Author's Note: This chapter is super long - my apologies, but I really feel it all needs to be kept together. It's a tough chapter - was tough to write, and I hope it's a little tough to read. (Poor Schwartz, but Jane is pretty awesome, in my view!) LOL. A little language, but not much. I hope you are enjoying this story - I know it's different in tone from the movies. And thank you SO much for reading!

January 4, 1974, 2:30 PM

Mrs. Schwartz's house

The piano was almost painfully out of tune, but even so, the way Janey played it, it didn't bother Schwartz at all. And clearly it didn't bother his mother, either. He sat with her on the sofa across the room from the piano, and the whole time Janey played, his mother smiled. It was something beautiful she played, slow and sweet and damn was she making him soft, but romantic. Something a master had written, he thought, and she played it well.

"She's a lovely girl, son," his mother said to him, leaning closer and speaking slightly under her breath.

"Woman, Mom." He leaned forward toward her so she could see that he was smiling.

"Right, dear. She's a lovely woman." She swayed a bit to the music. "Very talented. I don't think your sister was ever quite this good."

And certainly not this beautiful, Schwartz thought, though he kept that to himself. His sister was pretty but not at all in the same way Janey was.

Janey held the final chord out for long moment, then released it and turned around on the piano bench, her cheeks flushed. Schwartz and his mother both applauded her. And to his delight, she stood up and gave a curtsy. He recalled seeing her do that thirty years ago at a piano recital both she and his sister played at. Funny how he could see that little girl in her still. Still hear her, too, especially in her laugh.

"And I love that she calls you by your first name."

Schwartz rolled his eyes but smiled. His mother had long since stopped calling him Paul. It was always dear, or son, or my boy.

"Oh, that was lovely, Jane. Just lovely. What's the name of that piece?"

"Liebestraum No.3. By Liszt. It means...love dream."

Her skin was so porcelain perfect that any little bit of flush would turn them pink, just like they were turning pink now. His own cheeks felt warmed at the implication. Love dream. He wondered if she'd picked that on purpose.

Love dream.

Certainly felt like that.

"Did you see the picture of my boy in his uniform over the piano, Jane?"

"Oh, yes, I did." Janey smiled at him, that sweet and flirtatious one he'd become so taken with. Obsessed with, really. Seeing it in his dreams. "Very handsome, Paul."

Schwartz looked sidelong at his mother as the churning of his gut started up, the same churning that started anytime anything about the Army or Korea came up. "I've asked you to take that down, Mom." He stands up, every muscle in his body suddenly and urgently needing to move. He paces the room, avoiding both Janey and the photo. "You can't even really see it anymore."

"Oh, my dear, I can still see it in my heart."

"Could you put it in your bedroom and see it there?"

"Why would I? I want others to see it, too."

Schwartz signed and turned to face the window, to stare out at Cleveland Street. It was a battle he would never win. His mother never understood what he saw when he looked at that picture. He hadn't seen much combat, but what he had seen had been enough to last him a lifetime. And of course, he saw his own failure. What a man he was to be sent home to his parents with a heart murmur.

That's the man he saw in the picture. A man not fit enough for the Army. A wuss, in other words. Ralphie and so many others were in Korea the entire war, but Schwartz? He'd lasted all of three months.

He closed his eyes. God, he hated thinking about this.

A hand pressed against his back. Her hand. And even through his sweater, it warmed his skin, made his nerves begin to quiver with energy. He opened his eyes and looked to his right where she stood. Their eyes met. Hers were so soft and warm, and really, he just wanted to look into them forever. Hers were the most wonderful shade of brown he'd ever seen.

She gave a slight smile. "You okay?" Her hand stayed on his back.

Odd, how he felt this urge to tell her all about what was going on in his head, to spill his guts the way he'd never wanted to do with anyone else, not even Flick or Ralphie. "Yeah. I'm fine." He smiled. "Thanks." His mother's grandfather clock sounded three o'clock, and he raises his eyebrows at Janey. "We should get going, right?"

"Oh, right."

"Okay, Mom, we're going to see the apartment Janey's interested in."

His mom nodded. "Yes, you don't want to be late." She stood up and smiled at Jane. "You'll come to dinner, Jane?"

Jane nodded and stepped back toward the couch. "Of course. Thank you for inviting me."

"Well, anyone who makes my son smile as much as he's smiled lately is always invited to dinner in my home." His mother stood up, a little shakily, and Schwartz started to go to her, but Jane beat him to it. He watched her steady his mother, and to his surprise, his mother hugged her.

"Maybe you'll read the paper to me, or at least a few of the articles. My son usually does, but it might be nice to listen to a new voice. Such a pretty voice you have, Jane."

"I would be happy to do that, Mrs. Schwartz."

Schwartz kissed his mother goodbye. "See you later, Mom."

He chuckled when she nodded and looked past him to Jane. "Jane, do you like chicken alfredo?"

Jane took his hand. He squeezed hers. "I love chicken alfredo. It's one of my favorites."

"Wonderful!"

On their way out to Schwartz's truck, he grinned at Janey. "She likes you," he said. "She never asks anyone to read to her, only me or my sister. Even my brother-in-law's not good enough."

Janey smiled at him as he opened the truck door for her. "I like her too. She's sweet." She pressed herself up against him and smiled. "Must be where you get it." She stood on her toes and kissed him.

She started to draw back but he tightened his arm around her waist and kept kissing her until she managed to squirm away. She giggled. "The whole neighborhood can see."

"Exactly!" He winked at her, but then kissed her forehead and let go of her.

"So? What do you think?"

Janey stood in the middle of the furnished living room and looked at Schwartz hopefully, her eyes wide. The fact that she was seeking his approval both baffled him and touched him. It was a cute apartment, two-bedroom, one of which she said she'd make an office. Wood paneling, which she loved, and a kitchen with yellow wallpaper that had lit up her eyes. "Yellow's so happy," she'd said. "It's like indoor sunshine."

He stood up from the couch. "I think it's great. Good size, clean." He grinned. "Not that far from my house."

Janey nodded and raised her eyebrows. "That was a big selling point." She met him in the middle of the room and took his hands. "Can you see yourself spending time here?"

"Absolutely."

"A lot of time?"

She seemed to be asking more than just that, and he took a deep breath. This was going so fast. And yet, he couldn't seem to find any will to put on the brakes. It all felt too damn good. And too damn right. For whatever reason, she'd come home to Hohman, to Flick's Tavern, and into his life. He wasn't going to let this go. Couldn't even if he did want to, he thought. He touched the side of her head, smoothed down her hair. "As much time you want me to," he said. He kissed her, but she pulled away before he was ready for her to. She pulled out of his arms, too, and his heart sank. Had he not given the right answer?

"Can I ask you something, Paul?"

"Of course." His heart sank even further. Had anything good ever, in the history of humanity, come after that question? Not in his own experience, and he doubted in anyone's experience.

She turned and walked over to the couch, sat down. "You might not want to talk about it. And that's okay, I just..." She took a deep breath, her hands tying themselves together in her lap. "You were upset when your mother pointed out your Army picture."

Damn it. Schwartz looked at the ground, and his mind worked overtime trying to figure out how to be honest without looking like a total putz.

"I know you were in Korea. Did something...horrible happen?"

If only. At least then he might be entitled to a feel a little bit of valor.

"Not to me. I wasn't there long enough."

"You were injured?"

He smiled bitterly. "No. I was never even shot at. Doctors discovered I had a heart murmur. I was medically discharged after three months over there."

He couldn't look at her. His boots were fascinating, fascinating things.

"Why do you say that like it's something you did wrong?"

"Isn't it?"

He could feel her staring at him, and as tough as it was, as much as he dreaded what he would see in her eyes, he lifted his head and looked at her.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what she was looking at him with.

"Come here," she said, her voice as sweet and as soft as her eyes were. She held a hand out. "Sit with me."

He did, and she took his hand in both of hers. He looked at their joined hands instead of her face. Because it might change. And he didn't want to see it when she realized how inadequate he was.

"You had a medical condition, Paul. That's not some sort of moral failure or character flaw."

"It just seems like..." Their hands fit so well together, and looked so nice, but he took a breath and met her eyes with his. And to his surprise, it helped. It calmed him. It made him want to just say things to her without worrying how it made him look. "You know, I enlisted right out of high school, and the two years before Korea, they were great. I really liked what I was doing, wheeled vehicle mechanics, and it was the first time it actually seemed like I was enough for something. Good enough for something." He smiled sadly. "My old man was great, but I could never do anything right. At least not right enough. My chores, my schoolwork, I always did things just a little bit wrong, just enough to bug him. And my mom...she wanted me to go to college, but my grades weren't good enough. I know she was disappointed. In the Army, I felt like I was good enough. Except it turns out, I wasn't. My heart wasn't."

He wanted to get up. To leave. To go to Flick's where he always went to avoid this damn torn up feeling that had settled in his chest.

"And everything since...nothing I do is ever enough. Nothing ever works out."

"Is that why you spend so much time at Flick's?"

"Yeah, well, even an idiot like me knows how to drink. Hell, maybe that's all I can do." Suddenly, anger rose up inside him, anger at himself, anger at his life. And even a little anger at Janey for bringing this up. He pulled his hands away from Janey's and stood up. "So now you know the kind of guy I am. A lowlife barfly with no job and a bad heart. Anyone smart would warn you off of me." He swallowed hard and tasted his own bitterness in his throat. "Maybe you should rethink this whole thing."

He stalked off into the kitchen, his heart pounding and his eyes burning. He hadn't cried in years. Not even after the whole debacle with Tracy. But now, as he stood in front of the sink, his hands on the edge of the counter, he couldn't breathe for the sobs that wanted escape from his chest.

Don't screw it up, Flick had said to him.

Schwartz wondered what he'd say now that he'd gone and done exactly that.

Hell. Flick wouldn't be surprised.

It felt like a long time he was in the kitchen alone, so long that when he heard her voice, he started.

"Are you done with the self-pity?"

It wasn't what he'd expected. He'd expected either the slam of the front door or maybe tears and arms around his waist and her head on his back. Instead, she spoke sharply though not really unkindly. Her voice did break on the last syllable. He turned around and found her standing not far from him, just a few feet. Her eyes were bright with tears, and her face flushed.

"You are not a lowlife. You are not an idiot. Or pathetic. Or a loser. And I am sick of listening to you call yourself names."

"Well, then maybe you should forget about me, because all of that is who I am."

"It is not who you are."

He stared at her. She seemed so convinced, so absolutely sure, and it baffled him because how could she be that convinced when he wasn't even convinced of who he was? He glared at her, angry that she somehow found this magic knowledge while he was grasping for straws. "How do you know? God, Jane, you keep saying that you know me, but you don't. How could you? We haven't spoken in twenty-five years and after a week, you're an expert on me?"

Her eyes flashed with her own anger, but also something else that gave Schwartz pause. Something else that stopped his heart for a moment or two and left him slightly dizzy. A heart murmur, for sure, but not from any medical condition.

Something if he didn't know better...

Something he'd call love.

"I can't explain it, Paul. I don't understand it, and I agree, it makes no sense. And maybe I should just ignore it, but I can't. I just can't. Because I feel it too much. And I know it's true. Whether you like it or not, I know you. And whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere."

He looked down at his feet. "You say that now." He couldn't finish, but he thought it. What would happen when she realized how much better she deserved?

"And I'll say it tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after." She stepped closer to him. He watched as she put her hands on his chest, right over his heart. It fascinated him the way her hands on him looked and felt, how every time she touched him, even through clothing, he felt the warmth of her flesh. He'd never known anyone this warm, both literally and metaphorically. Her voice softened and gentled when she spoke again. "Paul, if you were really all those things you say you are, it wouldn't bother you the way it does."

He couldn't look at her, so he kept staring at her hands. "It doesn't bother me."

Right. Such a lie. It had bothered him a long time. This wasn't who he'd expected to become. And yet, for so long, he just didn't have the energy to change anything. Easier to just drink away the disappointment. The hurt. The frustration. The utter hopelessness he sometimes felt after another night of drinking and another hungover morning with nothing much to look forward to.

"Really? Look me in the eyes and tell me that."

He shook his head and didn't move. His eyes started to burn. Her hands looked blurry on his chest.

"Look at me."

He resisted but something, her voice, he thought, made him lift his head. Made him meet her eyes. And something in her, he would swear, something he saw in those beautiful eyes he's come to see in his mind every night just before falling asleep, tore apart the tightness in his chest that's holding back the bitterness inside him.

He started to breathe heavier and heavier.

He dropped his head into a hand and blinked hard. Tried to hold it all in. Felt Janey's hands slide down his chest so her arms could wrap around him.

And somehow that made it okay to let it go. Let it out.

A tear, then another, fell. Damn it. Another. His hand dropped from his face, and his face fell to Janey's shoulder, but his arms hung at his side. For some reason, he couldn't quite move them to her, even though he wanted to.

Then again, maybe he needed this, just her holding him.

For a long time, they just stood there. She whispered something, he couldn't quite understand what, and it probably didn't matter. He felt the motion of her breathing countering his own, and it soothed him. Everything started to slow down, including his wild and self-castigating thoughts, because her voice replaced them all in his head.

It's not who you are.

Whether you like it or not, I know you. And whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere.

"Do you want to go to Flick's?"

She spoke just slightly louder now, and she pulled back only enough her voice wouldn't be muffled by his body. Schwartz lifted his head from her shoulder and did his best to smile. He wanted to wipe his cheeks, but she did it for him. It amazed him that she offered him the refuge he was so hooked on. The very one that also allowed him to stay stuck. It amazed him that she was willing to take baby steps with him and not push him so hard he instinctively pushed back.

Huh.

She did know him.

"I do." He swallows hard and sighs. "But maybe we could go for a walk instead."

Jane smiled. "You know where I'd like to go? To the Ramp."

"Really? What for?" He grinned. "You want to take a ride?"

She giggled, and his heart turned over in his chest. "Not a chance. But there's a bench there, isn't there? We can sit there, and you can tell me the story of your ride again, and I'll be able to envision it."

"You're not sick of hearing it?"

"I think I can hear it about five more times before that happens."

Schwartz smiled. Whoever made this woman, God or whoever, whatever, had done so good by the world. By him. And whoever – God or whoever, whatever – had brought her into his life had done him the most miraculous favor. "Janey?"

"Yeah?"

He took a deep breath. "I want you to know…God, I don't how to say this…except that I've never felt this way about anyone before. I mean, the way I feel about you." It was true, but not entirely. He knew full well he'd fallen in love with her, and he knew full well how to say that, but couldn't quite find the guts to.

Not yet.

Jane smiled and laid her hand on his cheek. "I've never felt this way, either. Not about anyone. It's like…"

"A dream? What did you say that song was, a love dream?"

She giggled. "Yeah. I really didn't pick that piece on purpose but it fits."

"I just think you should know that I can be a damned jerk sometimes. When I get defensive, I guess. Ask Flick. He'll tell you."

"I already told you I'm not going anywhere. And trust me. Your version of being a jerk is…not all that jerky. I've known much, much bigger jerks. And I know you would never hurt me the way..."

She shook her head and pulled away, masking her expression with a smile that for the first time, Schwartz thought was fake and forced. Hurt her? She must be talking about her ex-husband.

Had her ex-husband hurt her? How? Cheated on her? Is that why she'd left him?

"Come on. Let's go. The Ramp awaits."