Author's Note: So...I totally did it. Inspiration hit me today and made me sit down and write (and made me completely ignore the assignments that I need to finish for my class tomorrow...eeep). I have no idea where it came from as it differed completely with what I had initially mused about before...but, I have to say, I am quite pleased with it. I'm not sure when I'll get another moment to just sit down and write another chapter, as this one too, I suppose can be left as it is. I guess whenever the inspiration strikes? Who knows - I'm totally opened to it now. Haha. Anyways, please let me know what you think!

Oh, and thank you to those who reviewed! Your support is heartening!

Chapter 2 – Broken Smile

The deep groan and dip of the plush couch alerted John of the arrival of the female occupant. He immediately cleared his throat and straightened his back as he forced his eyes open, feigning wakefulness. He was really missing his bed right now; it was way too early for this. God, how did he allow Miranda to convince him to come again? The image of Miranda's all-too-innocent smile and the promise of pancakes came quickly to mind. Oh, yes. She bribed him. With that smile…and pancakes. Damn those pancakes! He was totally suckered into this.

"Bloody Hell, she's throwing another tantrum." A miffed Australian accent rippled the quiet air, forcing John to glance over at the brunette by his side. He withheld a chuckle at Oriana's peeved expression; arms crossed and face fully tainted by a pout as she glared at the lavish dressing room.

"It can't be that bad…" John trailed off as he angled his head to the left to view down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. He could hear Miranda's hardened voice as she criticized one thing after another. He didn't envy the saleswoman.

"Easy for you to say. You've been sitting in the waiting room whilst I've been scouring the bloody store for dresses! Heaven forbid that after trying out nearly 50 dresses that she hasn't found one she's liked." The bride-to-be's little sister grumbled as she sunk further into the couch, glowering further as she sulked.

John couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping this time. "You know her, she wants it to be perfect." He gently defended his best friend as he adjusted himself further into the surprisingly comfortable couch – no doubt the store knew how many of his fellow males would have to suffer the ache of wedding dress shopping. Actually… John blinked around, realizing that he was the only male in the spacious waiting room. Well…viewing room, now that he thought about it, as he glanced at his own reflection through the three large full-length mirrors before him and Oriana. He really was suckered into this.

Oriana snorted. "She's being picky. There's a difference."

"It's her wedding, I think she's entitled to be a little picky, right?" John mused, knowing that Miranda was only fussing because her over thinking brain wanted this to be a one-time memorable occasion. She wanted it to be perfect for Jacob. He ignored the familiar plummeting emotion in his gut.

"Oh, my God, she's totally wrapped you around her finger." Oriana feigned a gag. "You're completely whipped."

"Wh…What?" John stammered, completely affronted. "I am not!" He playfully shoved her, trying to distract her from knowing his true feelings toward her sister. "I have you know that she's promised me pancakes for this."

"Uh huh." Oriana scoffed, unbelieving. "Sure…that's it." She smirked at him knowingly; an eyebrow raised in challenge. John pointedly ignored it with his own matching scoff.

"Blueberry pancakes." He mustered up as manly as he was able, chest puffed out. "I'm in it for the all you can eat blueberry pancakes."

"Right." She snickered before gracing him with an almost sympathetic expression. He blinked, wondering what that was about and if she knew about his feelings toward her sister. Not possible; he kept his feelings pretty hidden. He had to keep his feelings hidden.

"No! Not this one!" Miranda's clearly displeasured groan travelled to John's ears. He glanced down the hallway again, worried that his friend was getting stressed.

"Ugh…I'm so glad Jacob's mom didn't come today." Oriana's own groan was an astounding replica of her sister's. "Can't you do anything?" She waved her hands over to the rooms with an exasperated and pleading gaze.

"Me?" John looked at Oriana in confusion. "I don't know anything about dresses; do you want her to chew me out?"

"Please!" Oriana gripped his arm, tugging it toward her in desperation. "I'm at my wits end! And she listens to you!" John grunted as he was pulled down, trying to not laugh at the wide-eyed and fearful way the young woman was being. He knew Miranda was a handful, but seriously, Oriana was exaggerating.

"She listens to you more. Now," he gently pried the vice-grip off of him, "let go!" He succeeded in freeing his arm, but not before receiving a chilling glare from Oriana. Honestly, John swore that the two Lawson sisters were twins.

"That is so not true." Oriana mumbled before slouching back against the couch with a deflating thud.

John sighed as he righted himself properly before glancing at the Ori. Great, now she was moping and sending him snarky glares. He tried to ignore it for a few seconds, but his better judgment was winning out the longer he sat there. As it was the case with Miranda, John was frequently unable to say "no" to Oriana as well. For different reasons, of course. He had never harbored any romantic feelings for the younger Lawson, but rather a brotherly protectiveness that began so many years ago. They were his family and John had learned at a young age to cherish his family.

"Fine!" John drawled out in defeat after she delivered one more glare. "But if she yells at me, you're buying me the pancakes, squirt." He warned as he stood up, stretching a bit before he entered the lioness' den.

"Thanks, Shepard!" Oriana beamed cheekily and John quickly realized how devious she was becoming.

John's shoes lightly echoed as he entered the dressing rooms and toward the increasing audio of Miranda's voice.

"It's too poofy. I can't wear this; I look like a cupcake! It's not symmetrical and it drags." John kept the snicker from escaping his mouth as he heard Miranda's complaints.

"You look beautiful, Ms. Lawson…but I must agree, I think the other dress did suite you better." Another female voice replied, trying to appease. A rustle of fabric reached John's ears as he spotted the saleswoman at Miranda's open door dressing room.

"Then why did you give me this one?" Miranda retorted with sharp condescendence and John couldn't help the frown that developed. When Miranda was younger, she had detached herself from the world through a devastatingly sharp tongue that warranted her as cruel and unkind. However, as John discovered and not many people knew, Miranda had purposely done that as a defense mechanism; an outlet of release against the troubled lifestyle she grew up in and to protect anyone from getting too close. She was actually one of the most noble and empathetic people he had ever met, and those characteristics revealed themselves the more he had come to know her. The sharp tone only brokered out now and again when she was extremely stressed or overwhelmed. He really needed to get her to calm down.

"Hey." John greeted as he poked his head inside the open door. He easily peeked over the saleswoman's head as he delivered Miranda one of his smiles, hoping to ease her frantic emotions.

"John!" Miranda snapped in surprise. "You can't be in here!" Her face reddened out of anger or embarrassment – John couldn't tell since he was fighting to control his own sudden tsunami of emotions. Miranda was just getting out of her dress when he had popped his head in, giving him a quick eyeful of her taut stomach and white bra-clad chest, before she had the sense to hide herself behind the dress in her hands.

"Sorry!" He managed to stammer out before whipping his head out and slamming his head against the adjoining room. His heart rate clamored for control as he desperately forced the not-so innocent thoughts out of his head.

"This is the women's dressing room, sir!" The saleswoman – Ereba, by the looks of her name tag – reprimanded. "Please leave!"

"Sorry!" He groaned out as he rubbed the back of his head. God that hurt. "I was just wondering if you were all right." He whimpered out as he touched his throbbing head.

"Sir! You need to leave!" Ereba commanded as some frantic fabric swooshing occurred within the room.

"No, it's fine." Miranda sighed out. "Give us a moment, please." She gently shooed the woman away and John was glad to hear the sharpness was fading in her voice.

"Only a moment." Ereba warned John as she passed by. He gave a dutiful, albeit painful nod as he watched her head down the hall and discuss something with Oriana.

"Are you all right?" The amusement in Miranda's voice was worth the pain.

"Mmm." John sounded as he rubbed the back of his head further. "Banged my head."

"Come here." Miranda smoothly commanded and John froze.

"Ehh…what?" John fumbled as the last image of Miranda flooded his mind again.

"Come here." She repeated in a more irritated tone. "Let me see. It sounded painful."

"But…" John stammered again.

"I'm dressed now. Come in here." She ordered more firmly and John obediently, if tentatively, entered the room. True to her word, she was dressed now. She was wearing her tank top and jeans – the slight rumpling of her top the only sign that she had placed her clothes on in haste.

She motioned with slender fingers for him to come closer and turn around. With a slight blush, he obeyed as he forced himself to concentrate on the mass array of dresses that were strewed throughout the large dressing room and not on the woman behind him. Oriana wasn't kidding when she said that Miranda had tried on 50 dresses. He hissed when he felt her gentle prod.

"You really need to be more careful, John." She lightly chided as she continued to inspect the growing bump on his head. "I don't have the resources to put you back together every time you do something rash." She playfully pushed him away, seemingly satisfied that he was fine.

"Sorry." He mumbled again as he sheepishly turned to face his long-time crush. His sheepishness vanished the moment he registered the smile on her face. He knew that smile and he hated it.

It was a broken smile. One that appeared on several occasions since they've known one another and one that John had always sworn to eradicate since the first time he had seen it. It was a smile that displayed all of Miranda's insecurities and bitterness in one false attempt to portray happiness. So perfectly generated that not many could pick up on the lie.

His heart groaned in pain because his best friend was hurting. "Hey." He gently reached out and surrounded her in a warm hug. "What's wrong?" He quietly asked as he felt her resist the gesture for a brief second before gripping his waist tightly.

"I hate this." She mumbled into his shirt and John had to hide the surprise at how easily she unraveled before him. She was typically too stubborn to let him in so easily. At least that smile was gone.

"You'll find the dress for your wedding, Miranda." He consoled, swaying her gently. He knew it was more than a dress; Miranda wasn't a woman to weep over such things. Her distress went deeper than that, and he aimed to find out what and fix it.

"It's not that." She admitted and John couldn't help the small boost of ego; again with the lack of stubbornness! This wedding must really be getting to her.

He remained silent, continuing to sway her into comfort and security. "It's this whole thing. A wedding dress is supposed to be perfect; to symbolize permanence and union to someone you love. A representation of how well you both know one another." She took a deep breath. "It's supposed to be stunning and a reflection of how you're ready to become co-dependent, but more than that. It's a way of letting others know how much a husband-to-be see's his bride, just as much as she sees him; flaws and all and despite it, they fit perfectly together." She took a much needed breath before continuing. "I want the man I'm marrying to see me in my wedding dress and see that I'm just as perfect, because he accepts me as I am." She gripped his waist tighter before letting out a pained exhale. "But I can't find a damn thing that emulates that with Jacob. I mean, if I can't find this dress than how can I expect to make this marriage work? What if I screw this up too?" She griped, clenching onto him for dear life.

Damn. He knew women's minds were complicated, but this was just, well, over his head. Hell, all he thought a wedding dress meant was purity. No wonder, she was freaking out. Wait…what did she mean if she screwed this up too?

"What do you mean, Miranda?" He asked, genuinely confused. He felt Miranda stiffen in his grasp, alerting his concern to expand further. "Miri?" He carefully questioned.

"It's nothing. I…I just don't want to screw this up." The evasiveness was obvious. What was she regretting? He wanted to explore further, but Miranda's emotional state was chaotic as it was (God, how he really hated this wedding and what it rendered Miranda into), so he let it drop. He placed faith in her judgment. Again.

"You're not going to screw this up, Miri." With a tender finger, he lifted Miranda's chin to face him. He felt her relax at the action and desperately ignored the urge to lean down and kiss her. "Anyone can see that you're perfect already. You don't need a dress to prove that." He admitted, feeling his cheeks flush lightly at his honesty.

"You think so?" She whispered; cheeks lightly pink as well.

"I know so." He gave her a half smile, trying to hide his own emotional turmoil. "You're Miranda Lawson. You define yourself by more than your looks and what other people think. You're intelligent and beautiful, but also more than that. You're also generous, caring, and determined." His grin grew more confident as his expressed his thoughts. "Sophistically stubborn." He playfully nudged, before becoming serious. "Overwhelmingly strong; not many can proudly hold their head up after going through the crap you did." His mind recalled all the hardships that she had to endure growing up and he could tell that Miranda did as well by the distant look in her eyes.

"John…"

"It's true, Miri. You're amazing and Jacob is a complete idiot if he doesn't realize it."

"You're the idiot…" She burrowed her head into his chest, nearly tilting him backward from the sudden force. "…don't you realize I couldn't have gotten through any of that without you?" She mumbled and John barely heard it over the rapid beating of his own heart. His heart was dancing with joy at how much she valued him. He only wished he could tell her the full extent of how he felt for her.

"You're worth more than you give yourself credit for, Miri." He whispered and despite his better judgment kissed the top of her head. It was the small victories that he lived for, the masochist that he was.

"Thank you." She reverently thanked as she held him close.

They stayed embraced for a few more moments before John's damn stomach growled in angry protest. He wanted to throttle his own stomach for its interruption, but the laughter that escaped Miranda's lips made up for it.

"I nearly forgot about our brunch plans." Miranda nervously chuckled as she carefully extracted herself from him, discreetly wiping the edges of her eyes as she did so. "I owe you pancakes for being a good sport." She halfheartedly teased him before glancing around the dressing room with a frown. "I really need to pick a dress though; I can't stall on this one…" She muttered as she glanced at a few to their left. John guessed it was the "keep pile" he once heard her and Oriana yammering about.

"Did you really try on all of these?" He asked, awed in her accomplishment.

"Humph. More than I liked." She grumbled.

"I take it you really didn't like any of them?" He inspected a rather fluffy one that was left wanting. He couldn't imagine Miranda in one of those. She fitted a classier look than that particular dress offered. Something like those dresses that were in those movies his Mom and Aunt Karin used to watch together. With the strappy thingys…and not so wavy thingys…yeah…he really didn't know what he was talking about.

"Not really." She sighed and scratched her neck in a frustration. "But I need to find something that's at least decent." She replied, noticeably calmer than when he had entered. He was glad that she was feeling better, but if only he could help make her dilemma disappear…

"Let me take a look around the store." John found himself offering. What the hell? He thought he already established that he knew absolutely nothing about dresses.

"What?" She shot him an incredulous expression.

"What? What harm could it do?" He ventured out, wondering if Oriana could help him find something really quick. Why did he have to open his mouth?

"All right…I guess it couldn't hurt…" She eyed him suspiciously. "Make sure Ori is with you."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." John mock-pouted before huffing out of the dressing room. She really did know him.

"I do it out of love." She teased back.

Yeah, right. God, what did he get himself into? John hastened back out into the waiting room, searching for Oriana. He found her speaking with the saleswoman still. She halted whatever she was saying when she spotted him.

"I'm guessing it went well since you came out in one piece." She jibed, but then frowned when she looked at him more closely. "Why are you so pale?"

"I said I'll help her find a dress." John stammered out, feeling more nervous than he had initially thought. "Help me!" He grabbed her wrist and rudely hailed her away from Ereba.

"Hey!" Oriana let out a squeak of protest as she was dragged off.

"I guess I'll tend to Ms. Lawson." Ereba called out and John thought he heard her let out an anxious sigh as she left.

"I thought I sent you in there to help pick one, not choose one." Oriana groaned as she swiped through the various dresses with him.

"I don't know how it happened, okay? She was all sad and didn't like any of the dresses and then I just opened my mouth and words tumbled out." He protested as his eyes glazed over at the many dresses he was flipping through.

"You seriously got it bad…"

"What?" John snapped his head over to Oriana, thinking he didn't hear her properly over the sound of metal scrapes created by the hangers.

"Nothing." Oriana replied a bit too earnestly for John's taste. He questionably eyed her for another moment before deducing that Miranda would like nothing in the particular section he was viewing. He rubbed his face in nervous frustration before walking toward the other side of the store.

He continued to flip through the various offerings of white before halting upon one. It was simpler than the other dresses in the store, but somehow, it fitted the picture of grace and elegance that he associated with Miranda, while adding a dash of individuality that would just accentuate Miranda's personality and not the other way around. Damn, he could really see Miranda in this dress.

John quickly padded back over to Oriana, presenting the dress for her approval. The younger Lawson blinked at the dress and then back at him.

"She owes you more than blueberry pancakes." Was all she said as she grabbed the dress from his hands and practically frolicked to the dressing rooms. "Wait here!" She added before disappearing.

"Does that mean I did good?" He wondered aloud, knowing that his question wasn't heard by the suddenly giddy Oriana.

With nervous anticipation, John returned to his initial seat on the couch, hoping that Miranda was happy with her choice. He hoped Jacob appreciated his efforts, because, if that man dared to make Miranda unhappy in any way…well…he'll not only have to contend with her rage, but her best friend's too…plus a fist…maybe two…ohh….he would definitely add a punch kick combo to Jacob's face…yeah…that would make him feel better.

"Someone's smug." Miranda's voice seeped into John's musings.

The firefighter jumped out of surprise before settling his eyes on Miranda. He nearly had a heart attack as he gawked at her. "Wow." He uttered as he stared at Miranda, who was wearing the slimming and simple elegant wedding dress. It looked better than he had imagined. It was strapless and fitted her curves beautifully, accentuating her body in a modest, but gorgeous way. The dress complemented Miranda, rather than the other way around; her natural persona enhanced as the dress seemed to reinforce not only her physical beauty, but her inner beauty as well. John instantly thought she looked like Audrey Hepburn: gracefully enchanting with a natural air of confidence and dignity. She was positively beautiful. And perfect.

"You look…" John stalled on words, completely enraptured as he watched Miranda situate herself in front of the three full length mirrors.

"Mr. Taylor is going to be very pleased." Ereba shared her sentiments.

John noticed Miranda's lips twitch into an echo of her broken smile, making him frown. Did she not like this one? "It's you, Miri." John reminded with a reassuring smile. Miranda's gaze briefly flickered over to his, before a squeal caught her attention.

"This is the one, Randa!" Oriana shrieked as she watched Miranda examine herself in the mirrors.

Miranda smiled at her sister's response as she gauged her reflection. The heartwarming smile caused John's own to appear as he continued to secretly gape at the woman he hopelessly loved. This really was the dress that she would get married in. He stood off to the side, but behind Miranda, watching her expression for approval.

Her gaze flickered to his once more and he felt both their smiles grow bigger; the mirrors only accentuating it as they stood side by side within them. This was the smile he wished to see on her face. The one that encompassed and overrode all the others she had ever presented him. The one that made his insides burn with unbearable affection and love. It was one of complete and utter genuine happiness that made her glow like a goddess.

His heart seemed to swell and die at the same time when she whispered the next words, never taking her eyes off his as they stared each other down in the mirror.

"It's perfect."