Scene 12

Jo stood in the dojo of her new house, gazing out the French doors that led to a small patio and an enclosed backyard. She'd gotten the call from her contractor that afternoon: despite the chaos that had been Eureka for the last few hours, the builders—who had been on permanent overtime since the fossil fiasco—were ready for her to come approve the final details.

She'd happily signed the forms, and sent Dr. Zimmer on her way. The house was all she'd imagined it would be: the shooting range in the basement, the dojo, the simple but efficient kitchen, the high-tech bathroom, the windows in the upstairs bedroom that would let her wake to morning light. But it was empty. Of course she had known that finishing the house wouldn't mean that all of her possessions miraculously reappeared. But apparently she'd somehow subconsciously thought that when she got her house back, she'd get her home back. And…not so much. This was nice, sure. But it wasn't home.

"Hey." The husky voice was tentative.

Jo swiveled, hand automatically reaching for her gun. "Oh. Hey." She relaxed. It was just Zane. The edgy defensiveness that she felt in what seemed like a strange place—even though it was her house—dropped.

"Did you just almost shoot me?"

She shrugged. "Sorry," she said, no apology in her voice as she turned back to the non-existent garden. "You startled me."

"Did you send as many mixed messages to him, too?" This time Zane's voice was purely disgruntled.

Jo turned again. "Sorry," she repeated, this time genuinely amused. "And, ah, no, probably not. It was a lot less complicated."

Zane had been hovering in the doorway, but took a couple steps into the room at her words. "You kissed me on Main Street," he complained. "In full view of Vincent and the rest of the town. How can it still be complicated?"

Jo chuckled. "It's not. Not really." Turning away from the doors, she crossed to where he stood and reached up to drop a casual kiss on his lips. "I don't have any food here," she said as she slipped past him and into the kitchen, "But we can go out and get something if you like."

He held up a bag. "It's not nearly as elaborate as last night's picnic. But I've got two turkey sandwiches and…" he opened the bag and pulled out a container, "…a pint of butter pecan ice cream."

Jo stopped. She turned. "Butter pecan?"

"Yeah." Zane looked puzzled. "You said you liked it?"

Jo took a deep breath. And then pressed her hands over her eyes. She would not cry. She would not. "You brought butter pecan ice cream?" she asked, her voice strangled.

"You said you liked it," Zane insisted.

She shook her head. And then nodded. "Yeah, I did. But I was kidding. Sorry."

"Damn it, Jo. This…" Zane dropped the bag and the ice cream container on the kitchen counter, and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. He shook his head. "Do you remember when we met?"

She looked at him and he sighed. "Oh, right. No way to know whether it was the same. Well, in this universe, I was asleep in the jail cell in the sheriff's office. I woke up and you were sitting at the desk, and you were…I don't even remember, messing with a gun or something. But I thought you were a dream. You were so incredibly, ridiculously out of place. It wasn't the first time I'd woken up in jail, not even close. But I'd never woken up to someone so beautiful. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you."

He stepped closer to her and slid one finger under the chain around her neck, pulling out the ring. "When I realized that in some other universe, I'd actually been that lucky, all I thought was that if I could do it once, I could do it again. I was stupid to think it'd be that easy. I don't…I'm not him. I can't be him. I don't know the things he knew, I don't know how he made this work. And whatever the differences are between us, between the Zane you loved and me, I don't think I can…"

Jo was shaking her head, and finally she reached up and covered his mouth with her hand. "Stop," she ordered.

He fell silent, but his eyes, as he looked at her, were sad.

She let her hand drop from his mouth to his chest, and she dropped her eyes to follow it as she spoke, unable to meet his. "He proposed to me. And I froze. I didn't say yes. I didn't say 'about time, what have you been waiting for?'" She let her hand drop to the bottom of his t-shirt and then slide up and under it, so that she was touching his warm skin. "I wasn't sure. And I told you once already why I wasn't sure. Why I didn't think we fit." She raised her eyes to meet his, her own as solemn, and let her hand slide around to his back.

"I loved him," she said. "I did. I feel disloyal for every word that's coming out of my mouth right now. But here's the truth: he made me feel stupid, and you don't. His arrogance drove me crazy and you…you're confident, but you're not arrogant the same way. He always knew he was right and you—you're willing to maybe think somebody else has a point of view, even if they're wrong. He—he would never have brought me butter pecan ice cream. Which is okay, since I don't really like it, but…do you get it?" she finished plaintively.

"Um, I think maybe," Zane was starting to smile, the sadness in his eyes disappearing. He bent his head to hers and kissed his way along her cheek to her ear, where he whispered, "Virtuous is over-rated?"

She laughed weakly, and said, "I told you that before, too—there is no universe in which you are virtuous." She was pulling at his clothes as she spoke, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, tugging at his t-shirt to draw it over his head, pulling at the top of his jeans to unfasten the buttons.

"Did you close the door?" she mumbled into his mouth.

"Yep," he whispered back as he worked to divest her of her clothes. "Oh, god, do you always wear black lace?"

"Nope," she shook her head breathlessly, as she stepped out of her pants and kicked off her shoes. "I've got some incredible red silk that you're going to love. It's what I was wearing the day my house blew up." She laughed as he groaned. "We have no furniture," she warned him.

"Furniture is over-rated," he murmured, lifting her onto the kitchen counter.

"Beds are nice," she whispered, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him closer. "We'll get one tomorrow."

He nodded agreement as he kissed his way down her neck. And then he stopped. Carefully, he picked up the chain, and unfastened the clasp. It took him a minute, being a typical finicky chain. Jo whimpered in protest: she wanted him to be touching her instead. She bit him gently. "Stop that and kiss me," she ordered.

"In a minute." He finally managed to get the clasp open and shook the ring off the chain, letting it drop into his hand. He looked at it. "I don't know how I feel about it," he admitted. "Is it his ring or is it mine?"

Jo looked at it. "It's your grandmother's," she said. "Not his, not yours, just hers."

Zane smiled. "That works." He picked up her hand and slid it onto her finger. "And now yours."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "I—are you…?"

"Yes," he said. "I will marry you, thank you so much for asking." He kissed her again, his tongue exploring her mouth thoroughly, building the heat between them, until she pulled back, laughing but protesting.

"Zane, are you…do you…but you—"

"Yes, I am sure, and I do know, and you know, too, Jo-jo. We're meant to be, in this universe or any universe." His hands were stroking, touching, caressing, exploring every inch of her body as if it were already his.

"I—"she melted under his kiss, finally emerging enough to say, "Long engagement?"

"Okay," he agreed, dropping little nibbling kisses along her cheek. "But if we're having seven kids, we should get started soon."

"What?" Jo pulled back. "We are not having seven kids! Three is plenty."

He grinned. "Okay, three it is."

Eyes narrowed, she asked, "You were always thinking three, weren't you?"

He was smart enough not to answer, just bent back to her mouth and kept kissing her. Smiling, Jo kissed him back and knew that she was home.