A/N: Thank you, Tallis224 for your assistance! (Tallis with the assist; Kitty shoots, she scores! Oh, I am definitely punchy from lack of sleep, am I not?)

April 6, 2013

Dorothy: Hate You, Hate Oz, Took The Shoes And Went Home – Toto

I love my daughter…

(The earth just shook from every parent on the planet adding "BUT…" to the end of that sentence.)

I love my daughter—BUT… There are times she's going to put me in an early grave. Or, worse, all of us.

Eeeeeeeeeee…

"Shut up," I groaned, turning over and burying my head under the pillow. Beside me I heard a foggy, "Wha…?" from my beloved husband.

Eeeeeeeeeee…

I smacked the alarm clock to the floor. What the hell was it doing, going off at such an absurdly early hour anyway? (And on a Saturday, no less.)

Eeeeeeeeeee…

I sat up in bed. Confused. Pissed. Tired. The clock on the floor flashed 05:26 at me. Mocking me. I vowed to bury it in a shallow grave.

EEEEEEEEEEE…!

Ducky bolted upright and we gasped at each other in the dawning horror of comprehension.

"Fire—"

"Shit!"

"—alarm—"

"SHIT!"

"—in the kitchen!"

I beat him downstairs. (I tripped and went ass over eyebrows for three-fourths of the trip, that's how.) Downstairs wasn't quite filled with smoke, but it was getting there. Two kitchen fires in a year and a half, if that's not the record, I sure as hell don't want to beat it.

Ducky bolted for the kitchen; I headed toward Mother's room.

She was dead asleep. Fortunately, just dead asleep, not—well, you know.

"Mother? Mother?" I shook her gently, then not so gently. "Mother!"

"What?" she snapped, reluctantly coming to consciousness. Not a happy camper when she first wakes up.

"There's been an accident. There's a fire in the kitchen. I have to get you outside." Thank heavens it was a nice spring night. Uh, morning. Whatever. "Here…" I helped her on with her robe and outside slippers and got her her cane. (Her walker would have been faster, but she refuses to use it unless we're on a long trip—and it would take longer to argue with her than it would to get her outside just using the damned cane.) It took a couple of minutes, but finally I had her out on the porch. "Wait." I ran to the side of the house and came back with a patio chair. "Sit. Do. Not. Move. Understand? Don't move until Donald or I come for you. Promise?"

"Cassandra—"

"Please, I don't have time, just sit here and don't move, promise me, promise me, cross your heart!"

She crossed her heart, looking at me with wide, scared eyes. "I promise."

I tore back into the house and into the kitchen. I was met by a wall of smoke not a wall of flames, thank heavens. The flames seemed contained to the stove, where Ducky was liberally applying the fire extinguisher spray and yelling, "Out! Outside, now!"

Lexi was hiding under the kitchen table, huddled in a ball and screaming as well. "Daddy, make it stop!" The fire alarm, stuck above the doorway into the kitchen, was so loud it pretty much drowned them both out.

First things, first. I reached under the table, hauled Lexi—arms wrapped protectively, if ineffectively, over her ears—out and pulled her into the hallway. "Outside! With Grandma on the porch! Now!" I pushed her toward the doorway and didn't wait for a response. I ran back to the kitchen and dragged a chair to the doorway. Tears streaming down my face from the smoke and the ear-splitting pain of the siren only inches away, I finally managed to yank off the cover and pull the battery from its' tab.

Silence. Blessed silence.

Mmmh… not quite.

There were still some loud (very loud), interesting words (it sounded more like the old, pre-parent me in there) coming from the kitchen. And, now, from outside came sirens, sure to wake the neighborhood (anyone who slept through the alarm, anyway). Shoot me, please.

Before I could get out of the room, thundering herds of yellow-jacketed firemen came storming through the house, yelling and pointing. Omigod—Lexi! Mother!

"Ma'am, ma'am, you need to get out—"

"I am, I am!" I bolted out the door.

"Wet her go, wet her go!" Lexi was screaming, beating on the hip of a fireman.

The fireman in question was trying to haul Mother off the porch. "Ma'am, it's not safe, let me—" he was saying loudly.

Mother was louder than the both of them. "No! Cassandra said to stay here! I crossed my heart. I crossed my heart!" she sobbed as she tried to pull away from the fireman.

I tried not to shove the fireman aside—he was only doing his job. "Mother? It's okay, it's okay, now, come with me."

Her shrieks stopped. "All right, dear." She took my arm.

"You, too. Right behind Grandma." Throat burning like—ha-ha, fire—I led them down the driveway.

A paramedic met us halfway. "Ma'am? Ma'am, come with me, I have a comfortable place for you to sit."

Mother looked at me. "It's okay to go with him," I wheezed.

"You, too, ma'am." That was aimed at me. "We need to get you checked out."

"I'm fine—"

"No, you're not," he said pleasantly. "But you will be."

"My husband—"

"Is on his way out right now." He pointed up the drive where a fireman was helping Ducky—bent over, coughing, barely able to walk—from the house.

The next half-hour was organized chaos. Neighbors spilled from their houses, paramedics treated the three of us (Mother was just fine—except for accusing the paramedic of getting fresh with her and trying to whack him with her cane) and in the middle of it all the chief came out with a plastic tub containing the cause of the fire.

"These were inside the oven—which was cranked up to 500 degrees, I might add." He squatted down next to Lexi, who had her arms around Ducky and was hanging on for dear life. "Are these yours sweetheart?"

Charred remnants only, but still identifiable: her favorite fuzzy purple robe and slippers. Lexi's lip quivered. "Yes."

"Was there a reason you put them in the oven?"

She sniffled. "I wanted to warm them up."

Ducky groaned faintly.

"Well… I can understand what you were trying to do, sweetie… but I think Mommy and Daddy are going to want to talk to you about better ways to warm up your slippers." You bet your sweet asbestos Mommy and Daddy are going to have a talk.

Ducky and I were both beyond words. Didn't stop us from using them, though.

"You know better than this! How many times have you been told to never use the stove unless there's an adult present?"

"It wasn't the stove it was the oven!"

"Don't play semantics with me, young lady! Have you ever seen anyone put clothing in the oven?"

"Yes! Mommy did!"

Crap. I knew exactly what she meant, too. "Those were your sneakers. I washed them and I didn't put them through the dryer because they make an ungodly noise. I kept them in the oven on very, very low and never left the kitchen and explained to you why this was an unusual situation. But it doesn't matter what you put in there, you have been told to never use any appliance ever without Daddy or Suzie or one of your aunts or me or even Uncle Jethro, for god's sake!"

She started to cry. "I'm sorry!"

Visions of all of us going up in flames were still fresh in my mind. Ducky's, too. "Alexandra, a simple apology is not enough! Do you have any idea what almost happened? The house could have burned down! You're lucky not to have been hurt—or worse! To come through with only a cough and an earache from the alarm isn't just luck it's a miracle!" He was so upset he was shaking. He sank into one of the living room chairs. He deals with death every day; it was too easy to imagine the worst outcome.

I was this close to saying or doing something I would deeply regret. Saved by the bell—literally. I grabbed the phone, snarling, "Mallard residence!"

"Ooh. Did I wake you up?" Ev said apologetically.

"Not a chance. We were up at five-thirty!"

"Uh—you don't sound real happy…"

"I'm not! Lexi tried to warm up her robe in the oven and damned near burned down the house!"

"Holy shit! You guys okay?"

"Miraculously, nobody is dead." The enormity of it hit me. I followed Ducky's lead and lowered myself into a chair.

"We'll be there a-sap."

"No, it's—"

"Have you had breakfast? Will you be able to have breakfast?"

I thought about the kitchen… and burst into tears.

"We'll bring you takeout, baby. And a cleanup crew."

"Thank you," I sobbed. I hung up and looked at Ducky. "Evelyn," I managed around my hiccoughy sobs.

"Are they—is everything—"

"They're—they're fine." I tried to pull myself together. "They're—they're bringing breakfast!" I began to weep again. So much for pulling myself together.

Ducky came over and put his arms around me. "I know. I know." He was crying, too.

So was Lexi. She hadn't stopped, really; now she was crying harder. She flung herself at us, bawling her eyes out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

I grabbed her arms and gave her a sound shake. "Never! Don't ever! Ever! Do! Something! Like this! Again!" I was screaming and sobbing, hysterical and terrified beyond belief. I thought I'd been scared shitless before in my life. Pfft. That was nothing. I grabbed her, held her tight.

We were still a huddled mass when Ev and Charlie and Lily arrived. "Where's Grandma?" Ev asked.

"Mrs. McKirk's." I had calmed myself to a certain degree but started sniveling again. "Oh, Ev… everything will stink of smoke!" Talk about trivial concerns…!

"Not for long," she said cheerfully. "The cavalry is coming."

"Hunh?"

"I called Abby. Abby is calling everyone else—and then some. Everyone from Gibbs' team—"

"Oh, no, no," Ducky objected.

"Ducky—do you think even one of them would stay away? This is your family, you dolt. Families take care of one another when shit happens." She made a face. "Oops. Sorry."

He laughed. "No worse than anything said earlier, my dear."

Charlie took Lexi's hand and gently pried her away. "Why don't we go upstairs for a bit. I'm sure they'll call us when breakfast is sorted out." She smoothly led her upstairs; Auntie Charlie would listen much more calmly than Mommy or Daddy could, I'm sure.

"Since it's more than just the seven of us, we were going to skip drive-thru and call in to that diner over by The Quilter's Basket. I'm going to go see if Mrs. McKirk would mind hosting the food brigade. She's invited, too, of course. But the smoke wouldn't lend itself to anyone's appetite, I think."

"I think you're correct." Ducky managed a smile. He gave Ev a big hug. "Thank you."

The day passed in a blur. People came and went; bit by bit things improved. A quick wash of the walls, well-placed fans and a hefty dose of Febreeze all over took care of the upstairs. Downstairs was more difficult. Walls were scrubbed, furniture wiped down, rugs sent out to be cleaned and carpets were steamed. The kitchen? Holy crap.

Our little grease fire a couple of years ago was nothing. A fast hit with the fire extinguisher and we were done. It took me a week to get the oven clean to the point that I was happy, but other than that it was a cakewalk.

The stove was a goner. Gas stove; we were freaking lucky the whole room hadn't exploded. As it hit me how close we had come, I had to sit down again, this time on the charred and filthy floor. I sat there a good twenty minutes, just… staring. It was truly a miracle that we weren't all dead.

Ducky and the insurance agent picked their way through the mess, talking in low voices. Stove: trashed. Cabinets: half trashed. Check the other appliances later, let her know. Floor would need replacing. Wall would need replacing. Who knows what else would need replacing. Thank god we didn't need replacing.

The phone rang. "Hello. Mallard residence," I said tiredly.

"Cassandra, dear. How are you all doing? It's Eloise Broward."

One of Mother's Kennel club biddies—uh, buddies—from down the street. "Not too bad, really."

"Is… Alexandra home with you?"

"Yes…" I hadn't seen her recently, but I was sure she was upstairs. She'd been staying out of everyone's way, only coming out to eat. Smart choice for a number of reasons.

"Well… I ask only because I've seen a little girl going around and around the block the past hour and she looks so much like Alexandra… but, perhaps I'm wrong…"

"I'll check," I said slowly. "But—thank you, Mrs. Broward."

"If there's anything I can do to help—"

Wanna help repaint the kitchen? "I'll let you know. Thank you."

I dashed upstairs. Her room was empty. So was her art room. And the basement.

Every person I passed I asked, "Have you seen Lexi?"

Every answer was a variant of "no" or "not recently."

Last chance. I grabbed Ducky. "Have you seen Lexi?"

He thought for a moment. "Not since lunch. She's been making herself scarce…"

I told him about Mrs. Broward's phone call and, after letting Ev and Lily know we were stepping out, we headed down the block.

We didn't have far to go. About four houses down we saw Lexi headed our way. She wore her 'going overnight to Aunt Charlie's' backpack, was hugging Herman, her stuffed fish and staring at the ground and sniffling as she plodded along. A thoroughly miserable little girl.

We waited until she passed us and fell in alongside. "Hey," I said.

No answer. Just a couple of sniffles.

"Lexi?" Ducky asked tentatively.

Silence. We passed from one house to the next.

"What'cha doing?"

Silence. Then: "Running…" Sniffle. "Away."

Pow. My jaw fell open and Ducky and I stopped and stared helplessly at each other. Lexi kept on walking. After a moment to regroup, we caught back up with her. "Honey…" She kept going. "Hey, hey…" I caught her arm and the three of us pulled up against the pillar at the bottom of our drive. "Why do you want to run away?" I asked as gently as I could.

"I—" Sniffle. "Don't want—" Sniffle. "To run—" Tiny sob. "Away."

"Then why are you?"

"Because—because you don't want me any more!" she wailed.

I wrapped her in a hug. "Of course we want you."

"No, you don't! I burned down the house!"

"No, you didn't. The house is still standing—see? We're getting everything cleaned up, and the kitchen will be fixed. Now, that's not to say we aren't upset about what happened. We are. But you don't kick someone out of the family just for setting fire to the kitchen," I said flippantly.

"But you and Daddy are mad—"

"Well, honey, of course we are. But being mad about something doesn't mean we don't love you and don't want you!" I hugged her again and Ducky pulled her away for a hug of his own. "We will always love you and want you.'" (Okay, we'll renegotiate in ten years depending what you bring home as a boyfriend.)

She hugged Ducky until he gave a tiny "Oof" in protest. He had sucked in more smoke than I had. "Sweetie… I have to ask. If you were trying to run away from home, why were you walking around and around the block? Mrs. Broward said you kept walking past her house."

She looked at him in astonishment. "Because I'm not awowed to cross the street without a grownup. I didn't want to get in troubow again!"

Can't argue with the logic…

/ / / / /

A/N: If you've stopped by my bio page (please, do; there's stuff I can't post under my own name, if nothing else), you've seen the words "on hiatus" all over the place. Yes, I am on a break. No, the posting of this and the Jibbs Secret Santa exchange do not mean I'm "off" hiatus. I promised Miss Jayne to participate in the story exchange, and I *did* finish it. With the help of Shara Michelle, Enharmonic Interval is not only back up, but all the typos are now fixed (wow!). And this little snippet has been hanging around for several weeks, needing to be finished. So-they're finished.

As it says on the bio page, I *am* on hiatus. As one of the Ducky/Sandy stories put it, life is what happens when you're off making other plans; the past month-plus has shown that to be true beyond belief. I'm sure I'll stop in every once in a while; I just didn't want anyone to think I've totally abandoned them (or writing, for that matter). When things either get back in order or I come up with more hours in a day than are currently allotted, you'll start seeing more posts. :-D I won't be gone forever; I'll try not to turn into one of the Weavers. (The Weavers were a folk group in the 50s. In 1953 they essentially disbanded, but one of the founding members, Lee Hays, put it, "We took a sabbatical—and it turned into a Mondical and a Tuesdical.")

Happy Holidays to one and all-go back and re-read Chapter 27 if you're in need of a holiday rush after this chapter. Take care; see you soon. (Y'know, emails wouldn't be a bad thing...)