The fierce wind howling through the square blew a number of rebellious curls across my face, obscuring my vision as I trudged wearily toward my car. I placed one aching foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to get where I was going before I froze to death or my feet simply fell off from overuse. I did not, in fact, relish either option, though both seemed imminent.

The slightly sour mood I entertained in the face of these possibilities was not helped by my obstinate four-year-old, who seemed quite determined to kill me with a cheerful sort of curiosity, provided the wind or my own traitorous feet did not do me in first. "Please, Brianna," I nearly begged for the fifth time. "Leave the ice alone. I promise, I'll help you find some when we get home, but sweetheart, Daddy will be wondering where we are and we must be going!" Ignoring this plea, Brianna stooped to pick at another little frozen pond, her small face puckered in concentration.

I sighed, muttering something under my breath that Bree's little ears maybe did not need to hear, and scooped her up, ignoring her protests. I wrestled my way to the car with her under one arm and the groceries under the other. I managed with some difficulty to unlock the car, and set the bags down, preparing to strap her into her carseat, willing or otherwise. She struggled, but ultimately allowed herself to be secured.

That task accomplished, I shut the door, picked up the grocery bags, and went around to the other side of the car. I was setting the first of the bags down when Bree's scandalized voice stopped me. "No, Mama," she scolded. "They can't go there."

I closed my eyes for a moment, praying for patience. "And why not?" I asked her.

She gave me a queer look, as if in disbelief that I failed to notice the obvious. "Because my friend is sitting there," she pointed out. "And if you put bags on him, you'll squash him!"

"Could your friend maybe sit somewhere else?" I suggested. "With you, perhaps?"

Bree frowned, and she looked so much like her father in that moment that my heart nearly stopped, though such moments were not uncommon. She resembled him- and acted like him, too- in an extraordinary way. "He's too big, Mama," she protested. "He wouldn't fit."

"Oh, really?" I asked, working hard to keep the wryness out of my tone. It wasn't Brianna's fault, after all, that I was having a bad day. "Well, do you think he would mind holding the groceries for us on the way home?"

She considered this. "I don't know," she finally decided. "Ask him."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay," I agreed. "What's your friend's name?"

"Jamie," she replied promptly.

This time my heart did stop, then resumed in double time.

"Sweetheart," I started, my voice weak. "Can you tell me what your friend looks like?"

Her face was suspicious, as though suspecting some trick. Clearly, she was still surprised that I couldn't see him. "Like me, mostly," she said slowly. "'Cept he's a boy. And he's bigger." One of her small hands went up, almost of its own accord, to twirl her soft red hair. "He's got lots of hair that looks like mine, and blue eyes like mine, too." She gave a small giggle. "But sometimes he wears weird things, skirts, like I do."

My hand had risen of its own volition and was resting lightly over my gaping mouth. I had trouble finding my voice. "Does he ever talk to you?"

She nodded seriously. "He tells me stories, sometimes. But when I ask him things, sometimes he doesn't answer. Like, today I asked him why his back looked funny, and he just looked sad and said he couldn't tell me. But I think he was maybe hit by a bad guy, like Superman was."

I found myself seriously in danger of passing out. Bracing my hands on the door to steady myself, I took a few deep breaths. "Maybe he was," I agreed faintly.

"But isn't he your friend, too, Mama?" she asked me suddenly.

"Yes," I said, though my answer startled me. Then a thought came to me, and I frowned. "What made you think he was my friend?"

"Because he talks about you a lot," she said matter-of-factly.

"What does he say?"

She thought about it before answering. "He says that I have to be a really good girl for you, especially when you are sad. He told me you are really brave. Did you fight bad guys, too, Mama?" she asked with sudden interest.

Despite myself, I had to smile a little at that one. "No, baby, I didn't, not really." Then, still smiling, I turned to the empty seat. "Jamie," I said softly, and hearing his name aloud gave me a shock. I hadn't spoken it in years. "Would you please hold the groceries for me while I drive home?"

I looked to Bree for the answer. "He said, course he would!"

I smiled softly and put the bags into the seat with care. "Thank you, Jamie," I murmured.

Finishing, I shut the door and went to the driver's seat. I was distracted in starting the ignition, backing out of the space, and leaving the lot. Lost in thought, I was quite surprised when I heard Bree's voice from the back. "Jamie wanted me to tell you something, Mama," she said, her voice thick with sleepiness.

"He did?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you that he loves you, and he loves me." She paused, and my eyes filled. "He said to say good job," she added.

I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. I was still tired, and weary, but I felt a comfort and a peace that I had not attained in years.

"Love you, too," I whispered to him, and I knew beyond shadow of a doubt that he heard me.

A/N- This is the first in a series of short oneshots, in a set called Twenty Years. As I'm sure you can guess, it's a set that takes place during the twenty years of separation between Dragonfly In Amber and Voyager. Stay tuned for more installments... and until then, thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.