After the fire

AN: This is my first multi-chapter Hart of Dixie story. Hope you like it. Just for the flow of this story, I took a leave of my signature style of writing in the second person. It works most times, but I noticed that if you, as a writer, want to switch between POV's from different characters, it tends to confuse you. Hope you readers enjoy anyway.

Disclaimer: I want to own Wilson Bethel. I really do. but no...I can't. Hart of Dixie cast and characters are sadly not mine.

Spoilers: Set after season two ending. Zoe's still in New York. Joel doesn't exist.

It's a storm like any other storm the state of Alabama has ever seen. There's absolutely no reason whatsoever to assume it will leave a larger path of destruction than on any other occasion and apart from taking the usual precautions, nobody in the small town of Bluebell has done anything more.

Wade Kinsella has just finished boarding up his gatehouse and has already done the same for the carriage house, which is standing empty and lonely next to his, only parted by a small pond. He still tries hard not to think about the reason there's no life inside, about the reason its former occupant is no longer there.

His heart, his head, his entire body still hurt every morning when he wakes up with the knowledge that he may have lost her for good. That she might not want to come back from her retreat in New York. Or worse; she might come back only out of obligation to the rest of the town, which would mean he would get to see her most days, look but not touch. Never again.

It hurts like hell and he has no-one to blame but himself.

His own insecurities. His own destructive tendencies. Huh, for all the comments he always has about his father's drunken behavior, he's not doing a lot better. Guess the apple really didn't fall far from the tree.

Perhaps next month he'll join crazy Earl up the roof and take the damn jump with him. Get it over with.

Only it would be exactly what everyone has always expected him to do: end up like his drunken father, amounting to nothing.

He desperately wants to amount to something. How else is he going to get her back?

So yes, all storm shutters are pinned down. The town is ready for the storm.

When it comes, it hits hard, but not harder than average. The townspeople of Bluebell are all grouped together in the Rammer Jammer. All the usual facilities are set up just in case. Emergency food and water packages, candles and flashlights for when the electricity goes down, blankets to keep warm, a first aid station where Brick Breeland is checking his supplies. It's been done before and all preparations have long since become routine to most.

Wade isn't overly concerned. Born and raised in this place, he's seen his share of storms, twisters and hurricanes and though he'll never be so stupid as to underestimate their destructive qualities, he also knows there's no reason to panic.

The Rammer Jammer is packed. So far, electricity is still on and he's handing out drinks. Rain is lashing against the sides of the building. Some children are looking a bit scared, but he can just kiss Wanda when she comes up with a little singing game to distract the little ones, their high pitched voices now mostly drowning out the sounds of the howling wind and the golf ball sized hail stones.

A large bolt of lightning is almost immediately followed by a clap of thunder. A child starts to cry, huddling against his mother. The lights in the bar flicker ominously, but stay on. With a nod from Wade, Tom gets out the candles and starts lighting them everywhere around, careful to put them firmly and far away from small children's hands. They may not be so lucky with the next big bang. Seems like they are in the centre of the storm.

He's right. Another flash, another clap and the Rammer Jammer goes dark, except for the glowing candles. Wanda is still singing with the kids, some of them now on the verge of tears, others bravely soldiering on. She's a trooper. He reminds himself to buy her a drink when this ordeal is over.

Outside, the lightning and thunder still do their best to impress, but already those who've been living their lives here long enough, can tell they are most likely over the worst part, as the time separating the bolts from the following noise is increasing, indicating the bad weather is moving on.

Just as Wade's about to breathe a sigh of relief, a huge crack of lightning lights ups the place for a second. A young girl screams in the almost dark and she may be right to do so.

Something just took a direct hit. It may not have been the bar, but somewhere close, some building is probably going up in flames. Automatically, his eyes scan the room, but everyone he cares for is there. Or at least safe.

Two seconds later, his cell phone starts to buzz. He's surprised he heard it, but he takes it out.

Lavon. Who has opted to stay at his own place with AB.

The plantation? Not very likely. Or…oh God no…

"Lavon?"

"Wade…you'd better get down here. The pole of the fuse box has collapsed on top of the carriage house. It caught fire."

He wants to vomit. He wants to disappear into a deep black hole. He wants to run as fast as he can in the opposite direction of the now quickly fading thunderstorm. Anything but drive up in the still falling rain to witness Zoe's home fall victim to the flames while trying to save whatever he can from the possessions she's left behind.

The rain is no help in quenching the flames, he knows. This being an electricity induced fire, it only means more things can spark and create a chain reaction. Why, why hasn't he replaced the fuse box before? Is he now to add the guilt of letting her home go up in flames to the list of Wade Kinsella's stupidities?

Visibility is almost zero, the tires of his muscle car are slipping and sliding on the dirt road to the plantation. Only his intimate knowledge of every pothole and tree root sticking out helps him navigate and by some God given miracle he makes it in one piece.

The firemen have just arrived and are doing whatever they can. Lavon runs up to meet him, drenched and shivering but not caring. Within seconds, Wade too is soaked to the bone as the rain still pelts relentlessly against his skin, even if the thunder now only roars in the distance.

It's a scary, awe inspiring sight. The flames are licking up the second floor, the porch steps have already mostly succumbed. Will anything be salvageable from this destruction?

Hours pass by with nothing else to do for both men but to stay out of the way of the firefighters and watch helplessly as they try valiantly to save as much as possible from the building.

Very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on someone's POV, the chief fireman calls the fire mastered and his team start packing up their stuff. The rain has cleared up by now and Wade shivers violently in his wet shirt and jeans.

The chief fireman approaches Lavon and him.

"We've done everything we could, Mayor Hayes. The good news is that the main structure of the building in itself is secure and there should be no danger to enter. The bad news is that there's not much left to be saved inside. I'm very sorry, but most of Dr. Hart's personal possessions were lost."

Wade hangs his head in defeat, though he never had a lot of hope. All that's left to do is for him and Lavon to go talk to the insurance company to come up with the funding to repair the damage to the house itself. And then contact Zoe with the news that even if she wanted to come home, she has nothing to come home to.

Yeah, he's really looking forward to that conversation. Yet, for some reason he can't even explain to himself, he knows it has to be him who gives her the bad news. Perhaps it's a form of penance, perhaps it's because she's already disappointed in him, so he may as well sacrifice his last bit of pride for this too.

For now, he just stands there, defeated. Until Lavon puts his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Wade? Come home with me. Take a shower, get into something dry and get a few hours of sleep."

It sounds like heaven, but how can he…

"I think I'll just go home."

"I don't think so. Not with that view of Zoe's house and the smell of smoke still in the air. No, man, you're coming home to the main house. No argument."

Suddenly too tired to protest, Wade follows his best friend home, where he showers and changes, eats some scrambled eggs, and drags himself off to bed in one of the guest rooms. Lavon tells him before he gets upstairs that the Rammer Jammer is safe, that there are no casualties and that Wanda has sent everyone home as soon as the rain reduced to merely some drops. The news of Zoe's home burning down has not yet reached the rest of Bluebell and secretly both men are glad of that.

They can deal with it in the morning…

As usual after a storm of this magnitude, the sun comes up all warm and friendly in the sky, almost belying the dangerous side of the balmy Alabama climate. Usually, it's a comfort, with the same children who were scared the night before, now playing in the rapidly drying pools of mud. But today, far from bringing relief to the grown-up people in town, it only succeeds in highlighting the destruction of the pretty little carriage house. It had looked spooky in the rain and the dark. It looks helpless and crippled in the harsh reality of the day.

Wade struggles with his cereal, his usual apatite nowhere to be found. His one hand is listlessly spooning in the drudge in his bowl, his other is toying with his phone, fingers hovering over the name of the woman he knows he has to call.

But what the hell is he going to say to her? How do you tell a person that their house, their belongings are lost forever? Especially when this person is your ex-girlfriend, whom you cheated on and who certainly doesn't deserve another blow?

Finally choking away the last of his breakfast, he knows stalling the inevitable isn't going to help him. Better to rip off the band-aid in one go. With trembling fingers he selects her number and hears the dial tone.

It takes her a while to react and cowardly, he hopes she won't, but then she does.

"Wade?"

God it's so bittersweet to hear her say his name. Even if it sounds weary at the sound of his voice.

"Hey Zoe."

"Hi…I…Wade, I…"

"Look, Zoe, I know I promised you I would leave you alone to collect your thoughts, but I'm afraid I need to tell you something. Something not good."

Immediately, her tone changes from one of slight annoyance to one full of concern.

"What is it? Is someone injured? Someone die? Are you okay? Lavon? Rose?"

His heart only jumps a little at the notion she's still worried about him. About her other friends too of course, but she still mentioned him first. And she didn't mention Golden Boy at all. Taking this very small ray of light for all it's worth, he braces himself for the news he still has to bring.

"Don't worry, Doc. Nobody's sick or dead or injured. But…you might want to sit down for this."

He hears her shuffle as she finds a seat.

"Okay, I'm sitting, but you're making me nervous. What's wrong?"

"We eh…we had a storm last night. It hit the fuse box we share. And it eh…it sparked a fire. In the carriage house."

He hears her gasp as the implications sink in.

"Wade, what…"

"I'm so sorry, Zoe. There was no way anyone could get inside. The house in itself can be renovated, but I'm afraid your stuff, it's all…it's gone Zoe. I'm so sorry."

It remains silent for a while, but then her voice comes over the other end of the line again, sounding forcibly cheerful.

"Oh well, it's just…stuff. It's not that important, right? I mean, I can miss it. I can redecorate when I get home. I'll check with my insurance company. As long as nobody got hurt, right?"

"Eh…yeah. I guess. So…you're still planning on coming back?"

He hates sounding so vulnerable, but he can't help that that's the way he feels. He's completely lost without her and he's a fool not to realize it the moment before he lost her due to his own issues.

"Wade, I always planned on coming back. I just needed to create some distance, some perspective."

"I'm sorry I had to call you, Zoe. I wouldn't have if…you know."

"You could have let Lavon do it."

"True, but…Lavon's taking it badly. I figured that, since you hate me anyway, it might as well be me who's the bearer of bad news."

"I don't hate you Wade. I couldn't. I just…hate what you did."

"I know. And I'm sorry. For everything. Really, I am."

"I know. Thanks for letting me know…about the house. I guess I'll have to go talk to my insurance agency."

"Yeah, I guess. If there's anything you'd want me to do…"

"I'll let you know. Thanks Wade. Bye."

"Bye, Zoe."

There's so much he wants to say. How much he misses her. How much he still loves her and probably always will. How truly sorry he is and how he'll do anything, really anything to make it up to her. To make her see he's worthy of a second chance, that he can be trustworthy, and valuable.

Back in New York, Zoe is glad she's sitting down. She's just come home after her nightshift when her phone buzzes. One look at the small screen showed her the name of the one person she wasn't ready to talk to.

She's been back in the city for a month now and she has to admit, it's harder than she had anticipated. For some reason, she just can't seem to get back into the hurried pace of the city. It's not the comfort she hoped it would be. Instead of happily drowning herself into the once familiar routine of long work hours, nightclubs and parties and hardly any sleep, she feels alienated, secluded and lonely in the city she has once proudly called her home. As for now, the only thing she and New York have in common is the never sleeping part.

And it's all the caller's fault.

She's still shocked by the amount of destruction he has caused in her heart. These past four weeks back into the hustle and bustle of a huge city, she has tried to tell herself he isn't worth so much heartache, so many jumbled thoughts and sleepless nights. She should have removed his picture from her wallet long time ago. Not that she needs it; it's not like she'll forget his face any time soon regardless of paper printed images or photo's on her cell phone.

She wishes she could though. Wishes she could really feel and believe in what she's trying to tell herself. Wishes she didn't have to keep telling herself. That he's nothing. A nobody. Just a stupid bartender in a stupid little town in a retarded part of the country. He's a hick, a hillbilly and there's no way she would end up with a guy like that. She's a business suit, doctor or lawyer kind of gal. At least someone with a college degree. She belongs here, in the city. With sophisticated people who know their wines and who don't think a restaurant like Fancies is the bee's knees.

Wade is none of the above. He's not what she needs or deserves in life.

Then why is it that every time she is offered a hideously expensive glass of Chardonnay, she takes a sip and still misses the pretty generic red or white boxed (yes, boxed!) wine he stored at the Rammer Jammer for her?

Why is it that every time she bites into a black and white cookie she is transported back to that evening she came home to the carriage house to find a plate of inedible cookies he made for her in an attempt to show her he was capable of sweet gestures?

Why is it that every attempt any other man makes to come on to her is bound to fail? And they are usually handsome men too! Prosperous men, intelligent men. Suave and distinguished and exactly her type. But stiffly starched, crisp white shirts suddenly can't hold a candle to soft, faded, worn and warm flannel and a kiss on her hand is somehow nowhere nearly as exciting as being thrown over a man's shoulder and getting your ass spanked when you dare to scream.

But she doesn't love Wade Kinsella! She hates him with a cold vengeance that chills her blood. He cheated on her, hurt her, betrayed her and all the love she felt for him. It was, it is unforgivable and she's going to get over him, one way or another.

She thinks she's been doing quite well on the forgetting part these last few weeks as she went out with Gigi or one of her parents. She's even attended a few of her mother's clients' parties and met some semi-celebrities. And though she thought of Lavon first instead of Wade when she was introduced to a young and upcoming NLF start player, it still hurt. Lavon means Bluebell. Means plantation. Means Wade.

Back to square one. Damn it.

And then her phone is buzzing just as she gets back home and when she reads the name on the screen, her first instinct is to ignore it. Yet she knows she can't. The masochistic need to hear his voice wins from her common sense.

She picks up.

And will live to regret it, she knows now that she's hung up.

Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't this. It wasn't the news of her house, her beautiful carriage house, with so many emotionally valuable things in there, being burnt down. Lost. A smoldering heap of black debris.

She needs to see for herself, but she can't get herself to take the trip back there again. There are still two more months of her residency to complete and too many memories to drown before she is ready to face the truth.

It feels now like Bluebell itself has given her a very obvious statement: you're no longer welcome here. And if even her precious carriage house thinks the same, should she go back at all? Despite of what she has just told Wade?

Isn't it better for him too if she decides to stay away?

Still, she needs to see it for herself.

Against her own better judgment, she sends a text to Wade.

Send me a picture.

The text back comes two minutes later.

Don't do this to yourself.

It won't be a pretty picture, she knows that much. But still, seeing is believing, or so they say…she sends another text.

I need to see.

I won't let you.

I'll just ask Lavon.

Don't do this to him either.

Wade…I need to see.

You sure?

Yes.

Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you.

A photo comes up a few minutes after that. She chokes when she sees it. Her pretty house. All gone. Tears fill her eyes, blurring her vision and causing her to almost miss the next message coming in.

Don't let this be a reason not to come back Doc. We'll work something out…

She has no idea if he means the house or them. But for the first time since hearing the news, her anxiety lessens. Perhaps they can work something out…

He knows it was a stupid idea to send her the picture, but she was so stubborn and insistent and who was he to keep contradicting her? Besides, he was not lying when he told her Lavon has so far not been taking the loss of the carriage house very well. He doesn't want to burden his friend by having Zoe pestering him for a photo.

As the owner of the house as well as the mayor, it is hard enough for Lavon to escape this ordeal. During the days following the storm, they had to meet with representatives of the insurance company and some contractors to assess if the building can be renovated and if it's worth it.

That last apart was never the point for either Lavon or Wade. Legally speaking, Wade has no say in the matter, yet nobody so far has been stupid enough to suggest he mind his own business. As far as Wade's concerned, this is his business. This is the house owned by his best friend. The house the woman he loves calls home. And a home it will be again.

Money soon proves to be a deal breaker though. As it turns out; there's a gaping hole between the amount of damage done and the amount of cold hard cash the insurance company is willing to part with considering the fact they have come to the conclusion that it is a lost cause.

In the end, the sum of money coming from them won't cover half of the costs of rebuilding and Lavon has now almost resigned to the fact he'll have to hire a demolition company to get rid of what's left of the once so pretty little house.

Wade is still a little less inclined to throw in the towel. For days, he's been brooding on something. It's a Herculean task and everyone he would tell would probably send him straight to the nut house. It'll never work. It's impossible.

But even after weighing all the pros and cons and coming up a few (a lot) of pros short, he still knows what he has to do.

But before he can start doing anything, he needs help. And he knows exactly whose help is required.

Now all he can do is hope that person is willing to provide it.

Without giving his unsuspected victim any forewarning, he picks up his car keys and drives to her apartment.

"Lemon."

To be continued…

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