I hope everyone survived the drumstick battles and the Black Friday melee.

Are those crazy Pvites faring any better?...

####

The woman was hunched against the door, peering in the slotted window and stealing several not-so-subtle glances over her shoulder. A master spy she certainly was not.

Greenlee did the only proper thing she could and offered her rather expert services. "You need to pick that lock? I know this killer trick that involves a -"

Dixie Martin whirled around as if she'd just been caught hovering over the dead maid, bloody knife in hand.

Greenlee slammed into the adjoining wall with a thud, a whoosh, and a pained smirk. "Or maybe just a lookout?" she asked.

The nice girls never were cut out for this kind of work. Dixie rushed over to her with a breathless, "I'm sorry! Are you okay, I just -"

"Was looking to break into the one kind of room most people are itching to bust out of," Greenlee observed with one cocked eye. "And yes, I'm fine. Hard heads have their benefit. Who knew?"

"Good." Dixie glanced again at the door, then down the hall. "If you're really OK, then I'd better get going."

"Hold on, hold on." She wasn't above faking a concussion if need be. After all, lately it might not be such a fake-out. But one way or another, she was getting answers. Nosiness was a vice, but a rather enjoyable one she had no particular desire to rid herself of. "That knock to the head's gotta be good for something, so spill." Opting for the 'nicer' approach, she added, "And the offer's still valid. Maybe I can help. I mean, we do have kind of a bond. We're the charter members of PV's Walking Dead club, after all." OK, bad joke.

"Here, quick," she whispered, drawing Dixie into a bear hug. "Oh, it's been so long, I can't wait to hear all about –" She pushed her flustered companion back and motioned to the passing orderly. "OK, now continue."

"Well, I never actually started." She was doing that eye flutter thing. Damn, the woman could grow wings from her eyelids and probably fly away. Finally, she released a shaky breath. "This is..." She motioned to the mystery door behind them. "This is JR's room."

Greenlee lifted an eyebrow. Word had spread around town like wildfire that the local celebrity con had gotten himself in an "accident" and was admitted to the hospital. Judging by the reactions she'd witnessed to that particular bit of news, she was frankly surprised he'd lasted this long. When Dixie turned back, her eyes had stilled, allowing Greenlee a full glimpse she'd gladly trade for the flutters now. Suddenly, nosiness seemed like a good habit to break.

"I know how everyone in this town feels about him, but he's still my son."

"Your little boy." She quickly cleared the hitch in her throat away. "And you'll always love him, no matter what. It's part of the job description." It might've been easier for her to say. She hadn't experienced the loss that others had, at least not on that day.

"It's never been a job. Never," Dixie said, clearing her own throat. "I need to see him."

"His visitors are probably limited." 'For his own good as much as the general public's,' Greenlee added silently. "But I'm sure they would make an exception for his mother."

"They will, but JR won't."

####

The lotus flower was the very symbol of enlightenment and rebirth. It would bestow upon its recipient peace on earth, good will towards men, the whole nine yards. Whoever had decided to make yoga a prominent part of this novel therapy session should be….well, the punch line might be considered in bad taste considering the circumstances.

Bianca. put the finishing touch on the final pose, her gaze never wavering from the 'patient' two rows in front of her. Good will was taking a hike for the day. The man who had designed and implemented her current seating arrangement was maneuvering himself, with assistance, back into his own matching chair….matching right down to the color-coordinated arm cushions In different circumstances, she might have complemented him on his taste. Right now, she couldn't help thinking that the rough brand of poetic justice that Jesse Hubbard had given JR Chandler was still not enough.

His guard sat perched in the corner, no doubt to heroically counter any misbegotten ideas his prisoner might've gotten about the heavy weights scattered around the room.

It would never be enough.

The session started in earnest, and the requisite military presses and elbow rolls occupied time for a few minutes. Then it happened: the moment when she might gasp or perhaps smirk at the bitter irony if this were a movie and if the stage were not so very, very real.

It was time for pairs therapy.

####

She still had that way of saying it, equal parts exhilaration and exasperation He used to find the dichotomy, the tenuous coexistence, both fascinating and intriguing. It was what had kept him coming back. It was, in one simple syllable, the very summation of their relationship.

"Jack," she repeated, and although he could sense she desperately wanted nothing more, she would not look away.

And he, likewise, would resist certain compulsions. He'd returned to the arms of the deep South, after all, where he would always be "Jackson" or "Mr. Montgomery" or even "sir" to some well-meaning kid. The tried and true Southern gentleman had been dusted off and returned to his former estate, and gentlemen did not ever, under any circumstance save maybe a declaration of war, crack the armor. They gave a friendly shoulder pat, perhaps an embrace in their less guarded moments, and they assured their womenfolk that 'damn it all, everything will be fine.' And the stiff upper lip must always remain firmly in its place, of course.

She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve, a sure strike in the etiquette textbook and a definite violation of her own personal code. She wiped with all of the dignity that the tiny tremors coursing through her would allow and he wanted to throw the whole pretty and proper textbook out the window. He wanted, needed too damn much to just…

He paced the floor, hands on hips. Perfect lawyer's pose. "I was walking past a newsstand in Atlanta, thinking I should catch up on my investments, maybe see how the Phillies were doing this year." He allowed himself a deep sigh, hoping it would help keep the polish he'd worked so hard to maintain from dulling too much. "Must've been some rag paper, with a bad photoshop job to boot. The masthead told me different. Last issue on the stands, too. Seems Erica Kane can still captivate an audience, even in Georgia."

"What do you want me to say?" She wouldn't give him indignation or fierce rebuttals like a proper witness should, like Erica Kane always would. And that, more than anything, cracked the veneer.

"Tell me why a newspaper had to tell me that my ex-wife had cancer."

####

"I don't think this is a good -" He used his half a heart to put up a half-hearted defense.

"We will be fine," she said. The last word held no venom or promises of painful retribution. Blunt, flat, all it could be, and everything she needed it to be.

Obviously, the therapists were not good and proper Pine Valley citizens who read up on the latest scandals and grudges in the Exposer. They simply smiled their artificial smiles and nodded approval at the cooperative nature of their newest star pupil and her therapy partner.

And so they began.

The chair lifts came first. They lifted themselves in a kind of combative harmony that duly impressed their onlookers. Each strained armed muscle was met and exceeded by a forceful push, and the volley continued in the deadest of silences.

They were meant to be support, encouragement for each other: the pairs of hands that would stop the free fall. Positive reinforcement at its finest. Watching the sweat pour from his face…watching the cuts and bruises she had worked so hard to brand him with fade into distant memories, she wished for his free fall from the Grand Canyon.

When he grasped the bars of the harness system, he fell, he stumbled, he cursed, he fell again….and, with trembling arms, he took his first simulated step. She wished for nothing more than to be the pair of hands that would pull away at the last split second.

When she took her turn, she repeated his routine, minus the grand finale. A soft, intense "Come on, Bianca" pulsated in her ears, courtesy of her loyal partner.

Her arms screamed, and she felt what she hadn't in over a year: movement, assisted and fragile as it may be.

And, damn it, she would not give or owe this moment to him. With a vehement push, she freed herself from the harness. The floor was properly padded. Yet it was never harder, or more unforgiving.

"I have to go, my mother needs me." She dared the next helping hand as she fumbled and stumbled back to her chair. To control. "I'm done."

She wheeled past her partner as the guard approached him, handcuffs in hand.

Coldest of comforts.

####

Greenlee had learned this amazing trick since living in Pine Valley. Sometimes, if you just shut the hell up and listened, you might actually learn something. A hard trick to put into practice, but she tried her best now.

Dixie played with a locket around her neck, and somehow it seemed to help her find the words. "52 times. Once a week, faithfully. For his birthday, I brought a couple of his favorite cookies, even though I knew he'd never get them. But it helped, just that stupid little simple process. Each time, I'd sit on one end of the glass and watch my breath appear and disappear just as quickly. I got to be really good at doing that. I'd hold the phone until I could feel my fingerprints burning into it. A few months ago, they replaced the chair I sat in. The other one had a crack on it. It'd finally given out. A few weeks ago, I stopped picking up the phone. But every Friday at 3:15 I still sat in the new chair that I hated…it hadn't been with me, it hadn't endured. I still sat and waited until that familiar face appeared on the other side of the glass. He had blue eyes, a buzz cut that grew sideburns at will, and a bit of stubble. I wanted to tell him the stubble didn't suit him. We'd gotten quite well acquainted during our one-minute interactions. He'd address me, at first it was Ms. Cooney., then Mrs. Martin., but the ending to our little conversation always remained very, very consistent: 'He doesn't want to see you.'"

She did pause then, to give her voice a break, perhaps. To give something else its rest, more likely. Greenlee did not fill the lull with an ill-timed wisecrack or an inappropriate observation. Maybe she was growing. Or maybe, for once, she had no idea what the hell to say.

"It's a different guard stationed outside of his room now, but he must've gotten the memo. The script. Because word for word, it's the same." Dixie patted her knees and stood up, and that new glint in her eyes Greenlee knew well. "But that guard's gone now, and so is JR. I managed to get out of a nurse that he would be in a physical therapy session until, oh, about fifteen minutes from now."

"Squeezing the nurse, huh? Maybe there's hope for you yet." And with that, Greenlee was back in her element. And it fit like a glove. "So, your grand plan?"

"Special circumstances. They're being extra cautious, so there's a lock I can't figure out just yet. But I was going to get into the room before they got back, somehow." Dixie had the good sense to look a little sheepish at her next confession: "And I was going to hide in the bathroom until JR was back and everyone else was gone."

Before Greenlee could offer her unique take on the situation or even offer a useful Are you kidding?, more movement caught the corner of her eye. She grabbed Dixie again, but this time pushed the other woman around the corner of the wall.

Partaking in a quick peek to confirm her assessment, she whispered quickly, "Time for Plan B."

Greenlee put on her best game face, grabbed her left side before remembering the appendix was on the right and quickly switching sides. She took a couple of stumbling steps back into the corridor. "Oh," she moaned, because a scream might've seemed just a tad melodramatic and attracted unnecessary attention. She did, however, fall ever so gracefully to her knees.

When she heard the rapidly approaching footsteps and the ever-so-heroic, "You okay, miss?" she moaned through her grin and gave the 'OK' sign behind her back.

She glanced up at the rather dim but well-meaning face and hoped like hell her partner-in-crime had gotten the message. As the guard patted her rather spiritedly on the back, she saw Dixie pass and breathed a temporary sigh of relief. Pretty soon, this guy was gonna be giving her his own modified version of the Heimlich maneuver, and that was one experience she would most certainly do without.

"Ma'an, ma'am?" Oh no, he didn't. She was going to correct him of his misguided use of that word, but he was unleashing another assault to her poor battered back.

"I'm not choking, just need a –"

With one forceful wrench, she twisted the offending arm away.

"Breath." She smiled both wanly and sweetly. "Sorry about that. Must be a side effect."

"Of what?" Those wide eyes suddenly narrowed. "Ma'am, are you on -"

"No, no." Greenlee waved a little too enthusiastically. She'd let the last ma'am slide. "I just meant my medication for…these rather unfortunate gastric issues I'm having." She threw in another moan for good measure.

Greenlee tried to inconspicuously look past the man to catch a glimpse of how things were proceeding, to no avail.

"I'll get some -"

A gruff command cut off the declaration. "Guard, take me back to my room, please."

The man looked between his prisoner and his new damsel in distress, obviously torn.

Greenlee ended the deep turmoil. "I'm alright now. Just had a bout of…gas."

That did the trick. The noble guard couldn't t return to his duty fast enough.

She turned around until JR passed, but her eyes were trained on the woman slowly retreating down the corridor. She should really just turn around and beat her own quick retreat in the other direction. Good sense told her to do just that. Fortunately, she was not well acquainted with her more sensical side. She dutifully chased down the latest Pine Valley drama instead.

Dixie was once again hunched against a wall, and this time Greenlee tread with more caution. When the woman whirled around this time, she braced herself for the push. That, she could handle. The wild-eyed, confused stare that met her instead, not so much.

"Dixie? Dixie?" The \woman hunched down further with each address, almost like an animal either protecting itself, or ready to…

She sprang up, sending Greenlee against the wall of her own accord this time. Her eyes had cleared of the clouds, but the heavy downcast remained.

Greenlee pushed herself from the wall. "What happened?"

"He stuck to the script," Dixie said dully. "I had better go now."

"I really think you –" The 'should see a doctor' remained unsaid. Who was she to be giving lectures on that particular matter? She was still playing hide-and-seek with Dixie's very persistent brother-in-law. "Are right," she finished.

And speak of the devil in scrubs, Jake was currently strolling down the hall, right in their direction.

"Stay strong, Dixie," she offered, briefly holding and releasing the older woman's hand. "And don't tell Jake you saw me, okay?" she added quickly before hurrying away.

####

Her drink teetered on the edge of the tray, so very perilous. He reached out for it, but she grabbed his hand. And, like always, all it took was a touch.

"And they call me self-centered." The tiny smirk reasserted her. It reaffirmed the forever young, eternal force of nature that stood not in combat, but hand in hand with the depleted, tired woman in the bed.

"Sometimes, the journey has to be solo, Jack. I didn't want…" The hoarseness in her voice was just a temporary stumbling block. But he knew what lay on the other end, and despite his best efforts, she kept his hand firmly in place. "I didn't want you to come running back, for us to have some deathbed elopement and end up in the same place we were a year from now. If we were going to lose each other, for once in my life, I was going to do it honestly."

"Erica, you never –" And that right there was a damn dangerous slippery slope…

"Nobility doesn't suit me, I know. I'll leave that to others. But I think it's worked out okay, don't you? You've found a purpose working with the ALC…"

"ACLU…"

She torpedoed right over the correction, and he couldn't help but smile inwardly at that. "…and I can tell that you're finally happy with your work now. It looks good on you."

That, crazily enough, brought a warmth to his cheeks that he couldn't necessarily attribute to the bright hospital lights. Blushing was ungentlemanly indeed.

"And you've found love." Right words, wrong time. She'd never lost that knack, either.

Before he could respond, she responded for him: "I think you should go back to your wife, Jack."

No irony, no cattiness or bitterness.

He discovered that he had no response to give.

"I'm going to be just fine. They even say I might qualify for a reconstruction soon. But either way, you better believe I'll be back to exquisite form in no time, ready for my next new beginning. And, I promise, no kitschy talk shows this time."

His lips brushed her knuckles, a last gentleman's relic. When they moved to her cheek, quite against his expectation or intent, her brief gasp cooled his own cheek.

He did not, could not pull away, and her arms relaxed in his grip.

"We've come too far for me to kid myself that you'll let all of these things you've got bottled up out now. You turned it right off when I came in here, and I'm so sorry for that. But just know that I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, Erica Kane."

He rose with her unvanquishable scent, and one final affirmation, on his lips: "When you're ready."

"Jack -"

Amazing, the power of one word.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, but we're ready now, Ms. Kane."

"And so am I."

The drink cup finally took flight, and rolled to his feet upon impact. Empty.

Erica mouthed a silent goodbye.

Quietly, Jack slipped out the door, the nurse's last words and her patient's subsequent response echoing, following him down the hallway: "Would your husband like to accompany you?"

"He's not my husband."

####

"Oh, very excellent. There's a definite bonus in this for you. They've gotta learn they're in the big girls sandbox now, and who better to teach them than the queen of the box. I made them, and I can most certainly -" She scowled. "Of course Mrs. Slater knows, and I have her full approval. We're a team."

Well, Kendall approved by proxy. What she didn't know…

She collided with an unyielding body, sending her phone sliding across the floor. "Why don't you watch–"

"Put away that phone young lady, or you're grounded."

Greenlee stood rooted to the spot for a solid minute before throwing her arms around the offender. She stepped back, evaluating him head to toe. "You've lost weight," she admonished.

Her father laughed. "Well, at least I know I haven't been packing on the pounds."

His face aimed for merry carefree, but failed miserably on all accounts. "What's wrong?" Greenlee asked. That question had already gotten her into enough trouble today, but she couldn't resist.

"Can't I catch up with my lovely daughter before I sit down for a round of twenty questions?"

"I love you and I've missed you like crazy." She smiled at his surprised smile. "But don't dodge the question."

"I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in the hospital?"

Now, wasn't that a loaded question with an equally loaded answer. With no desire to recount her recent adventure, she opted for a partial truth instead. "Support. I know I'm not Erica's favorite person, but I can at least roam the halls and send my positively winning vibes." She cut herself off, because she was back to her good, reliable foot-in-mouth self. "That's why you're here." His lack of a reply was all the answer she needed. "Dad, I told you it wasn't a good -"

"I had to, Greenlee."

"How did it go?" She couldn't keep the concern out of her voice, because the look on his face let her know exactly how it 'went.'

"She's got the walls up, to everyone, I suspect. Fortified them good. And damn it, I -"

"Dad, it's not your responsibility anymore." She hated to say it, and she hated the expression it provoked even more, but it needed to be said. "Erica's got support coming out of her ears. Besides, I'm sure you have to get back to Georgia soon."

"I'm staying. My client, as it turns out, wanted to fight this battle at home."

That revelation should have brought her some happiness, but she had a feeling that it was going to result in anything but smooth sailing. Then again, when did things in Pine Valley ever go smoothly?

"What poor schlub wants to throw himself back into the viper's den now?"

Jack either smiled or frowned. In this town, you could never be sure which. "Your brother."

That particular little bomb was temporarily overshadowed by the sudden entrance of her very harried fiance.

"Where were -" She thought better of the question. It wasn't like she'd get a straight answer anyway.

While Jack and Ryan reintroduced themselves, she searched for her phone, to no avail. Odd, she could have sworn it had –

Her fiance's shirt diverted her attention. Or, more accurately, the bright stain currently peeking from underneath the cuff. "Ryan, what is that?"

Ryan followed her glance and, when he noticed the mark, he adjusted the sleeve until the red blotch vanished, just like that. "Must've gone overboard on the ketchup."

He smiled, and his eyes shifted to the right. He'd taught her the art of spotting a con – and a lie – well. As she watched him slip his jacket on, fully covering the bloodstain, she had only one thought: What are you hiding now, Ryan?

Her groom-to-be really should've known her better by now. He should've known she wasn't going to stop until she had the answer to that question. She was Greenlee Smythe, after all.

####

The display was…not what they expected.

Some unfortunate animal had escaped from the jungle only to find itself splattered across approximately four feet of hot pink cardboard.

"So, what do you think?" Randi asked with a not-so-enthusiastic arm flourish.

"It's…well, it's…"

Somehow, she didn't think her sister-in-law's sudden aversion to full sentences had anything to do with her medical issues.

Randi offered her brightest and most winning smile to the mall cop strolling down the packed corridor. Then, with another, decidedly more enthusiastic arm flourish, she knocked the leopard-printed monstrosity from its perch. "Oops!" she offered, earning a curious head tilt from Natalia.

"Not what you wanted?" Her current companion hadn't lost that little lilt in her voice that could give the most innocent question a sense of supreme irony.

Randi helped her over to the bench, and they manage to sit on the hard rock of a chair with relative ease. Nat liked coming here because the constant flow of people made it easier to blend in, to block out the harmless, curious, but no less piercing glances she would be gifted with in less confined quarters.

"Not quite," Randi said, trading a fried tomato for a fried Twinkie. The hallowed halls of the food court allowed her to indulge in the occasional guilty pleasure. "I know Amanda wanted to go for non-traditional, but that -"

She sat bolt upright, the remnants of white frosting and yellow cake clinging unashamedly to her fingers. She used those fingers to pull out her cell. "I'm going to find that little three-foot pixie and send her back to lollipop land with the rest of the munchkins."

"Sounds like a Wizard of Oz sequel in the making," Natalia noted.

A vision of a certain former boss with wide, beady eyes and a smirk to match rose in Randi's mind. "Complete with the wicked witch getting the house dropped on her."

No way in hell was Greenlee getting away with this.

The sound of a maddeningly chirpy voice and an equally maddening beep had her pinching her nose for some relief. "Amanda, when you get this, call me back. I –"

The action must've brought a little reminder from her subconscious instead, because a living, breathing ghost of Halloween past had just rushed by.

Randi lowered her arm. The lightweight phone suddenly had transformed into a heavyweight boulder.

"Randi, what happened? "

The ghost of a name wouldn't materialize on her lips.

Reggie.

She couldn't find any words, until the call came. Until she had to somehow, some way find exactly the right words to tell her sister-in-law that her fiancé was currently in the hospital, injured in the line of duty. And fighting for his life.

When she heard meth lab explosion, Randi found the words and Natalia quickly found her footing. In her months of therapy, she'd never been more steady. Determined.

Randi took her sister-in-law to the site of another Hubbard family crisis, the specter of her brother – and her first family – a fading figment...for now.