A/N: So this one ended up taking place sometime after Duke and Jennifer had gotten together, if I'm trying to insert a timeline to this story. This story might also be more of a Jennifer-centric thing with fluff thrown in, I hope you all still enjoy it though!

B is for Braids

The little things. That's what her mother had always told her to appreciate.

"If you go living your life only accounting for the 'big' things, then you're not living a full life."

She always preferred to remember the first time her mom had told this to her. It had been in their kitchen, at the end of what had been a rough day for a six year old Jennifer. She didn't remember what had happened, but she knew she had been sitting at the kitchen table, grouchy about something someone in her class had said about her. She had scratched at her head; annoyed at the tight hairbands that were digging into her scalp and pulling at the roots of her hair. And then in came her dad, at four o'clock like he did everyday. That day, he'd come in with a bouquet of flowers for Mom and a ridiculously joyous hug for her, scooping her out of her chair and spinning her around once. She remembered that her mom had been confused but she was laughing as she asked Dad what the occasion was.

"Just because," she had remembered her dad answering as he set her down, grinning broadly. There would be other times when that would be all the explanation they would get out of him. With that he had kissed Mom, and gone upstairs to change into his casual clothes. His sweater, if she was remembering that correctly.

After the whirlwind that was her father had passed, her mother began to trim the stems of the flowers to get them ready for the fluted vase that she had pulled from the top of the cabinets where all the breakable things were kept. She stood in front of the sink, the water running, with a warm smile on her face. Her features were painted in the gold light of the late afternoon sun, making everything about her seem warm and bright. This was how Jennifer preferred to remember her; bathed in golden light and warmth, not frail and pale on a hospital bed, trying to be brave but being so tired she couldn't even keep her eyes open.

As her mother talked, Jennifer had climbed back into her chair at the kitchen table, watching her mom work. She remembered looking at her legs swinging from her chair, briefly noting the skinned knee and bruises from the day's recess, before her mom turned off the sink, causing Jennifer to look back up at her.

"It's the little things." She had said as she put the flowers in their vase, and had given them a sniff. She had smiled over the flowers at Jennifer, the yellow of some of the flowers reflected on her face so that even though she was away from the window it looked like the sun was still on her face, and continued, "The little good things: like sharing a meal with people you love, or coming home to a place that makes you happy—,"

"Or Daddy bringing you flowers?" she remembered asking.

Her mother had grinned at her and nodded, "Yeah, sweetness, exactly like Daddy bringing me flowers."

"But why do those things matter?" She'd asked, shifting so that she was sitting on her hands and leaning towards the table.

"Because those things do matter." Her mother had picked up the vase and placed it on the kitchen table. As she briefly adjusted the flowers, she said, "On our worst days, those little good things are going to bring us back." She had crouched next to Jennifer and had stroked her head, "They're going to remind us why the world is still good."

For the rest of her life, whenever things would get especially difficult, if even one thing turned out right from that day, her mother would just grin at her and say, "It's the little things." There was a time, during the funeral arrangements, that she debated putting it on her mother's headstone, though she'd thought better of it just before everything was finalized. Holly had pushed her on why she'd changed her mind, but she could only bring herself to say, "Just because." The truth was that it seemed too cruel a thing to put it there, and she had opted instead to write, "Remember the Good."

Eventually, it became a kind of mantra for her, a way to promise and to remind herself of the better things outside of that day. And as she was sitting in her car just outside the Rouge, head on the steering wheel after a surprisingly difficult day, it was the only thing she could get herself to think that wasn't horribly angry or horribly depressing.

"It's the little things." She sighed, leaning back into the driver's seat. She sighed again as she looked at the roof of her car, "Yeah. And right now, I want that 'little thing' to be going home, curling up with a book, and seeing Duke. Everything else is just a bonus."

She grabbed her purse and keys as she opened the door and hopped out of her car. She locked the car behind her, adjusting her purse strap, and hunching her shoulders against the wind that had briefly kicked up. She hadn't taken ten steps to the Rouge before she felt something plop on to the left shoulder of her leather jacket. She stopped in her tracks; squeezing her eyes closed to try to will what she was certain happened to not be true. She glanced tentatively at her shoulder only to let out a heartbroken laugh.

Bird poop.

More specifically, gull poop.

She glared up at the sky and the seagulls crying and circling above her, mumbling something about "rats with wings" and cursing their species for the rest of human existence, before resuming her stride and sliding out of the jacket. She sighed just before she actually boarded the Rouge, repeating to herself: "It's the little things."

Once boarded, she deposited the jacket to her room to be dealt with once she was sure she wouldn't somehow ruin it further in an anger filled cleaning, and called out for Duke.

She could just barely smell something cooking below deck, and just barely make out the sounds of plates and dishes clattering from the same place. She shivered in the cool air that her jacket had been protecting her from, and rubbed at her upper arms. Her gray sweater was plenty warm, usually, but after the weight of her jacket, she felt more vulnerable to the cool Maine air than usual.

"Duke?" She called as she made her way below deck.

He glanced at her over his shoulder as he continued to work with something that smelled absolutely wonderful on the stove. He grinned at her, "Hey! You're home a little earlier than I thought you'd be, but dinner's gonna be ready in a few minutes."

She placed her things on the bench in the breakfast nook, watching him, and twisted one of her yellow flower earrings out of habit. He turned back to the stove, still talking, "I hope you like salmon; we had some extra at the Gull and I've been trying to figure out a new recipe."

She leaned briefly against the table, watching his back, noting how at ease he seemed, and maybe even a little excited to be making her dinner, and she felt at ease for the first time all day.

"It's the little things—like sharing a meal with people you love."

Before she could stop herself, she had walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his back.

Duke paused in his work, "These do not feel like the arms of a happy person."

She laughed into his shirt and said something that he couldn't quite make out. He turned the heat down on his stove before carefully taking her hands in his and pulling her arms off of his middle. For a moment she made to pull them away, misinterpreting the gesture, but Duke only kept his hold steady as he turned around to look at her. There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and Duke reached out to touch her cheek with his left hand, still holding her own left hand in his right.

"Let me guess," he said, trying to coax a smile out of her, "you hate salmon."

She only let out a cough of a laugh and shook her head briefly before placing her own hand over his on her cheek and pressing it more firmly there, "No, no, not that."

His thumb stroked her cheekbone, "Then what's with the water works, Short Stack?"

She laughed again, seeming to calm herself more as she spoke, "I said that they were the arms of a tired person, not necessarily an unhappy one."

This earned her an eye roll as she continued, "And what's with the water works is…I'm just really glad to be home."

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead so gently she was afraid she'd start crying right there. Instead, she let go of his hand and grabbed the lapel of his button-down shirt, squeezing her eyes shut, and whispered, "Do that again."

He smiled at her, "I could kiss elsewhere,"

She opened her eyes and smiled back at him, "Then do that."

He chuckled at her just before kissing her lips as gently as he had her forehead. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead to hers and said, "Welcome home."

She smiled and closed her eyes again, sighing through her nose. He stroked her cheek again before carefully pulling away and turning back to the stove, "So, wanna tell me what has you so upset?"

She sighed, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers from the shelf. Duke glanced at her as she held them up for him to see, and he nodded. She opened them and set them on the table, sliding into one of the seats in the breakfast nook to watch him finish cooking, "How about we start with your day, since you seem to be in a much better mood than me."

He shrugged, "Not much to say; placed orders, tweaked schedules…it was a normal day."

He looked at her over his shoulder, grinning, "Though, waking up with probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, might've set me up right."

She blushed at him, taking a drink of her beer, and trying not to look at him.

He just smirked at her before going back to work and asking, "So c'mon, what happened to make your day so bad?"

"Nothing overtly specific, it was just…" she trailed off as he placed the finished meal in front of her; a plate with two pan fried salmon filets and mashed potatoes. He set the silverware down next to the plate with a bit of gusto and a "bon appétit," earning a smile.

She continued, picking up her silverware, as he sat down opposite her, "Have you ever had one of those morning's where you just knew getting out of bed was going to be a mistake?"

Duke set his silverware down and pointed at her, looking offended, "You didn't want to get out of bed this morning, and you didn't tell me?"

She laughed as she cut into one of her fillets, and brought a bite to her mouth, "You sound offended."

"Hell yeah I'm offended!" He said, shifting in his seat to lean over the table towards her as he gestured emphatically, "You know what I do when I have mornings like that? I stay in bed. I mean, hell, Jennifer, we could have just stayed here!"

She finished her bite and sighed, "And that was probably what aggravated me the most about today."

She pointed her fork at the fish, "This, as always, is wonderful, by the way. Thank you."

He took a drink from his beer and lifted the bottle to accept the compliment.

She continued, enjoying her dinner as she went, "I don't know. After that start, it just seemed like there were just a bunch of little things I couldn't get right. And any time I did get something right, something about it would go wrong."

"Like what?" Duke asked, cutting into his own meal.

"Like accidentally spilling my coffee on the printer, getting momentarily locked in the records room, all the progress I'd made on the story I was working on getting deleted after Dave borrowed my laptop for a minute to fact check something, oh, and then when I finally did make it home, a gull pooped on my jacket."

She sighed and took a drink of her beer, as Duke commented, "I've heard that that's supposed to be good luck."

She rolled her eyes, "No, that's just what people say so that you feel better about a bird pooping on you."

"Did it help?" he asked, smirking at her.

She tilted her head, considering it, before answering, "I'd give an 'A' for effort, but a 'C' for execution."

He shrugged, "Better than any other report card I've gotten."

She chuckled at him around a bite of mashed potatoes before adding, "You know, every single time something happened today, I'd think, 'I could've stayed, at home, with Duke.' And that would make it worse somehow."

He smirked at her, "And yet you got up anyway this morning."

She sighed, though she smirked back at him, "It takes more than a bad day to knock Jennifer Mason down."

"Clearly," Duke chuckled, finishing off his plate and standing, "And it apparently takes more than a bad vibe to get Jennifer Mason to stay in bed with a man who's crazy about her."

Jennifer blushed as he offered to take Jennifer's equally empty plate and she complied, thanking him.

He began to wash the dishes, and she went to help him, only to be ushered out, "Oh no you don't, ladies who've had bad days don't do dishes on this boat."

She glowered at him, "Afraid my bad luck's gonna rub off on the dishes?"

He kissed her head and rubbed her arm, "Just go relax on the couch. Drink your beer, read one of your books; I'll take care of this and then I'll join you."

She conceded, holding her hands up in mock surrender, before grabbing her beer from the table in the breakfast nook, and heading towards the wrap-around couch. She placed her beer on the small coffee table and surveyed the few books she'd left on the table previously. She settled on a collection of Pablo Neruda poems that she'd been meaning to read through. Book in hand, she arranged some pillows into the corner of the couch before lying down, reclining into the pillows. She relaxed as she read, listening to the water running and the plates and other cookware clinking in the sink. She could just barely make out Duke humming a tune that she almost recognized and if she concentrated, she could feel the faint rocking of the Rouge on the water. It was the best she'd felt all day.

Soon, the water stopped running, and Duke came near her, holding a newspaper that she barely registered as being in Japanese. She smiled at him as he sat on the floor next to her, setting his arm on the part of the couch that wrapped around on the other side of the breakfast nook. As he opened his paper, Jennifer placed her hand on his head, petting him and entwining the lock of hair that never seemed to make it to his ponytail around her fingers.

He let out a quiet sound of pleasure and contentedness, earning a giggle out of Jennifer. She continued twisting the strand around her fingers, and half running her fingers through his hair, though the pony tail limited her, as she read a few more poems. Eventually she stopped trying to read, sat up, setting the book aside, and pulled out the elastic band holding his hair.

"What'cha up to, sweetheart?" he asked.

She swung her legs over his shoulders so that her feet fell between his upper arms and torso. She ran her fingers through his hair, letting her fingers lightly touch his scalp, smiling to herself as she saw the goose bumps raise on his arms, "I was just thinking how great you'd look in a French braid."

He let his head fall back to look at her, "Jennifer."

She bowed her head down close to him, still smiling, "What."

She kissed his forehead before he could really respond, running her fingers through his hair again. When she pulled back, his eyes were closed.

"Do that again," he said quietly.

She grinned, "I could kiss elsewhere,"

He opened his eyes, keeping them trained on her lips, as he smiled back, "Then do that."

She placed her right hand on his chin, tilting his head a little further back, and leaned further forward to kiss his lips, still twisting his hair in her fingers. He let go of the right side of his paper and laid his hand on the back of her head, holding her there. The positioning was awkward and his moustache tickled her chin, but she couldn't help the happy noise that trilled out of her. He laughed against her lips, just before she pulled back, grinning at him. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her head, just watching her, before his gaze turned briefly serious, "No braids."

She giggled at him, before sitting back up and playing with his hair, "Oh, c'mon! It'd be great! And you are in very capable hands."

He grinned at her, "Oh, I'm aware."

She lightly batted at his head, earning a chuckle out of him as he went back to trying to read his paper.

"What I meant," she said, running her fingers through his hair, partially dividing it into sections, "was that half the reason I was invited to sleepovers as a kid was because I was the best hair braider in the whole school. Everyone always knew when I'd been at a sleepover because that Monday, the girls would have some of the most perfect braids."

"Who taught you how to braid?" he asked, eyes half-lidded and still trying to pretend to read his paper.

"My mom." She replied, loosely braiding part of his hair, "When I was little, I had really, really long hair and my mom loved it. Every morning before school, through all of elementary school, I'd sit down in our living room by my mom's feet, and she'd twist my hair into all these hair bands, and she'd braid it; it was intricate and tight, but it kept my hair out of the way and that was all I cared about."

She ran her fingers through the braid she'd made to undo it, resulting in Duke tilting his head all the way back into her lap, the news paper now very much forgotten.

"When she'd do my hair, I'd have a doll in front of me and she'd instruct me in what she was doing so that I could mirror her." She started working on a smaller braid by his temple, "When middle school rolled around, I did my best to try to keep my hiar up on my own, but I finally decided to keep it at a more manageable length—just to my shoulders—and to just let it go. It'd always had a bit of a curl to it, but only at a certain length. I kind of miss it."

"What made you cut it short?" Duke asked, keeping his eyes closed and enjoying her touch. He'd started to rub his knuckles against her calf absentmindedly, earning appreciative pauses in her work and quiet sighs of approval from Jennifer.

"Mom again." She replied, twisting the elastic around the smaller braid she'd made.

Duke looked at her this time, confused, "I thought your mom loved your hair?"

"She did." She contended, a soft smile on her face, "Which is why when she first started losing her hair in chemo, and I came to visit her with a shaved head," she laughed quietly, "she about threw me out of her room."

Duke's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You shaved your head?"

"It was for my mom and it…" she paused, remembering, "It felt like the only thing I could do for her, you know? I mean, I paid for everything, I saw her everyday, I even think it's why I've never grown it back out again. I did everything I could think of to help her but it didn't feel like I was doing enough. I was always…I was never sure if I was doing enough."

"Jennifer," Duke said, turning and reaching for her face. When his hands touched her cheeks, she realized she'd started crying. He was on his knees and kissed her eyes before pressing his forehead to hers, "Jennifer, listen to me. I wasn't there when she died, but I know, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything you did for her was enough. Hell, knowing you, it was probably more than enough."

She nodded her head, closing her eyes and sniffling, "I know. I know I did."

"You wanna know how I know that?" He asked, shifting his hands to her neck so that she had to tilt her head back a bit and look at him.

"How?"

"Because that's who you are." He was smiling at her like he had when he'd told her about the boy who'd broken his arm while sledding, "You help people without even thinking about how it'll affect you or even if it will."

She was blushing now as he finished, "You are amazing."

She tried to laugh, to distract from the blush in her cheeks and to get him to stop saying these things to her, "I guess I can always tell when a day's been bad by how quickly I dredge up the Mom and Self Worth Issues."

He chuckled at her, "Well then it's a good thing you're with me so I can remind you about all the good things you are."

She let out a half chuckle, "It's the little things."

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead, "You okay?"

She just laughed, "I could go for some ice cream, if I'm being honest."

He chuckled, kissing her lips, "I know just the place. Best sundae I've ever had; all completely customizable and with every kind of topping and ice cream you could think of."

She grinned, "That. Sounds wonderful."

He stood, grabbing her hands as he went and pulling her up with him. He wrapped her arms back around his waist, and wrapped his arms around her, placing a kiss on top of her head, "You sure you're good, Short Stack?"

She squeezed him, "Better."

He squeezed her back, "Good. C'mon."

He broke the embrace and grabbed her hands, leading her towards the stairs to above deck.

"You realize you're going to keep that braid in the whole time we're out, right?" She asked behind him, referring to the braid that now hung by his face.

He glanced back at her, "Why would I want it out? It's a Jennifer Mason Original."

She grinned at him.

"But I draw the line at French braiding." He said as the made it on deck.

She just laughed, "It'll grow on you."