Janine's eyes widened. She glanced to Erin for confirmation.

Erin did her best to laugh that off, but it came out as a nervous chirp. "She's joking. Holtz wouldn't do that again. She normally only sets things on fire to show affection or distract you from your problems if you're upset. Kind of a 'take your mind off your worries by replacing them with a whole different worry' theory. Surprisingly effective."

Janine blinked at her, not at all reassured.

"She really does mean well," Erin added.

"You've been friends a long time?" Janine wanted to know.

Erin shifted nervously in her chair. "A few months, but you know, once you stop the Apocalypse with someone, you develop a bond."

Yes, as a matter of fact, Janine knew that very well. However, since her non-disclosure orders from Homeland Security meant she couldn't tell her daughter or her friends about the original Ghostbusters, all Janine could do was smile politely and answer: "I'm sure you do."

Patty had to interject: "No, Erin's right. We haven't known her a long time, but she's like our best friend or a kid sister. I mean, she's really loyal-and smart. In a mad scientist way."

Janine pondered that. "Loyal and smart. Oh good, my daughter is a Golden Retriever..."

Erin leaned her head on her hands. "Yeah, we're not helping."

"You are. You're fine. I'm glad she has friends like you," Janine meant it. "I'm the one who messed up with Jillian."

Patty's expression softened into something closer to compassionate. The woman was admitting she screwed up. That earned Janine a few points in her book. "Ah, don't feed bad, Janine. Holtz is just a little tricky to get to know, but she's a good person. It's hard to pin down Holtz. I mean—she can build a nuclear reactor out of dumpster scraps, she has this weird affection for 80s music, and she shows affection by lighting things on fire like I said. But you know what? That's why we love her."

"Great. That helps. I'll just take her dumpster diving, stop at an 80's dance club, and cap off the afternoon with a trip to an illegal fireworks factory..."

"I know you're joking, but I think Holtz would really enjoy that," Patty said.

"I can't make up for thirty years." Janine hadn't meant to say it aloud. She blushed a bit, looking at her still trembling hands. She decided to set the cup on the nearest table before the twitched caused her to spill it on herself.

"You know…one of the best things about Holtz is that she doesn't hold grudges. I mean, Abby dropped her out a third story window once, and Holtz never said boo about it." Patty meant it to be reassuring, but, naturally, Holtzmann's mom didn't take that bit of history too well.

"WHAT?!" Janine's exclamation and her leaping out of her chair made the nurse at the reception area glance sharply in their direction. She waved apologetically back at him

Erin caught the woman's arm and gently urged her to sit. "Abby was possessed by a malevolent ghost at the time. Important footnote to that story."

Patty moved to the chair next to Janine's, trying again. "Okay, Janine, there are three things you need to know about your daughter. One: That fire thing is true, so keep a good quality fire extinguisher in your house and in your car at all times. Two: She's scared of fire hydrants. We don't know why and we're afraid to ask. So, plan your route accordingly. Three-and I just can't stress this enough: Do not give her any caffeine."

Erin nodded. "She's right. That's an important one."

Patty explained, "It's like that Gremlins movie-you know, when the old wise dude tells the smart-ass kid not to get the gremlin wet or feed it after midnight, and the kid does it anyway, and that cute furry critter turns into a little green monster and runs around killing half the town."

Janine had no idea how to respond to the image of her daughter running amok like a 'little green monster'. Erin saw her eyes widen and waved for Patty to stop. "We're definitely scaring Janine. We're making Holtz sound crazy."

"No, don't worry about it. Jillian's father once tried to prove he could survive shoving an ice pick through his skull. Another time, he froze all his toes and tried to amputate them so they could be replaced with bionic toes. And another time he strapped himself to a bunch of weather balloons and tried to jump off the Chrysler Building. He wanted to compare the effects of high altitude hypoxia versus the bends. Trust me, in our family, the bar for 'crazy' is set higher than occasional fires, explosions, and random phobias."

She looked up to see both women gaping at her. "And you still slept with his crazy ass after all that?" Patty blurted.

Erin kicked her ankle, glaring.

"Sorry, I meant to say…so, Holtzy's dad was a scientist, too?"

The awkward silence returned. Patty got up to pace the tiny waiting room. Erin exchanged a shrug with her friend before glancing back at Janine, who had resumed staring at her hands.

"We really are trying to help," Erin promised.

GBGBGBGBGBGB

"We converted the whole firehouse. You should come see it sometime. There was some kind of industrial accident there back in the 80s so the owners had to wait for the Health Department to clear it for sale. Can you believe it sat empty for thirty years?"

Jillian was reluctant to talk about herself, so Janine had tried asking about her work. It was a trick she had learned while getting to know Egon-all you had to do was ask a science question and sit back.

"No, thirty years sounds about right," Janine said. The last time she was here, she and Egon were running for their lives from the explosion of the containment unit. Egon estimated afterwards that the grounds would be contaminated for roughly 30 years. The "owners" were Peter and Ray. Janine wouldn't be surprised to find out the realtor who suggested the place to the Ghostbusters was Peter's sister-in-law. She would have kicked Venkman's ass for meddling with her daughter again if he weren't already a pathetic mess recovering from his plunge out the Ghostbusters' window.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a restaurant in Times Square. Holtzmann stared at the garish pink and yellow trim. The paint job was bright enough to blind someone in the direct sunlight. "Is this the place?"

The initial thrill of being out of the hospital, out in the sunshine and breathing real air (or as close as one could get in the big city), lasted until Hawkins dropped them off at a 'New Wave Dining Experience' that was bizarre even by Holtzmann's standards.

'Squares on the Square' looked innocuous from the outside, but the inside was more like an abstract art show than a restaurant. As soon as the heels Erin gave her became stuck the instant they hit the foam floor, nearly causing Holtzmann to stumble. Janine caught her arm, helping her walk. She had to work to keep the shoes from sinking into the flooring. Instead of an alcohol bar, there was a crowded oxygen bar. There were a few private dining tables, but most of the seating was centered around large, communal dining tables.

At least, Holtzmann thought they were tables. The tabletops looked like mirrors (did the owners think people had the need to see up into their noses while they ate?) and the "chairs" were more like melted metal sculptures than seating. Touchscreen computers had been incorporated into the mirrored tabletops.

The tables were laid out in a pattern like spokes on a wagon wheel. The kitchen was at the center, separated from the tables and hidden from sight by high walls. Orders were delivered through individual slots in the wall at each table.

Janine already knew this was a mistake. "I haven't been to Times Square since-well, since Giuliani started talking about removing the hookers. It was an Italian restaurant called Toscano's last time I was here."

A perky little tow-headed girl who looked to the women like she was all of twelve-years-old flounced over and greeted: "Welcome to Squares on the Square. My name is Dew. I'll be your Dining Facilitator."

Holtzmann turned for the door, her escape thwarted when her heels clung to the foam tiles. Janine tugged her back by the arm. "Give it a chance."

"Can I start you off with a trip to our Oxygen Bar?" Dew offered up two nasal cannulas.

Holtzmann shrank back a bit. "Dew, I've been wearing one of those for two weeks. Put that on me and I'm lighting a match."

Dew looked startled. Janine exclaimed, "Jillian!"

"Did I say that out loud?"

Dew shook it off, used to rude customers. "Okay, well, let me escort you to a table. Would you prefer a Tranquility Table or a Group Experience?"

This time Janine turned toward the door and Holtzmann tugged her back. Turnabout was fair play, after all. "We have no idea what that means," Holtzmann mimicked the younger woman's overeager smile.

"Private table or communal dining table, where you can Skype live with your tablemates?"

Janine was confused. "Skype?"

Dew nodded, still smiling brightly. "Yes."

"With the people sitting across from us at the table?" Janine clarified.

"Yes. It fosters interaction and social connection without the pressure of face-to-face interaction." Dew personally loved the whole concept. She could see her two customers had doubts, but she was certain they'd change their minds.

Holtzmann leaned towards Janine, whispering: "You're seeing her, too, right? I'm not having another concussion hallucination like when I saw the cat in the Robin Hood costume, am I?"

Janine answered Dew: "Tranquility Table."

"Definitely."

Dew led them to a private table, near the back of the restaurant. Holtzmann clung to Janine, trying not to break her leg as she made her way along the foam tiles. The 'dining facilitator' gestured for them to sit on the weird sculpture chairs. "I think you'll like our ergonomically designed tables and chairs—it stimulates digestion by keeping the mouth, esophagus, and stomach in optimal alignment."

"That is not a real thing," Holtzmann informed her.

Dew let the rebuke roll off her. "I'll get you started with a liquid nutrient. Would you like protein, energy, or immunity booster?"

Janine decided to just make the best of it. If she could have a nice lunch with her daughter, that would make the oddness worthwhile. "Oh, I don't know. Jillian?"

Holtzmann was still distracted the chair. "I have a Master's degree in Engineering, and I can't figure out where my butt goes on this thing."

Janine sighed. "Two immunity boosters." As Dew flitted away to get their drinks, she told Jillian, "You need the extra nutrients anyway. Give it a chance."

Her first lecture on nutrition from Mom. Oh boy, oh boy. "I can't leave anyway. I can't cross the floor on these heels. I think I live here now."

Janine glanced at her own chair. "We're pretty smart. We can figure this out. Besides, it's not the place, it's the company. We haven't had time to sit and have a real conversation." She saw down on the only flat surface of the 'chair' and hoped Dew didn't scold her that she's sitting in the wrong spot when she returned.

"Gotta be honest, Janine: If you wanted a deep, emotional conversation, you probably should have caught me before they took me off the pain meds." Holtzmann tried sitting down on the ergonomic metal sculpture, but bending herself in the weird angle tugged at her incision and she winced.

Janine caught the slip. "You are still having pain! Jillian, why did you lie to the doctor?" She tried to stand, but the chair wouldn't cooperate.

"So I could get off the pills and have a beer." That plan went south fast. "Besides, Menken only wanted to know if I needed the pills. I don't. I don't like them."

"Here." Janine reached into her tote bag, pulled out her travel pillow, and passed it to her daughter. She'd learned a few tricks from her own surgeries when she'd had cancer. "Put this over your incision."

Holtzmann did so, taking another shot and easing onto the chair. Abby might have been right about it being too soon for an outing.

"I could never get your father to take medicine either. I would think scientists would trust science."

"I like playing with chemicals, not ingesting them." The touchscreen winked on as soon as they touched the mirrored tabletop. Holtzmann studied the screen and raised her eyebrow. The menu items were listed by 'formula' rather than name. "Speaking of which, I think we need a chemistry degree to decipher this menu."

Janine agreed. Luckily, their waitress returned in time for her to ask: "Um…oh my goodness. Dew, maybe you can tell us what all this…"

"Gobbly-gook?" Holtzmann supplied.

"…means?"

Dew smiled. "That's your meal formula. See, you use your terminal to program your meal using its chemical components. Very scientific."

Holtzmann gave her a wicked smile. "I could show you some 'science', Dew." She wondered how the little fawn of a dining facilitator would like to see what a stream of proton energy could do…

Janine cleared her throat.

Holtzmann caught the hint. "Sorry, Dew. It's just that pseudo-science vexes me."

"Um…okay. Let me program you an appetizer. What would you like?" the girl asked.

"Water, pre-hopped light malt syrup, hop pellets, ice, cold and warm water, ale yeast, corn syrup, iodine solution and bleach."

Dew blinked, confused. Where was that listed on the computer screen? "I'm sorry?"

"That's the formula for beer, Dew." Holtzmann explained.

"Oh sorry, we don't serve alcohol here. It disrupts the energies of the body. Very unhealthy."

Holtzmann took off her shoes and started breaking off the heels.

Janine reached across the table and caught her hand, squeezing. "The shrimp platter will be fine. You aren't allergic right?" she asked Jillian.

"Unfortunately, no."

Dew punched in the order, and the door in the wall soon slid open. A plate with four cubes, one-square inch each, was passed from the kitchen to the table.

"One shrimp platter," Dew announced proudly.

Holtzmann nodded. "Okay, I see the platter…"

"Our food comes in highly concentrated squares for enhance nutrients and flavor."

Janine stared at the cubes. This was officially a bad idea. "We're going to need a few minutes, Dew," she asked.

Holtzmann resisted the urge to flick one of the cubes at the dining facilitator as she bounced away. It wasn't her fault she had to work at this freak factory. Besides, she couldn't afford to waste a five-dollar cube of shrimp nutrients. "When she comes back, ask her for some hydrogen so I can take it to the oxygen bar and make us a couple glasses of water."

Janine wasn't eager to bite into one of the cubes, either, so she pushed the plate aside. She shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jillian-this really wasn't what I had planned at all. We can try the Mars Restaurant down the street?"

Holtzmann felt a little guilty. She knew she was being a pain, but she was nervous. She made jokes or set things on fire or binged on Pringles when she was nervous. Since she couldn't light a fire and she didn't know how to program the table to make the wall dispense potato chips, she was making bad jokes "That's okay. It's still better than the hospital food." Her elbow hit the touch screen on the table and Holtzmann drew back sharply, hoping she didn't accidently order a $50 cube of Rigatoni or something.

Janine accepted that. "I'm just happy you came. I'm sure you have questions you want to ask me?"

Holtzmann did-but there were so many questions that she had no idea what to ask first.

"Okay, I'll start. Where do you normally like to eat?" her mother asked.

"Well, I'm usually scraping by on grant money, so I mostly eat Bunsen Burner ramen noodles." Holtzmann was glad the first question was a safe question, not too personal. She poked at the computer menu. "You and Egon used to eat here?"

Janine was trying to get used to Jillian calling her and Egon by their given names (or the Ghostbusters calling her daughter 'Holtz' and 'Holtzmann'. She supposed she didn't have the right to expect her to call them 'mom' and 'dad' when they were still essentially strangers.

"When it was Toscano's. He would never realize we were on a date, so most of the time he showed up with your Uncles Ray, Peter, and Winston. Peter would hit on the hookers, your dad and Ray would-talk about work-and Winston would watch the ball game on his portable t.v.." And Janine would polish off a whole bottle of wine, sulking that Egon didn't have a clue how to be romantic while she reevaluated her life choices. It was a miracle she'd ever got Egon's attention long enough for them to conceive their daughter.

"How were the breadsticks?"

Janine sighed, and Holtzmann cringed. She was doing the brat thing again. "I mean-what kind of work did you do?"

Janine had been avoiding that subject since reconnecting with Jillian. She wasn't supposed to discuss the old Ghostbusters, since Homeland Security made all of them sign non-disclosure agreements back when the government took charge of defense against the paranormal in the city.

Hawkins told Janine that the gag order was still in effect…the new Ghostbusters didn't know about the original team and they wouldn't until they were officially consultants with Homeland Security and received security clearance (not to mention signed non-disclosure agreements). Trying to tell Jillian about her father without mentioning the Ghostbusters was going to be like describing Albert Einstein without mentioning he was a genius or a scientist.

"They did research and statistics on…tourists in the city. Keeping track of visitors to New York." God, couldn't Homeland Security come up with a better cover story than that?

"I thought Egon was a physicist, too?"

"He was. It was a hobby…the Visitors' Bureau was his day job."

Jillian wasn't buying it. In fact, she looked angry now.

Janine backpedaled. "No, he didn't work for the Visitor's Bureau. Jillian, it's complicated-"

Dew interrupted. "Can I program you an entrée?"

Janine pulled a bill from her purse and shoved it into the girl's hand. "Here's twenty dollars. Go away."

"Okay."

Holtzmann waited until they were alone again. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Janine met her curious stare. "I'm sorry…I really want to tell you everything, it's just, your dad's work is classified."

"What was he? C.I.A.? F.B.I.? A.T.F.? F.D.A.? NASA? Was he a spy? Are you a spy? Like Scarecrow and Mrs. King?" Holtzmann rattled off questions. Jillian seemed interested instead of irritated now. Janine decided that was an improvement.

"Not exactly." Janine tried to change the subject. "What about you? How did you get into particle physics?"

Holtzmann fingered the table nervously. That wasn't a safe question. But, Janine was being honest, so she deserved an honest answer. "When I was five, right before he died, my da-Mr. Holtzmann took me to the Planetarium. It made me so curious—I can remember wanting to know how the sun kept burning without going out like a fire, how the planets knew how to revolve around the sun, how could a whole planet be made out of gas? I mean, not in those words exactly, that was just the gist of it. Things a five-year-old shouldn't understand. That's when my par-the Holtzmanns figured out I was a little different from normal kids. They started teaching me basic science stuff-baking soda volcanoes, making caterpillar habitats to watch them grow into butterflies. That kind of stuff." She used to look at the stars when she missed her parents.

Janine had caught on to the fact that her daughter was trying not to hurt her feelings. "Jillian, you don't have to call them 'the Holtzmanns'. It's okay. They were your parents. I'd never want you to think of them any other way."

Holtzmann made a noise like she had something lodged in her throat. It startled Janine despite the fact that Erin and Patty had warned her it was something Jillian did when a conversation started making her too uncomfortable.

Dew rushed back to the table. "Ma'am, are you choking?"

Holtzmann shoved a five-dollar bill at her. "Last warning, Dew. Scram."

"All right, come on." Janine managed, after several tries, to get off the ergonomic sculpture chair. "Let's get out of here."

She helped Holtzmann ease herself off the awkward chair and held her arm as she walked on the broken heels across the tricky tiles. They walked around Times Square a couple of blocks until they found a cart selling falafels and bottled water and sat on a bench to eat.

"What about your mother? I remember she was an artist?" Janine asked politely.

Holtzmann raised an eyebrow. "You met them?"

Janine nodded. "I wasn't going to let just anyone adopt my daughter. If I wanted you to have bad parents, I'd have sent you to live with my mother. You should know, you swim in a gene pool of crazy, and not just on your daddy's side of the family."

Jillian smiled. Crazy she could handle. "Nice."

"The adoption agency sent me a list of candidates they'd prescreened. I must have read two hundred files looking for the right couple. So…tell me about her. Mrs. Holtzmann?"

"She was a sculptor. She made art pieces out of old furniture. And she liked music. She used to take me to concerns. She'd tell security that I was six so I could get in with her. We saw Poison and Devo. I have a picture of her…" Holtzmann got her wallet from her backpack purse and pulled out a photo to show Janine.

Janine squinted at the faded image. "Oh, that's nice…um, what's she doing?"

"Flashing Brett Michaels."

Janine masked her surprise. "I see. It's not at all strange that she gave you that picture…" Jillian loved them. Janine couldn't bring herself to be resentful, she had no right. Wasn't that what she hoped for when she chose them? It also explained why Jillian loves 80s music so much. She'd been listening to it when Janine visited her at the hospital.

"They were good people?" she asked. Jillian smiled sadly, nodding. "I'm sorry about what happened to them. I didn't know."

"You never wondered?"

Okay, she heard resentment in that question. Janine had hit the nerve this time. She knew this particular question would be unavoidable. Better to get it out of the way now. "Of course I did! I thought of you every day. I thought you had a good family, a happy life. It wasn't my right to-I wanted to, but-ugh, Jillian, it's hard to explain." Janine picked at her falafel, avoiding her daughter's gaze.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Janine. I read the adoption file." Specifically, Holtzmann had read the parts that weren't blacked out-and now she knew why things were omitted. The information was 'classified'. Not that she'd had time to do more than try to call up files on Abby's tablet, since Holtzmann only found out her biological parents' identities a couple of weeks ago, shortly before Janine heard about the attack and came searching for her daughter. "I know you had cancer. I get why you did what you did. You don't owe me an explanation. Not like you can explain anyway…"

Janine tensed. "What does that mean?!" Was this the part where all her daughter's forgiveness turned out to be a lie and she started hurling accusations before sending Janine packing? She braced herself for the possibility.

"Your life and Egon's is all 'classified'. Any time I tried to look him up on the Internet, I kept hitting firewalls. Guess I know why now. How are you going to explain what happened if you can't even tell me what you really did for a living?"

It was a fair question, Janine knew. "Well, I can't argue with that. I have something for you…if you want it." She rummaged in her tote and pulled out a photo of her own. She offered it to Jillian shyly. "It's you and your father."

Holtzmann was a little shocked. Tentatively, she took the picture. She knew what her biological father looked like; she did manage to find pictures of him from his days at Columbia University when she searched the Internet. But, having a picture of herself with him was a whole other reality.

Finally, she looked at the photo. It was a picture of the three of them—her, Janine, and Egon. Baby Jillian wore a onesie that read "Daddy's Little Scientist". He wore glasses, same as her. She had his chin and the shape of his face. Her eyes and nose were like Janine's.

Holtzmann blinked furiously. She wasn't going to cry, not on a street corner in Times Square and not in front of her mom. "Can you at least tell me what happened to him? How'd he die so young?"

Janine hesitated. "Do you really want to know?"

Did she? Holtzmann asked herself. No, but yes. The adoption file Patty recovered had listed 'heart failure' as cause of death. That told Jillian nothing. She could have looked it up if most of his life had not been deleted from the Internet. "Yeah."

"Severe electric shock. It damaged his heart," Janine said bluntly.

That was sobering, considering Holtzmann had given herself more than a few good electric shocks in the course of her scientific pursuits. "That's the truth?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Jillian!" Janine corrected herself. "I mean, there are things I can't tell you, but I won't lie to you. If I'd known about the Holtzmanns, or Lydia Englebright and those other bastard foster families, I would have come back for you."

"Yeah," Holtzmann believed her, but it didn't console her that much. If ifs and buts were candy and nuts… "And you didn't remarry? I don't have a step-family that I should know about, do I?"

"Your dad was a tough act to follow…despite being crazy," Janine said.

"I thought maybe you and Ray…" The auburn-haired man had hung back a bit when he brought Janine to visit, not wanting to impose himself on their mother-daughter time unless he was invited, but Holtzmann could see the way he looked at her mother.

"Ray? No. Never."

Holtzmann hid a smirk. Okay, so mom's oblivious…poor 'Uncle' Ray.

"What about you?" Janine wanted to know. She still went by 'Holtzmann' and didn't wear a ring, but that didn't mean Jillian wasn't married. If she was married or seeing someone, her Significant Other better have a good reason for not coming to the hospital. "Are you married? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"My last boyfriend is in the containment unit at the firehouse," Holtzmann answered. She didn't want to get into her dating history with her mother. She didn't think they were ready for that particular conversation.

"Oh." Janine had no idea what to think about that. "I-uh—I didn't know ghosts could do that…"

Holtzmann realized her mistake. "Ew! Janine! No…he wasn't a ghost at the time…I meant Artie."

Thank God, Janine breathed a sigh of relief. Artie…wait, she meant Artie Klein? The ghost who attacked Jillian and put her in the hospital. The CERN scientist…

Janine decided she'd be happier not asking for details. "We should head out. Your friends will probably be upset when they find out I let you stay out this long. You're supposed to be on bed rest." Jillian was already looking worn out just from the little bit of walking they'd done. This was supposed to be a short, uneventful meal, a quick stop at the firehouse to pick up the boxes, and home to bed.

She took Jillian's arm and walked her back to the car. Agent Hawkins had insisted on waiting for them. "I'm really sorry. This was-well, this was a disaster, wasn't it?"

"I would have enjoyed flinging food cubes at Dew..."

"Seriously. Can I have a 'do over'? I'll let you pick the activity next time. Whatever you want to do."

Holtzmann shook her head. The woman was a glutton for punishment… "You have no idea what you're signing up for."

"Think so? Let me tell you about my first official date wi

th your father…the first one without your uncles tagging along. Did you now there are actual museums dedicated to spores, molds, and fungus…?"

GBGBGBGBGBGBGB

"Uh-uh. You are not cleared to go back to work yet."

Abby knew they would be having this argument-probably every morning until Menken released Holtzmann to go back to the firehouse. The engineer was up before Abby the next morning, already going stir crazy from lack of anything to tinker with, build, or blow up in her friend's apartment.

Abby was gathering her bag and pouring a strong cup of coffee before she headed to work. "No heavy lifting, no experiments, no fires or explosions, no large or medium poofs. You're supposed to be in bed right now."

Holtzmann batted her eyes. "Are you coming on to me?"

Abby gazed skyward, beseeching the heavens for strength. "Behave."

The doorbell rang. Abby went to answer, with Holtzmann on her heels. "Just a quick little minute- I had this idea for tweaking the ghost gate."

Abby put herself between her friend and the door. "I said no. Erin and I can tweak the trap." Which wasn't true and they both knew it. Holtzmann's schematics might as well have been written in an alien language. They only made sense to the engineer. "You can do computer research. We have the Hidalgo Casino incident and a few other clients. That's it." She pointed to the laptop and stack of files sitting on the coffee table.

Holtzmann pursed her lips, letting out an exasperated, "Awwwright."

Kevin waited at the door, lugging the first of several big boxes. "Where do you want them?"

"Set them on the floor," Abby instructed, "and don't stack them. Holtz can't lift them."

Holtzmann watched as Kevin laid out the boxes along one corner of the living room. "So, what's all this?"

"These are all the 'get well' presents for you that we've collected for the last month. People started leaving them when they heard you were in the hospital. The landlord complained about the pile, so we had Kevin store them at the firehouse."

Holtzmann was surprised. There were at least five boxes of several hundred stuffed animals, GB action figures, candles, get well cards, children's drawings of the Ghostbusters, and other gifts. People left these for her? For once, she didn't have a smart-ass comeback. "What am I going to do with all this? Do I have to write thank you notes for every one of these or can I just do an email blast or a Tweet?"

Abby was enjoying seeing her friend at a loss for words. She was only left speechless when she was genuinely moved. "You've never got a get well present before?"

Holtzmann just stared at her.

"Birthday gift? Christmas presents? Hanukkah gifts?"

"Just from you guys. I mean, you met my foster mothers, right?" The Holtzmanns used to get her Hanukkah gifts and take care of her when she was little. Otherwise, the Ghostbusters were the only ones who cared if she was sick or hurt. She supposed she should add Janine and Uncle Ray to that list as well. "The Children's Home gave me a puzzle for Christmas once. It was a fifty piece puzzle of Elmo. I was fifteen."

"Probably not appropriate for a high school senior, but it's the thought that counts. You can donate these to Toys for Tots…or the Children's Home…if you want," Abby suggested. "Erin can make you a scrapbook of the letters and pictures if you want. She likes doing that kind of stuff."

Holtzmann gingerly kneeled and started pulling items from one of the boxes. A blue crystal sculpture fell out and rolls across the floor. Reflexively, she tried to catch it, grunting at a twinge of pain as the movement pulls at her incision.

Abby rushed to help. "Hey! Hey! What's the doctor's order? No heavy lifting for another couple of weeks. You don't need an infection."

"I'm fine, Abby. But, if my spleen pops out through my incision, make sure you get it on camera."

Holtzmann changed her mind: She was more than ready for alone time. She's been under constant watch for two weeks between the doctors and her friends and Janine. She hated being left behind when they went to go chase ghosts, but she was going to lose her ever-loving mind if everybody doesn't leave her alone just for a few hours.

Abby scolded her. "You're recovering, Jillian. You're not fine yet." Abby tried to lift the box onto the coffee table so Holtzmann wouldn't have to bend so far to unpack it. The box was heavier than she expected and Abby nearly threw out her back trying to lift it. Kevin made them look weightless, but then he was built like a brick house. "Okay, something popped. I think it was my spine. Or a kidney. What the heck are these toys stuffed with? Bricks?"

She picked up the item that had rolled under the coffee table. It was a rather weird blue crystal sculpture with no shape that they could readily identify. When she lifted it, the damn thing shocked her. "Ow!" Abby rubbed at her finger, which was actually bleeding. Must have caught it on a sharp edge.

"You okay?" Holtzmann asked.

"Fine." Abby went into the kitchen and rinsed the wound. "Thoughtful present for a convalescing patient-it's creepy, but at least it's razor sharp."

Holtzmann stared at the blue crystal. "You are not wrong about the 'creepy'. What is this thing supposed to be? A bird-?"

As soon as she touched it, she had a rush of weird images in her mind and a wave a dizziness makes her stumble. Abby had to run to catch her before she falls.

"Whoah…" Holtzmann grunted, dropping the sculpture.

Abby frowned, worried. "See? You're overdoing it! I'm going to call Erin and tell her I'm staying with you today."

"No, don't." Holtzmann knew Abby was just being hyper-protective, but she really needed some alone time to start trying to get back to normal-well normal as she ever was anyway.

"But what if-?"

Holtzmann pulled out of Abby's grip. She smiled at her friend. "Abs, I love you-" For emphasis, she Bugs Bunny-kissed the tip of Abby's nose. "-but please go away."

"Right." Her friend wanted space. Abby totally understood. She was concerned, but she understood. She picked up her bag and coffee and headed for the door. Kevin was waiting to drive her to the firehouse. "No heavy lifting. No strenuous activity. Don't amputate your broken fingers just to see if you can reattach them. I remember what happened that time you broke your toe. Keep the doctor's number handy…."

Holtzmann made an annoyed grunt and pointed to the door.

"Okay, okay, get going. I'll call you later. Don't take apart any of my appliances." Abby waved over her shoulder, closing the door behind her.

Alone at last.

Janine would be stopping by later that morning for a brief visit before she returned to Pawtucket. Agent Hawkins had wanted to assign a guard for the place during the daytime hours while Abby was away, but Holtz argued with him that it wasn't likely another ghost was going to show up and attack her. Holtzmann sat on the couch, pillow laid across her stomach, wondering what the hell she was going to do with herself. The building's dumpsters (and all the stores for at least a ten-block radius) had been emptied the day before, so there wouldn't be any decent e-waste for another day or two. No point risking a dumpster dive until then.

Daytime t.v. did not appeal to her.

She thumbed through the files that Abby left for her. Most looked like minor hauntings, nothing worth getting excited about.

Holtzmann picked up the file for the Hidalgo case. It looked like the shipping manifests for the museum finally came in, so Holtzmann could finish the list of items that the ghosts had stolen. The only thing the Ghostbusters knew for certain was missing was the 'Eye of Tezcatlipoca', and no information on it other than it was some kind of stone that supposedly gave Voga Ra'El his god-like powers.

She tried an Internet search, but there weren't any pictures of it. The exhibit had just opened, so there wasn't time for the media to take photos. The manifests listed it as 'crystal sculpture'. Probably blue and creepy, right? Holtzmann joked to herself.

She flipped through a few more files-free floating vapors, semi-anchored apparitions, and complete hallucinations. She made a list of all the equipment at the firehouse that would need maintenance when she returned to work. Finally, she started getting a headache and put the papers and the laptop aside.

Trying to stop fretting, Holtzmann moved to finish sorting the pile of gifts and the boxes of what was left of her personal possessions that Kevin had left in the living room.

She retrieved the weird blue crystal from where it had fallen on the floor and started to set it in the box by Mr. Snickers II…

…and again her head was filled with weird images, stronger this time. Images of…rips in the sky, fire, blood, nebulas and galaxies that were twisted and distorted and surreal. It made her dizzy.

Okay, it couldn't be a coincidence. She dropped the sculpture. No way was she touching that thing again. She searched for a PKE meter to scan the thing, but naturally Abby had cleared all their equipment from the apartment to prevent Holtzmann from working.

Then she heard the voice.

"Abby? Hello?" Holtzmann called.

No wonder Erin didn't like pranks….it was kind of disconcerting to hear a voice and not know where it's coming from. The voice could at least speak English. Calmanani. What the hell did that mean?

This could be some kind of complication from the concussion. She could blame the food cubes at the restaurant if she'd eaten any of them. Holtzmann fumbled for her cell phone. She should call Dr. Menken…except that she really doesn't want to go back to the hospital. Who then? Abby? No, Abby would make her go to the hospital for sure. So would Patty and Erin. So would Janine, so she'd better get her shit together before her mom came over. No, she's fine. Exhaustion. That's what it is. She overdid it going to lunch yesterday. Abby was right. She should go to bed. There was no voice. She's just having another nervous breakdown. Nothing to worry about…if that damn voice would shut the hell up.

Architect. Calmanani.

She was about to stand up-which was the moment Holtzmann realized she had picked up the pen from the coffee table and scribbled equations all across her stack of files. She didn't recognize the equations, either. "Uh-oh. That's not good."

She tossed the pen away, but her hand still moved as if it wanted to continue writing. Holtzmann glanced at the blue crystal in the box. Just in case this wasn't a hallucination or a nervous breakdown, she picked up the sculpture and opened the door to pitch it from the second story down to the sidewalk.

The crystal shot a small electrical bolt at her, right at her hand. She felt it all through her body…

…and then she realized that she had jumped from the couch and picked up the heavy sculpture without her stomach or her head hurting. "What-?"

In fact, her headache was gone. Her stomach was tingling, but not sore. She catches her reflection in the mirror by Abby's front door. She didn't the scar on her temple anymore. Then, she lifted her pajama top. The surgical incision scar was gone. "Okay, seriously, what?"

This was no hallucination. What the hell is that crystal and where did it come from?

The shipping manifests. It said the Eye of Tezcatlipoca was a crystal sculpture.

Shit.

Then the crystal in her hand flared to life with brilliant blue light…

…next thing Holtzmann, she was looking at a very long drop off from the roof of a building.

She was on a rooftop…she didn't recognize the neighborhood, but it looked like New York city.

There were people on the sidewalk below looking up at the sky and screaming. Cars on the street were colliding. Police were attempting to restore order. There was some kind of deafening roaring noise, and she covered her ears against the din.

When she lifted her arms, Holtzmann saw a bullet hole and some dried blood right on the fabric of her pajama top right above her heart. Panicking, she clutched at her chest, but didn't find a wound to match the hole, happily.

What was that noise? And what were people staring at?

Holtzmann looked up-

-into a dimensional cross-rip.

She gaped.

That was a damn trans-dimensional cross-rip. Ghosts swarmed the sky…Toltec warriors and serpent ghosts. A helicopter was circling the building. The ghosts attacked it, sending it into the cross-rip.

Holtzmann didn't have time to wonder where she was or how she'd gotten there (she did pause for a few seconds to consider again that she might be hallucinating). Whether this was a real cross-rip or she was losing her mind, she needed the Ghostbusters…

There were fifty-two text messages on her phone and twenty-two missed calls. All of them were from the Ghostbusters, Janine, and Homeland Security. There were even a few from her 'uncles' Ray and Winston.

The date indicated two days had gone by since...since she'd got up off the couch to throw out the creepy crystal sculpture?

Holtzmann frowned. "Well…shit."

TBC….