Summary: It was so destructive, so chaotic, so unwilling to be contained to a single space. ...just like her.

Spoilers: Quite possibly up through the first few episodes of season 2.

Disclaimer: I don't own JoA at all. I also do not own Zippo. I do own several Zippo lighters though, just not the company.

A/N: Big thanks going out to everyone who reviewed In From the Rain. Had no clue it would get that much feedback. You people rule. I would also like to thank my Route 66 Zippo that I bought in Los Angeles for being the inspiration for this story. No, I'm not kidding.

Also, this is my first multi-chapter fic, and I'm trying a slightly different style than my other stuff. And I promise I will try not to become one of those people that start a fic and never finish it. Of course, the more reviews and suggestions, the lower the possibility of that happening. Just saying…

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I - The Gate

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She sat down on the front porch and pulled an old Zippo out of her pocket. With one smooth motion, she flipped it open and struck the lighter across the bottom of her boot, igniting the wick into a dancing flame. She couldn't remember exactly how long it had been since she'd found the old thing laying on the soggy ground down by the river, but she had kept it for all those years. She always said it was like finding value in someone else's trash. Of course, Rove always said it was like a tendency towards pyromania. She could never do anything but smirk when he said that, because after all, it was true. There was always something about fire she found intriguing. It was so destructive, so chaotic, so unwilling to be contained to a single space. And yet, there she was, able to hold the most destructive force known to man in the palm of her hand. Somehow, when hypnotized by the warm glowing tendril, she could always find some kind of worth, some kind of value in her own life that she would be completely blind to under any other circumstance. Maybe it was the fact that she was controlling such great power, or maybe it was simply that she saw herself reflecting through the flame.

She continued to stare into the flame as it danced softly in the morning breeze that had set in, her eyes beginning to cloud over from the strain of staring at the warm orange glow against the soft green backdrop of her front lawn, as if affected by some sort of powerful drug. She tried not to think about anything, just let her mind get carried away by the rhythmic chaos she held before her. But she knew what was going on in her own psyche was far more chaotic than even the Great Chicago Fire could've ever been, and she knew it would be there waiting for her when the flame finally went out.

Still, she continued to hope it would all vanish with the flame when she decided it was time to flip the lighter closed, but she knew it wouldn't. It would linger like the haunting smell of smoke after a campfire, or the sulfur in the sky after a fireworks display. Hell, who was she kidding? Her mind was the fireworks display. Nothing but constant explosions in all directions, some more powerful than others, but destructive and deafening all the same. It didn't matter how many times she had tried to run, the crackling blaze was always there to welcome her home. Now she didn't even try. Most of the time she just simply let the inferno overcome her, its fire fleshing out of her in the form of anger, rage, contempt for anything that added fuel to the already towering conflagration.

She could hardly see her reflection in the tarnished chrome, but she could feel the glow of the flame reflecting in her clouded eyes, it's heat barely noticeable on a warm September morning. She sat there, silently staring into the dancing tendril, waiting for some outside source to snap her out of her daze, and at the same time wishing she could remain in her present state all day. It would be so much simpler to just spend a lifetime simply entranced by the chaos of the flame. But she, like the element before her, had chosen to go out and create it. She always figured herself to be that lingering sense of instability in the otherwise tedious lives of those around her. That one, lone spark, while nearly invisible to most, could still manage to ignite the most destructive of blaze. In her own mind, that was exactly what she was; a catalyst in the most chaotic sense of the term. She could never stand to be contained; she needed to burn. And yet, she found herself surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than to put her out. They were like the sand dumped onto forest fires with the hopes of smothering them into recession. But she wouldn't let that happen because, unlike fire, she had a consciousness, a will, a determination more commanding than any force of nature. She wasn't one to take a promise lightly, and she had a promise to keep burning. It was a promise made only to herself in the back of her mind, one who's words were never uttered, and yet one everyone around her knew she'd made. Promise. The word echoed through her mind as her eyes remained immersed in the orange glow she held in her hand.

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She walked out the font door and sat down on the top step. She had to get out of there. She hated parties, always had, and she had no idea why her parents felt the need to hold a birthday party for Mrs. Rove. Sure, they had known each other for a decade, but only because their children had become such good friends. She tried to tell her parents not to worry about it, or make a big deal of it. After all, she knew Mrs. Rove hated birthdays. She hated the commercialism of it all. She never even wanted Adam to buy her anything, and he was her son. Still, her parents had insisted, finally deciding it was time they got to know the Roves better than just merely as acquaintances through their kids. Though, she figured it was because they were on the search for a family more dysfunctional than theirs, but they certainly wouldn't find it with the Roves. The Roves were a family, a group of people who loved each other and cared for one another, not just three strangers who happened to share a house and DNA. Her family didn't even share the same last name anymore. The only thing they had in common was their tenacity for keeping secrets from one another and pretending their problems didn't exist.

As she sat there, not wanting to get lost in the bitter thoughts of the strangers who called themselves her family, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the old Zippo lighter she always carried with her. She flipped it open and snapped her fingers against the igniter, causing a small spark to ignite the wick into a glowing orange tendril. She sat there staring into the flame for several minutes, occasionally switching hands when the heat of the metal got to be too much. She always did that when she needed to get away, just sat there entranced by the dancing red-orange glow. She didn't even hear the door open and close again behind her, nor did she notice someone had taken a seat beside her until they spoke, snapping her out of the daze she found herself in.

"You know, I remember the day you found that thing."

"Mrs. Rove," she turned to face her friend's mother, flipping the lighter closed, "what are you doing out here?"

"I needed some air." She smiled as Grace looked over at her with a knowing smirk. "And I hate parties."

"Yeah, well, don't blame me. I tried to tell them it was stupid, but they never listen to me, so…"

"Don't worry about it," Mrs. Rove interrupted. "I supposed it could be worse."

"Yeah," Grace nodded towards the door, "we could still be in there."

Elizabeth smiled at her son's best friend. Adam had never had a lot of friends, but she was always grateful Grace was one of them. She had always been such a unique girl, and Elizabeth figured that was one of the things that drew Adam to her. She was never afraid to be herself, even though her parents condemned it most of the time. She had her own mind and a fierce free will that she was never afraid to use. Elizabeth always told her that was what made her special, even if her parents didn't see it at the time. They would one day, and then they would be forced to take back every negative thing they had ever said about her. Grace would always counter that that would mean they'd have to take back everything they've ever said to her. Elizabeth would just smile, and tell her one day she would understand. "You know," she said after a few moments, "Adam really looks up to you."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Her voice rang with a genuine surprise. She'd never imagined anyone ever looking up to her.

"Yes. He admires you, trusts you." She let out a small laugh. "Sometimes I think he respects you more than Carl and I."

Grace sat there silent for a moment, contemplating the idea that she might actually be a role model to someone. "Are you sure you never dropped him on his head or something?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure," Elizabeth let another small laugh. Grace was always cracking jokes like that. She figured it was just her way of dealing with situations that had become too intense for her. Not that it was a bad method. The two of them sat there for awhile, in complete silence except for the birds chirping in the background, before Elizabeth decided it was time to accomplish what she'd came outside to do in the first place. "Grace, I want you to promise me something."

Grace looked over at Mrs. Rove, eyebrow once again raised. Her voice wasn't slightly playful like it had been just a few moments before. There was a deep seriousness in her tone. For some reason, Grace was worried by it, but she complied. "What?"

Elizabeth looked her in the eyes. "I want you to promise me that if something ever happens to me, you'll watch over Adam."

"Mrs. Rove…"

"Promise me, Grace," she continued, her voice stern, like a parent lecturing their child not to do drugs. "Promise me that you won't let him get hurt. That you'll watch out for him, guard him." She smiled softly, her voice still firm. "Be the grace of G-d looking out for my dear boy."

"Sure," Grace nodded quietly after a moment. Normally she hated name puns, but there was something about Mrs. Rove's voice that made her take every word with all the seriousness she could handle.

"I need to hear you say you promise."

"I promise. But, nothing's gonna happen to you, Mrs. Rove. You…"

"Sometimes," she interrupted, "life doesn't always work out like you plan. It throws things at you that you never expect. You take the joy where you can find it, but sometimes…sometimes even that isn't enough." With that she stood, and walked back into the house, leaving Grace once again alone on the front porch, those last words repeating themselves over and over again in her mind.

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Her gaze had become so transfixed on the flame staring back at her that she didn't notice the familiar shadow that was making its way up the front lawn until its owner was towering over her. "Wow, Grace, you still have that thing?" a familiar voice rang, pulling her stare away from elegance and back to reality.

"Well you know me, Rove," she said, flipping the lighter closed, killing the fire that had so amiably kept her from her thoughts all morning. "Regular pack rat."

Adam let a small smile cross his lips as he recognized the slight sarcasm he'd come to expect from just about every word that exited his friend's mouth. The thought of Grace referring to herself as a pack rat amused him, considering that that lighter was the only thing from her childhood he could think of she'd ever actually kept. That, and the leather jacket she shielded herself with, even in ninety degree weather. "Come on," he said after a moment, "we're gonna be late."

Grace looked up from her seat on the front porch step, speaking with nothing more than the look on her face that asked Adam if he had forgotten who he was talking to. He knew she didn't care about being late. In fact, it was something she deliberately tried to always be. To her, time was just another method people used to try and control her, another way they tried to suffocate the blaze. But he'd gotten good at silent conversation over the years, and returned her stare with a similar look saying that he didn't forget, but urged her to come along anyway. After just a few minutes, she finally caved. She stood and joined him as he began to make his way down the street. She was almost always the first to give in during their silent arguments. Had it been verbal, she could make it last for hours and walk away the victor, but Adam had always been better at saying a thousand words without even speaking. It was a quality she actually sort of envied. At least people could tell when something was wrong, at least they would care.

"So, where's the growth?" she snipped, not willing to return to the inferno of her thoughts just yet. "I figured after she got out of crazy camp, you two would be spending every waking moment together."

"Yeah," Adam sighed, "I think she's kind of been avoiding me a little."

"Getting a taste of your own medicine, Rove?" Grace smirked.

"That's not funny, Grace," Adam countered, though he was unable to hide his own small smirk. She was right, after all. He had been avoiding Joan just a little right before she was in the hospital. And in all honesty, he avoided her for a little bit even after she got out. After what she had told him, he needed time to process it, and he couldn't do that by seeing the hurt in her eyes every time she looked at him.

"Hey, hey," Grace continued, "I'm not the one who decided to avoid my girlfriend when she needed me most."

"You have a girlfriend?" Adam asked with a playful glint in his eye. He didn't have to look over to see Grace's eyes narrow and her patented 'death glare' being shot right at him.

"Not funny, Rove." The pair continued on in silence. That was how they'd always communicated best. Neither one had to say a word, and yet the other would always know what they were thinking. It was one of the side effects of knowing someone for over a dozen years. That didn't mean there weren't any secrets, it just meant that they were very few and far between.

Grace stopped walking once they reached the intersection of one road that would lead them to the school and another that would take them downtown. "You know what," she said, turning in the direction opposite the way she should have been going, "I need some coffee…or…something," she trailed off as she began to walk away. "I'll see you there."

"Who is it?" Adam called out. He may seem spacey to most, but he knew when his best friend was hiding something. Or someone, in this case.

"What are you talking about?" Grace turned around to face Adam once more.

"You're being all stealthy," he said as he walked up and stood by his friend. "And you're going for coffee. You don't go for coffee. Something about Starbucks being some kind of evil corporation trying to take over the world with Mocha Lattes."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "You know, that eidetic memory thing gets really old."

"So who is it?" he smirked.

"There is no it."

"Come on, Grace. We always used to tell each other stuff like this."

"There's nothing to tell!" She could tell her voice rang with about a thousand different kinds of denial, but that didn't matter. She was not about to tell Rove that she was going to meet his girlfriend's little brother to make out behind the brick wall of some sidewalk café.

"Okay," he said calmly. He knew Grace was a private person. If she wasn't ready to talk to him, he wasn't going to make her. He stood and watched as she took off down the street without another word. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to them. They used to be able to talk to each other about anything, guilt free. Now they couldn't even tell each other how their days had been without a hefty amount of soul searching. He blamed himself for a lot of it. He had shut himself off from the world when his mother died, including Grace, despite the countless number of times she had tried talking to him, and even the several nights she'd spent sleeping on the ground outside his shed, waiting for the exact moment he would emerge just so she would be there for him. He remembered overhearing his father ask her why she was doing that once. He never did hear an answer though. He figured she had just shrugged it off. She did have a tendency to do that. But sometimes it felt as though he was still waiting for the answer, but was just too afraid to ask the question himself. He tugged at the strap of his messenger bag as he once again began walking towards the school, the whole time wondering what ever happened to the relationship he once had with the only person who ever knew about his fear of water fowl.

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