(Author): I was inspired to write this after I allowed myself to wonder exactly how Mordecai would react to children. I concluded that probably not well...which I suppose makes it all the more entertaining. It was only meant to be a one-shot, but I'm quite a blatherskite. There will be some violence in the future, but don't get your hopes too high either. I haven't the elaborate imagination or creative ability of the wonderful Tracy Butler (who owns Lackadaisy). I am merely an amateur with an excess of ideas and little skill to employ them.

April

Mordecai Heller wasn't one to linger during social events. In fact, he hated them. That wasn't to say he didn't attend them, however. But, for the most part, his social interactions at said events were limited to obligatory conversations with the higher-ups and the occasional decline of a dance offer from some brave soul. He did his job, and that was it.

"You know, you really ought to consider what you're declining more carefully next time," said Asa Sweet, staring at the retreating back of Mordecai's most recent rejectee, taking in her petite build.

Mordecai blinked slowly. "I am fully aware of what I'm declining, thank you."

Asa snorted barkishly, turning back to his drink. "I really don't think you are."

The triggerman suppressed the urge to continue the pathetic game of 'Who Gets the Last Word' and instead opted to roll his eyes behind Sweet's back, annoyed at the larger man.

"I know how much you value your personal space and all, but would it honestly kill you to at least appear sociable? There are plenty of young ladies just waiting for an opportunity. You really ought to consider at least talking to one. Take that darb dame there for instance-" At this point he gestured sharply to a female seated nearby. "She's been making eyes at you all night! The poor soul ought to have some compensation, don'tcha think?"

It was true, the young lady whom Asa had referred to had been trying to catch Mordecai's eye all night, something he did not appreciate and had successfully ignored up until this point. Her dress was remarkably short, even for a flapper, and as Mordecai turned to finally look at her face, he was almost startled by the amount of makeup painted sharply around her eyes. He knew it was considered fashionable, but honestly. At some point she had to become aware of her resemblance to a hooker. For all he knew, and cared, she probably was one.

Upon meeting eyes, she smiled at him, wiggling her fingers flirtatiously. Mordecai scowled, turning his attention to Asa once more.

"Mr. Sweet, I would appreciate it if you refrained from getting involved in my personal situations," he said sharply.

Asa let out a drunkenly loud laugh. "Oh come on! What's wrong with this one? So she's got a little bit of eye make-up going on. I'm sure you can get past it eventually!" Another incredibly boisterous laugh came out of his mouth, making Mordecai almost cringe from embarrassment and annoyance, as there were several individuals turning to stare now. How Mordecai hated drunks.

Nevertheless, the night manager continued speaking about the girl, very obviously finding a great amount of humor in the romantic life he had invented for Mordecai.

At this point the triggerman stalked off angrily.

He came up empty handed in his search for silence. With the party in full swing, there was little he could do but sit on a bar stool and watch at the ridiculousness surrounding him. How he hated these events. There were too many drunks and too many sobers. The band never stopped playing. It was loud and irritating and it was giving him a headache. So when the bartender set a glass of whiskey in front of him- "Courtesy of an admirer, sir."- Mordecai actually decided to take a few sips despite not being a drinker, according to himself. It was obviously nothing close to prescribed whiskey, but perhaps it would provide some relief from his now pounding head.

It was exactly in that manner that he found himself a little more intoxicated than he had initially intended on becoming. How he hated alcohol and what it did. He had never been able to hold his drinks very well, and quite frankly with that knowledge of himself he could only blame himself for what occurred that night.

The same woman from before had at some point appeared next to him. In the future, if he were to allow himself to think back to that night he would only remember pieces of their conversation. Her name was Millicent - "But, please! Call me Milly." - and she had in fact been the one who had sent him the drink, wasting no time in informing him that it was almost the 1930's and therefore about time women took initiative. There was high-pitched, obnoxious laughing and there was someone pulling his hand and more drinks and …..and that would be everything he remembered.

Needless to say, he was incredibly confused upon waking up to unfamiliar ceiling tiles. If his head hurt before, it quite literally felt like it was consuming itself at this point. Despite this, he jolted upright with a sound of pure horror escaping his mouth. An overwhelming nausea immediately joined his headache.

Short, blurry clips of the previous night played out in his mind. There was sloppy kissing that tasted like bitter alcohol and horrible, drunken touching. She was pulling at his tie and yanking it off over his head and….oh God.

"No," he said outloud. "No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO!"

He pulled spitefully at his own hair and turned angrily to the spot next to him where she should have been. It was, however, empty, as was the rest of the hotel room. Quite thankfully, he would never see her again. And if he did, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't shoot her.

He could really only blame himself. But that didn't stop him from blaming everyone else.

The next day at work had to be the absolute worst workday Mordecai had ever experienced, which was saying something considering his dislike for most of his coworkers. He seemed to be having bad days more often than not but this. This really set a new standard.

He had yet to set foot in the door when Nico had already wrapped his thick arm over the thinner feline's shoulders. How he hated this gesture. He felt it implied a certain familiarity he neither felt nor wanted with anyone he currently knew. Before Mordecai could even protest, the Cajun let out a loud, whooping laugh, punching him playfully with his other hand.

"I never did tink you would be da kind to pick up girls, peekon! If it wasn't all ova' town I wouldn' believe it!"

Mordecai froze, wide eyed.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to," he finally managed to spit out. He knew exactly what the nuisance was talking about. But he wasn't just about to admit the most shameful moment of his entire life to anyone. He didn't care what people remembered seeing or how many witnesses saw him leave. They would get nothing even remotely close to confirmation of what was already suspected. He sharply jerked his entire body away from Nico.

"Oh ho ho! I tink you know exactly what I'm referring to!" Nico said in an annoyingly knowing voice, baring his teeth in a grin. At this point Serafine appeared beside him, seemingly just as excited as her brother.

"Cher! You animal!" she said barkingly. She took a long puff of her cigarette then smiled at him, blowing the smoke in his direction. "An' to tink I 'bout took a bet on you!"

Mordecai scowled, stubbornly refusing to hold his breath or even react from the disgusting smoke. What he was proving from that, he supposed he'd never know. "Once again, I repeat that I haven't the slightest clue what either one of you is idiotically clucking about."

"Ah, peekon, you know!" started Nico, winking. "Las' night when you took you lady fren' home, eh? From de party!"

"I did no such thing."

Serafine snorted. "We all seen you, cher!"

"You obviously saw wrong."

"Oh? Den all of Marigold seen wrong, yes?"

"It seems to be the only explanation."

At this point the Cajun siblings stared at him for a moment. They turned to look at each other and simultaneously burst out laughing, throwing their heads back in delight of the entire situation.

Eyes narrowed into slits, Mordecai turned on his heels and stalked through the door.

His entire walk towards Mr. Sweet's office was filled with side-ways staring, pointing and whispering, as well as a few ill-hidden chuckles. The Jew could feel his face burning all the way to his ears, his teeth gritting together almost to the point of cracking them. How could so many people possibly have seen him leave with that woman? Did they have nothing better to do than stick their nose in business that wasn't theirs? He heard a series of giggles as he passed a group of women and had to suppress the urge to throw himself out of a window, opting instead to glare at them coldly until they shamefully lowered their eyes to the ground.

"Well, if it isn't Joe Brooks himself!" Sweet exclaimed from his chair as Mordecai came in through the door, shutting it gingerly behind him. The room was heavy with the smell of cigarettes, something Mordecai had come to accept only recently, despite being surrounded by heavy smokers every day. "Have a seat, old boy."

Complying, he took the chair in front of the desk, removing his hat and holding it in one hand.

Asa sat forward in his chair, partially leaning over the desk to get closer to his employee. "Level with me, Mordecai. The skirt with the stilts? You took her home, didn't you?"

This time he actually sighed. "Not that it's anyone's business, but I can assure you that nothing of the sort occurred."

"Oh, come on! We all saw you," the night manager insisted. "Well….most of us saw you. I was half seas over, but that doesn't mean I can't make connections from what I heard. Never did take you for a lady looker. But, I suppose everyone has their own taste, be it a quiff or not."

The Jew furrowed his eyebrows at his employer. "Mr. Sweet, I am no drugstore cowboy! That established, there seems to be some misunderstanding of what exactly transpired after the party. I took the lady home, I went to mine respectively, and that was the end of it!"

That was a lie, Mordecai thought in disgust.

Asa chuckled, leaning back in his chair once more. "Alright, alright. I know when to butt out. Whatever it is you're convincing yourself, i'll take your word for. You're probably gonna have a much harder time convincing everyone else though."

"I don't quite understand why I've become the center of attention here. All of your other workers are hardly capable of attending a social event without necking the first woman they encounter. I'm allegedly seen with one female and suddenly there is little else to gossip about," the triggerman said bitterly.

"Well, the very fact that you've never been seen with a woman before is exactly why it makes for such a bull session."

"...I suppose," replied Mordecai reluctantly, feeling a bit defeated by this entire conversation. "If we're finished here, I'd like to know my assignment so I may be on my way."

The larger man grinned at him. "Don't get so sour over it. People need something to talk about. You'll see, pretty soon Charlie and his supposed bimbo lover will be back in the limelight."

And he was right. With Mordecai returning to his usual affairs and honoring his vow to never drink again, the topic soon found little satisfaction with the lack of new information and slowly started withering away with nothing to revive it.

By the second week, it was just something a random newcomer would be filled in with during a game of cards and responded to with minimal interest.

By the end of the month, the whole ordeal was pretty much forgotten. Mordecai had even begun to convince himself that it was all a result of his mind creating bad situations to haunt him after one too many drinks. Yes, that was definitely it. He really must remember to speak with Asa about the dangers of acquiring alcohol watered down with possibly hallucinogenic drugs.

Weeks turned into months with little change to what Mordecai deemed normal in his life. Some lives were lost, others went missing. At one point, he nearly got shot in the head. They were all passive things and held little effect on his overall well being.

November

As most of Mordecai's work took place at night, he had become accustomed to sleeping late into the morning. While he wasn't particularly fond of this schedule, he had found early in his career that resisting this only resulted in unnecessary sleep deprivation. As a triggerman, the last thing he needed was to fall asleep in the middle of a run.

Today, he had been woken unceremoniously by the cold much earlier than he was accustomed to being awake. His fingertips were numb as he begrudgingly pulled himself away from the little warmth his sheets were providing. Had his landlady forgotten to set the furnace? He wondered this as he pulled out multiple blankets from the closet. Perhaps he should go remind her that freezing the occupants of the apartment building was not a wise thing to do.

He tossed the blankets on the bed and began to get dressed with what he deemed was minimally required to appear presentable. He yanked his coat off it's hook bitterly before making his way through the door. The hallway proved to be no better than his own home, making him wonder why none of the other residents had complained by this point. He couldn't help but scowl. This was quite possibly one of the worst ways to start a day.

The building's landlady, Brita MacGouren, lived on the first floor. As Mordecai resided on the fifth, he opted to use the elevator to save himself some trouble. Upon arriving on the correct floor, the doors opened smoothly as the jew briskly passed them, determined to get this over with. Perhaps he would even be able to sleep again once he returned to his bed.

He knocked on the door loudly, partially hoping Mrs. MacGouren was still in bed so she too could experience the discomfort of getting out of bed in freezing temperatures. On most occasions, Mordecai didn't mind the aging Irish woman. She was a kind person that somehow seemed to know the exact amount of conversation Mordecai could handle before he became annoyed on their random encounters. It also helped that she was completely aware of his profession and therefore didn't find the need to question his odd waking hours. Her late husband had actually been mildly involved in the business, sometimes renting out the basement of the apartment building to Marigold whenever they were in need of a good hiding place for a new delivery. It was in both their associations with Asa Sweet that Mordecai was able to acquire his apartment in what was typically considered an upscale neighborhood. However, an ambush during an unloading proved to be fatal for Mr. MacGouren, leaving his widow to continue his work.

The door clicked open to reveal a woman several years older than Mordecai wrapped in a shawl. She had dark bags under soft eyes and the beginnings of silver hair peeking through. The jew thought that she looked far too worn to still be trying to keep her deceased husband's enterprise afloat, something he had conveyed to her on one occasion to which she laughed good-naturedly. If he let himself think about it too much, Mordecai found it disturbing how much someone could remind him of both Mitzi May and his own mother at the same time.

She smiled at him now. "Mr. Heller."

"Mrs. MacGouren, pardon the interruption at this hour but-"

"Say no more, Mr. Heller, I know exactly what you're about to notify me of," she interrupted, covering a yawn with her shawl. "I'll go down to the furnace right now."

"I'd appreciate it."

"I do sincerely apologize. I hadn't expected such a change in temperature overnight."

"It's quite alright, but I do advise you to invest in a radio. Perhaps it would minimize the cases of hypothermia you cause this winter."

The Irish woman shut the door behind her. "I doubt I ask enough for rent to purchase one."

"I strongly beg to differ."

Mrs. MacGouren let out a light hearted laugh as she headed down the hallway. "Don't you all?"

With the central heating working, the temperature in the building began to rise slowly. Despite this, Mordecai felt no need to go back to bed after returning to his home. He doubted he would get any more sleep now that he was up and quite frankly it seemed like a waste seeing as he rarely had this much time available during the mornings.

He decided to go out for his morning tea, something he usually did not have the option to do. Wrapping himself in a good coat and a warm scarf, he headed out to the closest cafe open already.

"Good morning, sir!" the cheery waitress greeted him as he sat down. "What can I get for you today?"

Mordecai frowned. Why was she so loud? It irritated him, though he opted not to point it out for now. "Just a cup of chamomile. And bring me a copy of today's paper."

The jew read the news while he drank his warm beverage. It was quiet in the cafe with only one customer other than himself and the annoying waitress gone in the back. Mordecai actually quite liked it. He decided to intermittently do this again, possibly once the weather was pleasant.

Apparently, there had been a devastating fire a few days ago in New York City. Mordecai's brows furrowed, noting how close the street was to where he remembered his mother and sisters were. He made a mental note to send out a letter at some point as he finished the last of his tea and stood from his seat, folding the paper under his arm. He was overdue for one by several months now anyways.

He set a dime on the table for the tea and paper before heading out the door. Standing on the corner of the street, the triggerman casually wondered if there was something else he should do now that he was out. He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. Most stores were more than likely not going to be open for another hour. With this knowledge, he decided to head home.

The building was significantly warmer now, Mordecai noted as he rode the elevator up to his floor. He let himself yawn as he looked around the small space absent mindedly, crossing his arms. The warmth was beginning to feel comfortable and welcoming. He was half debating taking a nap once he got to his apartment.

As the elevator lurched to a stop, Mordecai furrowed his eyebrows. Ears straightening, he focused on a noise from the other side of the elevator. It was distant and a bit muffled, so he couldn't properly identify it. When the doors slide open, he stepped into the hallway and paused to listen once more. Now he could distinctly recognize the noise as a child's crying.

It was weird. He didn't recall any of his neighbors having children. In fact, most of the building's occupants were childless, save a few exceptions. Had he gotten new neighbors? He didn't recall anyone moving. Not that he was really familiar with any of his neighbors but he was pretty sure he would at least notice someone leaving. Perhaps someone had family visiting.

But as Mordecai made his way towards his door, the crying seemed to be getting…..louder?

Suddenly, he stopped abruptly, heels digging into the carpeted floor. He stared wide eyed at his apartment door. Or rather, what was in front of it. He wasn't expecting anything delivered. So why was there an old basket in front of his door? And why was….

"Oh, no," he said out loud with the beginnings of horror creeping into him, his body now mirroring that of someone expecting an attack. What he had worked so hard to bury in his mind about that one night abruptly came rushing forward at once. This couldn't be related to that….could it? It couldn't be. He could see her face, hear her laughter and feel her hands all over him. Her disgusting hands. His skin crawled in repulsion. He felt as his heart began to pound louder and faster in his throat and ears and suddenly he felt the need to grab the wall. "No. No. Oh, God no."

Mordecai turned around sharply and stood facing the other direction, one hand still on the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his breath come in and out of his mouth faster and faster until he had to focus his mind on that and only that so as to not cause himself to faint.

"No..no..no...no," he continued to whisper angrily to himself, eyes still squeezed shut. This wasn't happening. This was not happening. This was NOT. HAPPENING.

This wasn't real. He had just seen wrong. It had clearly been a plain brown delivery box. They were probably shoes. Yes, that's what it was! He was remembering now! He had in fact ordered some new shoes from the catalog the other week. His shoes had finally arrived!

But the noise wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop!? Shoes weren't supposed to cry.

Mordecai didn't know what else to do. So he didn't do anything else. He also wasn't entirely sure how long he stood there facing away from the noise. What felt like decades to him could have just as well been merely a few minutes. Horrid thoughts and memories were replaying themselves in his mind, the blood in his head pounding in unison with his heart. His muscles were beginning to cramp from how stiffly he stood.

Finally, when he could no longer take the pain in his back, he turned around, granting himself another long pause. He took a deep breath through his nose as he stared at the source of the noise.

Slowly, he stepped towards it.

Looming stiffly over the basket, he stared down at its content with his nose wrinkled in an expression of disgust.

Amid several layers of blankets, an incredibly tiny face was scrunched up with its pitiful sobbing. Small ears were flattened back against its head as it continued to cry.

It was with a great amount of alarm that Mordecai noted the child's dark fur. White markings contrasted sharply against it and became accented by the white blankets surrounding it.

So what if it has black fur? Mordecai thought bitterly. He wasn't the only dark-furred feline in the St. Louis area. There was an older gentleman who lived upstairs that had dark fur. The inn keeper's son from three streets over had dark fur and white markings. His appearance, he tried to convince himself, was not so unique so as to use it as the sole basis of confirmation in this situation. In fact, he probably wasn't even the only dark furred fool that the quiff had managed to intoxicate.

Something caught his eye as he continued to stare distastefully at the small face. He knelt down to gingerly pluck the corner of a folded piece of paper from amongst the blankets, pulling at it with only his fingertips so as to avoid touching anything else. Unfolding it, he found an exchange name and number scribbled across it.

He scowled. Did they honestly expect him to call for an explanation? The audacity to just drop off this….this thing at his doorstep without even the grit to face him! That was the prime example of cowardice.

Something occurred so suddenly in Mordecai's mind that he snapped his head up in amazement. If he was recalling correctly, that horrid night had occurred on one of the first days of April. They were now two weeks into November. If his mind wasn't failing him, that was roughly seven and a half months apart. That didn't even come near the window of conception!

He let out a triumphant 'ha!' before refolding the paper and attempting to move towards the door, ready to make a phone call because this was clearly a mistake.

But there it still sat, blocking his doorway. That basket with it in it. It had actually stopped wailing now and was just hiccuping in defeat, eyes still squeezed shut.

Mordecai looked up and down the hallway. What was he supposed to do with it while they came back for it? Maybe he could just leave it here in the hallway. He quickly crossed out that option, as his soon-to-be-awake neighbors would most likely call the police if they saw a child just sitting at his door. The last thing he needed was for this thing to get him involved with the authorities.

Unlocking his door, he let it swing open as far as it would go. He steadied himself with the door frame before using the toe of his shoe to slowly push the basket and it's contents into his home. He pushed it far enough to let himself in as well and then quietly shut the door behind him. Frowning at the bundle one more time, he headed to the room he had modified to become his work space.

Sitting down at the desk, the jew took the receiver off its switch hook and waited for the operator.

"Please connect me to St. Louis exchange 4 - 4 - 5 - 7."

Mordecai heard the click of the connection, followed by ringing. On one hand, he was almost hoping nobody would answer just for the sake of not having to speak with her again, if she was in fact behind all this. On the other, he desperately needed her to return for the gift basket because there was no way he was going to be lassoed into this ordeal.

"Milly Evans,"answered a smooth voice when the ringing stopped. Mordecai was disappointed at how easily he recognized it.

"You have a lot of nerve just dropping off some kid at my door," he said in a low, angry tone.

There was a short pause before an equally familiar high-pitched laugh came from the other end. "I knew it!" she said joyfully. "I knew you would call!"

"Well, it's not like I had much of a choice, did I?" Mordecai said bitterly. "You are currently the last person I wish to speak to, and yet here I find myself."

"Oh, there's no reason to get so mean! We do have a history afterall," she laughed flirtatiously.

Mordecai growled angrily, annoyed beyond belief at her stupid laugh. "There is nothing relating us in any sense. And most certainly not this ridiculous package you threw on my doorstep this morning. How did you even find out where I lived? Aside from everything else, you're a stalker!"

"I thought you'd appreciate it!"

"I most certainly did not," he snapped back. "And if you think I'm going to allow myself to get tied into this situation you are sorely mistaken! You must take me for a fool if you think I can't see what's happening. You're ignorant enough to get yourself impregnated and try pushing the responsibility on the last person you remember. This is no child of mine so you will do me the favor of returning this instant to retrieve it!"

"I hate to break it to you but it is in fact you who is sorely mistaken. The kid's yours."

Mordecai scoffed. "You're quite a dumb Dora. You expect me to believe it's mine when our regrettable encounter occurred less than eight months ago?"

"Well, some previously unforeseen circumstances forced me to speed up the process a bit."

The jew could feel the beginnings of a headache coming. "What are you even talking about?"

Milly sighed from the other end, sounding a bit irritated as well. "A cute little couple had said they would pay me some hefty compensation if I kept the baby and let them have it once it was born. I was in need of some extra dough so I thought 'hey, why not?'. How hard could childbirth be."

Mordecai furrowed his eyebrows. "You were selling it?"

"Well, I was," she argued matter-of-factly. "Up until some bug-eyed Betty convinced them to wait a bit longer. Said they were rushing into things, or whatever. So I'm already thirty weeks into this whole mess when they suddenly tell me they changed their mind! It was ridiculous, not even some petty cash for all the trouble I had went through." At this point she sighed once again. "Luckily, I have a friend who was kind enough to help me out. She managed to get me some pills to get rid of the kid."

"You drugged it out of your body?!" Mordecai exclaimed.

"Yeah, and it survived!" she said with a light laugh. "It was crazy! Nearly landed me in the hospital but there it was just kicking and screaming. Your kid can sure take a hit."

The dark furred feline jerked as if he'd been physically struck. "It is not my kid!"

"Oh, don't be stupid! Just look at it. Everything about it resembles you. Granted, I don't think I saw you in the prime of your appearances but I distinctly remember your face. You have a very handsome face, you know? One of the reasons why I found you so appealing."

Mordecai felt the urge to shatter the phone against the wall. "Whether it is or is not mine makes no difference! I want you- no, I demand that you return immediately and take it with you. I don't care what you do so long as both of you are out of my sight and you refrain from ever involving me in any of your future affairs. I want nothing to do with either of you!"

"Sorry, honey, but my jobs done. You're not the only one who has a life. I've got a big job waiting for me in California, pretty sure this one could be my break. The last thing I need right now is baggage."

At this point Mordecai jolted to his feet so quickly, he almost knocked the chair over. "You're leaving?! You cannot be serious?!"

"I am! Heading out tomorrow morning, actually. That's why I had to drop the kid off with you today."

"Where are you?! Tell me where you are! If you refuse to come then I will gladly deliver it to you! This is your responsibility, don't be so ignorant!" By this point he knew he sounded hysterical, but he didn't care. The reality of the situation was beginning to take it's toll and his head was pounding.

Milly laughed lightly once more. "It takes two to tango, sweetheart. Now, I really must be going. We've been hogging the line long enough."

"No! You will not be going anywhere! You insufferable, bullheaded quiff, none of this would have happened if you weren't making a career of seducing intoxicated men!"

"Oh yeah, insult me some more, why don't you? That's certainly the way to go," she responded sarcastically. "Well, I wish you the best of luck. Look me up if you're ever in California."

"No, no! Do not hang up! Don't you dare! No! Don't you-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he heard the line go flat.

He was angry. He had never felt this angry in his entire life. He bared his teeth at the telephone and slammed it against the desk, yelling sharp profanities in a mixture of English and Yiddish. As he backed up, he ran into the chair, which he violently kicked aside in his fury, sending it tumbling backwards with a loud clutter.

Mordecai stared at the chair, his chest heaving from shallow breaths.

And suddenly, there it was again. The crying had started once more. He could hear it coming from where he had left the basket in the other room.

Grabbing the door of his study room, he threw it shut with another loud bang, putting a barrier between himself and the noise. He didn't need that right now. He had to concentrate and think. There had to be some way Millicent would still take the child with her. He didn't want it here. He didn't want it in this entire state. It had to leave with her.

But he didn't even know which train line she was using. Or was she taking the bus? It was likely she would be catching the train in the next town over. California was far enough that he doubted there were any direct passenger rides. She could be busing to Kansas?

He took off his glasses and ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. She could very well be hitchhiking and he would never know. He didn't even know what part of California she was going to.

With his back pressed against the door, he let his knees slowly bend until he was seated on the floor. He was suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted. He had been wrong before. This was now the worst day of his life.

And on the other side of the door, the product of the second worst day of his life continued to cry.

(Author): Forgive the out of character-ness. Let it not be said that an effort wasn't made (acknowledging how plain the text is despite hours of pleading and crying to my computer. Just let me italicize, you pompous prick!). I tried to be as historically accurate as possible but quite frankly I am terrible at research. Bah! I'm still considering leaving it as a horrible, ambiguous one-shot intended only to entertain in the most bitter of ways. But then again if I did that, a lot of things wouldn't make sense. Feedback is much appreciated.