Roger stood in the solarium as men filtered in to the room. The snow capped glass top gave the surroundings a cold feeling, and the snow built up along the sides of the room reached high to the waist on the average sized man. He moved from the wall of windows and took a seat at the head of the short, eight-person table in the room, furthest from the entrance with his back to the foggy, frosty glass. Many of the men had taken their chances to get out of this thing of theirs, but four had stayed. Smoke signals from his cigarette alerted him to the fact that it was burning out and getting old. He snuffed the burning embers in an ashtray as the others searched and strategically picked their chair, opting to stand until told otherwise.

"Benedetto?" The first words uttered from Roger before he gestured for the gathered men to sit. Hesitation followed, naturally, the men still not fully sure what to expect.

"Sit, sit..." Roger urged a second time. "It ain't science to pick a fuckin' seat, ya know?" He chuckled, and the men started laughing along with him, slowly breaking the ice...

As the men sat, Roger joined them and returned to his original question... "So, Benedetto? Did he decide to leave too?"

Three of the four men shrugged, but the one that shook his head spoke up. "Ben said he was going to shower and clean up, maybe go for a beer. He's angry and confused. Not sure what it is he wishes to do... Said he'd give you an answer in the morning, Mr. Coniglio."

Roger shook his head and cursed under his breath, "Stronzo bastardo. You're gonna get ya'self killed."

The young Boss inhaled deep and exhaled slowly, making eye contact with each man at the table. "You're aware that this will be a large change, I know this. The four of you are willing to stay and help protect me and my ideas while I attempt to expand this family. The four of you will be my personal guards, but you will also be the family enforcers. You will carry -my- will. With that, if you accept this, the four of you will take your oath and swear to me and my family today. The oath of Omerta, over spilled blood."

Roger leaned back and stared at them, allowing them to discuss with each other the implications of what exactly their new boss was saying. Finally, one of them turned and spoke...

"So... You're planning on making us? The four of us are not Sicilian, Ruggiero. We can't b-"

"This is -MY- family, and if I feel you have earned a spot at THIS TABLE, then I will make what ever son of a bitch I want. Let's go ahead and make that clear. While I believe in the Sicilian way? Some of that shit is absolutely absurd. When I was in Las Angeles, it wasn't a fuckin' Italian took me in. No. It was a fuckin' Melon Johnny and 'is buddy a god damned Morta Cristo... Black guy and a fuckin' Jew. So -fuck- that rule."

Roger sat forward and put his hands on the table, pushing himself up to stand.

"So know that if I fuckin' say you can be a member of this family and not just an associate, I fuckin' mean it. Capisce amici?"

All of the men nodded in understanding and Roger sat back down.

"Good... So now that we've got -that- out of the way..."

He chuckled and smiled, "The first order of business. What rackets was my father diggin' 'is han-" Roger looked to the door as it pushed open, a slightly damp haired, bare-foot, way to big clothes Jessica standing in it's threshold. Roger lifted his foot and kicked the chair to his left out.

"Take your seat, Signora Coniglio." He grinned at the woman.

Jes swaggered into the room, jaw set and head high. Her soft footfalls whispered across the room, the long hem of 'her' slacks dragging softly along as took her seat at the table. She glanced around the table, giving the men a small nod as they eyed her place next to Roger. One member of the family, she noticed, was conspicuously missing.  "E mio cognato?" She asked, turning to Roger with a quizzical and wearied expression. It was written all over her face... she was not in the mood for any more bloodshed tonight. 

Roger simply shook his head, a soft shrug of his shoulders all the answer she needed. They would discuss Bene's place in the family later... in private. For the time being, there was other business to attend. Running a hand through her damp curls she cleared her throat,  "So, what outfits was the late Don Gino running?" She leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on the table, "And what suggestions would you make for improvements?" 

After a few moments of talking amongst themselves, the four men at the other end of the table turned and looked at Jessica and Roger. With a wave of his hand, Roger gestured for them to move it along. It had been a long night already and everybody was tired. Especially he and Jessica who had just flown in hours prior.

"Well... Gino handled the bootlegging to most of the local speakeasies and dive hangouts. He was also attempting to get his hands into more of the coke and heroin trade."

Roger nodded and looked at Jessica before returning his gaze to the men. "Well, that's all fine and good. What about loans? Was he dipping in to that? Or maybe even gambling rackets?"

With a shake of his head, one of them started to answer, "Ruggi-"

"Roger, please. I haven't gone by Ruggiero since I left here..."

A simple incline of the head followed Roger's correction, "Very well, Roger... Your father was content focusing on drugs and alcohol. Said it was all we needed to bring money for the family."

Roger smirked and looked over the four men, "I suppose you believe differently, which is why you are here?"

With a nod, all four began to talk about it over each other:

"Yeah, your dad wasn't doing all he could with his money."

"I think he was wasting his potential, and ours."

"Your da been a good man, but 'e weren't utilizin' 'is assets."

"This is true, boy. He was not moving in right direction."

Four different answers, and Roger struggled to hear all four at the same time before shaking his head and laughing. "Okay then, well ya boys know what needs to be done first. Gimme your ideas on what ya think we need to get into."

All four looked at each other, then turned back to them in unison;

"Whores."

Roger chuckled and looked at Jessica. "Well, Bun-Bun... The crew has spoken. Whores..." He looked back to them and shook his head.

"Na, we can do better. I mean, yes, girls bring good money, and we will I'm sure incorporate a few into the business... However, think long term! Think..." He lifted his hands and stared up into the glass ceiling, painted white with the heavy snow atop it. "...future."

All of the men and Jessica looked up as he gestured, then chuckled realizing he was simply making a point to look and aim higher.

"Girls will help, drugs and alcohol will help, but what we need is a place to clean the money. Loans, gambling, and entertainment. The bigger picture." Roger smirked and looked at Jessica. "So what are -your- thoughts, Jess?"

Jes leaned back, fishing Roger's cigarette case from his vest pocket and lighting one pensively. "Well," she paused, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the snowcapped ceiling,  "I have a lot of thoughts, honestly."  A couple of the men at the table rolled their eyes, exchanging sarcastic expressions.  "First, take gambling off the table for the time being. We're going to be too dedicated to stabilizing this thing here to be making cross-country treks anytime soon. And word is, everybody knows Capzzo's crew has the gambling racket locked down here. Now I dunno about youse guys, but I for one ain't real keen on muscle in on Uncle Joe's territory. Yeah?"

She glanced around the table and was pleased to see sarcasm slowly melt into recognition... and even a little appreciation. The men all nodded, mumbling agreement softly under their breaths as Jes continued, "We can get into that eventually. In fact, we should get into that eventually. But not until we can afford to run it through our outfit in L.A. or make a move on Vegas."  Her eyes sparkled a little as she gave them all a wicked smile. This bitch had BIG dreams. Far bigger than Gino had ever allowed. Maybe this thing could be something after all. 

"As for everything else, I think the first thing we need are a few good, legitimate fronts. Places where normal people can do their business... and behind the scenes, we can do ours. Loans are a good start. And, sure, we continue and expand the illicits. But we also need some normal stuff to hide behind. You want girls? Start a bed and breakfast on the lakefront." There was more than a little grumbling around the table, but one glance from Jessica to Roger forstalled any objection about 'a woman's ideas of business'. "Just hear me out," she said with a tired sigh, "An operation like that gives us discreet access to rooms, and legitimacy in the community. Plus, if we offer recreational services for civilian guests, then it'll give us no-questions-asked access to boats and cars for anytime transport of goods to all the surrounding states and Canada. On top of which, we can use the place to extort the more lecherous customer base... cheating husbands, dirty politicians and that ilk." 

Jes' voice was flat, matter-of-fact, in a way that almost made her sound bored. Pinching the bridge of her nose she took another long drag from her cigarette before continuing. "If you wanna do loans, I say we take a play from the Russians and start an Obocheck... pool funds for family use. Bribes, support, payoffs, would all come outta there. No questions asked. But the big play is that we make it known. Do little things around the community with it. A little good. So people know that they can come to us for little things. Then... we do a little bad. Knock over a few places or arrange with other organizations to have some people... mmm... 'borrowed'. When the family gets the ransom, we show up all guardian angel like ranting about how this shit won't stand in our city. We offer to help in whatever way we can. And when the family gets desperate enough to ask, we pay that "ransom" or that "extortion", the insurance premiums and the medical bills outta the Obochek. Then they're indebted to us. Not only for payback, but for saving their family." 

Jes shrugged. It was backhanded and she knew it, but it was good. And more than anything, she needed them to know... she needed the all to know she was good in this thing. "Now, you could also go about getting a license and all that jazz. But that leaves paper trails that you'll eventually have to explain," she said, turning to Roger. "If we play our hand right here, we could come out looking like the fucking paragons of Chicago, and still be rolling neck deep in cash every night." 

She took a deep breath, hit her cigarette again, and turned back to their new associates,  "Get creative. Think outside the box. I wanna hear something that no other family would think of doing. Give me one civilian front that can be creatively repurposed. C'mon. None of that bars and bitches, tired old Mafiosi bull-shit. No old plays. Youse guys are the young bloods of the up-and-coming. So tell me what's up and coming in this thing of ours. New. Exciting. Fresh." 

Cigarette pressed between her lips, she finger-gunned the nearest associate. "You. Go. Gimme something good..." ​​​​​​​Smoke trailed to the crystalized ceiling as the room held it's breath, waiting for his answer. Nervous glances being exchanged between the other men. Were they next? 

"Puppets!" the man she'd fingered yelled out...

Everyone in the room turned and looked at him, blinking in a confused state... Roger smirked, baffled, "Puppets? What tha fuck?"

"Yeah... I think? I don't know, It was just the first thing I thought of!"

Everyone started to laugh, except Jess who smacked Roger. She leaned over and whispered to him and they spoke back and forth for a moment, the other men turning and looking as Roger leaned back in his seat with a loud, "YEEEAAAH! Like tha fuckin' Chink dolls! Now that could BE somethin'!"

Everyone stared at him and then started nodding. "See, that's exactly the kind of outta tha box thinkin' this family needs, ya know?" Roger eyed between the men before him. "Okay... Hollow dolls. Could be used to ship illicit goods, things other people need, yeah? Ship money? Hide money? Jewels? Anything we need hidden? Good idea! What's your name?"

"Uhh. Brailen, boss. Brailen Gregory."

"Well, great work Brailen. You'll be in charge of setting that idea up."

The men cackled and shoved Brailen jokingly, calling out and heckling him:

"Hahaaa, get 'em Puppet Boy!"

"Oi, maybe we'll call 'em tha fuckin' Puppet Master, hi?"

"Yes yes, Puppet Master is funny, no?"

Roger waved his hands, chuckling at the guys jovial cheer. "Okay okay, enough. YOU! Boris, what's your name?"

He pointed out the dark haired, square jawed Russian man. The chuckling died down and the man stood. "Name is not Boris... Name is Ivan Volkov."

Roger nodded, "Glad ta have ya, Ivan... What is YOUR idea?"

Ivan nodded solemnly, "If is not too bold. I like your lady, boos. She thinks strong. I like this. For her, I think strong too. I think we open crisis center. Not in hospital, but maybe with it. Part of community. This way we help civilians... give lower costs... do little good,"  he paused and nodded sternly at Jessica, "but we also do little bad... move drugs, provide 'legal' access for junkers, and also we fix our men underneath the radar." 

Ivan bowed his head respectfully to both Coniglios before sitting back down. Jessica nodded emphatically, "I like this one!" She smiled at Roger, "He's good right?" 

Turning back to Ivan she smiled at him, "I think that is a very good idea. You and I will speak further later. Begin thinking about how you would get that off the ground. You will be my point for it... with Roger's approval." Ivan saluted her stiffly, "Of course. I do for you." Jes nodded and smiled back. Turning to Roger she conferred with him briefly, whispering animatedly into his ear. The men watched and waited. Though, there was nowhere near the celebration and cheering that had been given to Braelin. Jes, again, smiled silently at him and nodded reassuringly. 

Shifting her focus to the next man over, lit another cigarette, mumbling over the stick as it bobbed between her lips, "Alright, you. Let's hear it." 

"Ehem." The Irish man chuckled a bit. "Let's see here, lads... Lass... What if, ya come back ta me?" He smirked and shook his head, waving his hands. "I'm kiddin', na worries." He tapped his chin.

"What if we made lit'le candies? Ya know? Somethin' for tha kids? Maybe every now and t'en bake a special batch of cookies, brownies, or...OH! Fuck da candies! What about a bakery!?"

He beamed now and looked back and forth between everyone. "I mean, we could fuckin' make a killin'! An' even bake extra in for some clients... Ya know? A lit'le coke 'ere, a lit'le heroine there? Some marijuana in some brownies? Maybe even a lit'le poison cooked inta da bat'er of a cake for a gift to a politician that be a bot'er?"

Roger chuckled and nodded, "That might not be too bad...  Your name?"

"Charlie be what they call me, boss... Charlie Donaldson."

Again Roger nodded and looked to Jess. "Well, that leaves one more." He looked back to Charlie and grinned, "Figure out what ya think you'll need to get that started, capisce? Ya gonna need a good fuckin' baker."

Charlie chuckled and pressed his thumb to his chest, "Who'dya t'ink made da fuckin' conoli an' da pizzas? I'm da best cook in da fuckin' house! I'm na any big name chef or naethin', but I can fuckin' bake an' cook some damn good desserts an' pies."

Perking a brow, Roger grinned, "Good ta know... Jess? Whaddaya think?"

"I like it," Jess nodded. "I dunno about backing heroine into the brownies. But backing them around it might work. It's a damned good way to move things. And if it brings in good cash as a legitimate front, I'm down. Especially if keeps our boys fat, and my kitchen full." 

Jes puffed her cigarette, and finger gunned at Charlie, "You're my boy, boo. Now get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich." 

Jes waited for a moment as the room went silent, the men either stroking out or completely unsure of what to say. Charlie stuttered for a moment, "Wha... real... um... yes'm... uh..."  he pushed his chair away from the table, not wanting to offend the lady of the house. "Wh... What... kind?" His words lilted up more than they should have as if he was questioning his question, but he stood nonetheless. 

One of the men objected. The other two, along with Roger and Jes laughed aloud. Waving hysterically, she motioned for him to sit down. "Sit. Sit, love. I'm just pulling your leg. Sit down. There'll be plenty to do when we're done here. Good choice, though. Damn good choice, I like you." 

Taking a long drag from her cigarette Jessica exhaled slowly and watched as the smoke danced in the air above them. "So far, I think youse all doing very well. You. Last guy. Name and Idea. Go, now!" 

"Killian, Ma'am. Killian Murphy. An'... uh... Well If I had ta pick somethin' off the wall, I think I'd go with a mortuary, Ma'am,"  the young man nodded. "It'd give us an easy way to dispose of things like what happened today. We could use the caskets for graveyard drops. An' the community could benefit, too." Killian shrugged with a self-conscious and somewhat goofy smile, his glance bouncing between Roger and Jessica; clearly seeking approval. 

Roger nodded and looked to Jess, leaning over to whisper quietly in her ear...

"Ya know, all of these are great. Especially tha bakery an' tha mortuary. Tha dolls will need a wharehouse ta manufacture, an' tha crisis center will take a lot of stocking and a new location. I'm good for all of it, but first we need to start with the easiest. We could take over tha city morgue pretty easy. I can muscle tha owners out wit' enough money. An' a bakery we could start straight outta our kitchen 'ere, yea?"

Roger sat back, looking at Jessica for her thoughts, but he turned and looked to the men. "Well, Killian. I like your idea very much. I think ALL of you have come to the table and presented something different, and VERY useful to foreseeing the stability of this family moving forward."

He turned to Jessica. "Anything to add, my Bun-Bun?"

You could HEAR the rolling eyes from the guards at the sappy name calling by their new boss to their other....Boss?

Jes smirked, taking the moment to teach the men a lesson. Albeit, a humorous one. "Hmm... Well, Honey Bunny," she emphasized the pet names, "Since we're such a close and caring family, I think that our boys might appreciate their own nicknames." She shot each of the men a poignant look,  "After all, they seem so... offended to be left out." 

Jessica grinned evilly at Roger. He could see she was quite serious about her enjoyment of this personal entertainment. The men's jaws hit the table, occasional small croaking coming from one or two of them as they tried to decipher whether or not she was serious... and if she was whether or not they could or should object. 

"Hm... Let's see... Braelin... Puppet Master is a little too.... mmm... creepy for you. Let's go with Pinocchio. No! Dolly. You will be Dolly." Braelin facepalmed and cursed under her breath as the men sucker-punched and teased him, resigning himself to his new moniker. 

Turning to Ivan, Jes eyed him thoughtfully,  "Ivan, Ivan, Ivan... what do we call you, Ivan?"  Jessica absorbed herself in thought for a moment as the men joined in on her new game. "Vodka," Braelin called out. "Boris," Charlie shouted and Ivan growled at him. "No, no, no," Jessica sushed them, "Ivan needs something better than that... much better. You're all stoic and stern... you need something soft. Like a puppy." Leaning her head back, she stared up at the powder blanketed ceiling, "I know! You will be my little Snowball!"

Surprisingly, Ivan actually chuckled with a good-natured smile and nod. "Russians like snow," he said simply, still chuckling. Jessica giggled gleefully, and for the first time since they'd arrived, she looked as if the world wasn't weighing on her shoulders. Lightly smacking Roger's arm she snickered, "I told you I like him." 

"Okay," she chirped, turning to Charlie. "You're easy. You will be our Cupcake." Nodding with finality, she turned to Killian as Charlie hung his head with a defeated, but light-hearted, chuckle. 

"Killlllian," Jessica trained her gaze on him, drawing out the L in his name as she squinted at him. "Oh  come on," he complained lightly, looking at Roger, "Boss, you're not really gonna..." Roger waved him silent as Jessica snapped her fingers. "Pookie. Until further notice. You will be Pookie. Carry it with pride for the next two weeks and I'll consider changing it." 

Jessica nodded, laughing to herself as she puffed on her cigarette; Ivan chuckling along with her as he pointed at the other men, everyone else sulking in their chairs with goofy glowers. 

It could be worse. 

"Okay," she clapped her hands, "Dolly, Snowball, Cupcake, Pookie. You're off for the rest of the night. If you don't have family at home, please stay close. I'll pay you round the clock if you stay in the house. Double time if you help us clean up the mess in the den. Otherwise, you're free to go. I need to have a discussion with my husband. No more than twenty minutes and then we'll get down to the dirty business. If you wanna go, go. And take some food with you." 

With a wave and a small nod, she turned to Roger. It was time for a chat. 

"Actually!" Roger cute them off before they left... "My wife oversteps her position just slightly. In my presence you are not dismissed until I say so." The men stopped and turned, forgetting for a moment just which one was truly in charge. Of course it was the full blooded Sicilian male... How could they have been so foolish. Each of them hung their head to their bosses and awaited the commands.

"She was, however, almost correct... We will pay you round the clock if you stay, and a bonus if you help me clean the mess. Afterward, though, you are dismissed for the evening. If the storm is too bad, or you have nowhere to go, please make yourself at home. Otherwise, if you decide to leave, take food home to your families. I highly doubt anyone is stupid enough to try and attack the family hold tonight of all nights... Aside from the tragedy that befell us this evening. Also..."

Roger cleared his throat and stood, "Lift your heads, men... Don't stare at the ground when either of us talk to you. Even if you fuck up, look me in the eye and explain yourself. I'll respect you more. Hang your head like this again, and I may take it from you. Capisce?"

All of the men's heads shot up and looked at Roger with a simple nod.

"Good. Now there will be no more meetings tonight. Not for you anyway. Be free, talk among yourselves, pack up, or go and begin cleaning the mess. I will join you in helping dispose of my father's remains. I would offer a proper burial, but that would look suspicious. I would much rather charter him a flight to Sicily tomorrow."

He looked at the four of them, "I don't care how it gets done, but make sure his papers are handled and it shows him on a passenger manifest flying out of town tomorrow evening. Family business back home, which just so happens to be the reason I'm here. Are we on the same page?"

The men nodded again, "We'll make sure it's handled, boss..." Brailen spoke up.

"Good. Now, go... You're dismissed. And don't forget... In the event of my absence, she -is- my will and my word."

As the men exited, Roger turned back to Jessica. "Well..." He moved back to his chair and sat beside her. "I think that went pretty well." He grinned. "So whaddaya wanna talk with me about, eh?"

Jessica chuckled sheepishly, "Oh yeah." Quietly she waited for the men to conclude their business, and then turned to her husband with a tired sigh. "Ok, so here's my thoughts. My money... metaphorically speaking," she blushed at him, "Is on the BnB and the Crisis Center. The Mortuary isn't bad either. And the bakery is fine. BUT, I don't think we should have ANY of it connected to the residential house. That's just an arrest waiting to happen. The dolls, I think, are gonna take more effort than they're worth, especially if we already have the BnB, bakery, and morgue running." 

She rubbed her hands together nervously, unsure of exactly how receptive he'd be to her input. "I think the BnB is a really good idea. Especially given all of the fringe activities it opens up for us. And the Crisis Center gives us an easy way to keep our men alive under the radar. That would be irresponsible. Not only to our family but to whatever outfit you decide to swear to. Y'know? It makes us  valuable." 

"And secondly," she continued, getting up to close the doors to the solarium, ensuring no one could hear her, "I have no idea what I'm DOING!"  The words came out an emphasized whisper as if even uttering them somehow decayed her thin reputation. For a brief moment, she let herself look as weary, terrified, and miserable as she felt. But only briefly. 

Roger watched as her carefully practised emotional walls went back up.  "I'm... uh... I'm gonna need to hit the pharmacy," she admitted with a look of shame, the trembling in her fingers growing evident as she wrung her hands nervously. Glancing up through the cracks in the snow, she realized how late it had grown and cursed softly under her breath. Nowhere would be open this late. Even in the city proper. 

Clearing her throat she paced the room as slowly as she could manage. She had to get her shit together before leaving this room. "We'll put it on the list for tomorrow," she said softly, reassuring herself more than talking to Roger. "First we clean. Then we worry about everything else," she said, the pace of her breathing pitching up in a familiar way that set Roger on edge. "We'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow. And if it gets bad I'll just have to make an exception tonight. It'll be fine. It'll be fine." 

Without warning or hint something in her snapped, a switch flipped or a light came on,  "I dunno what to do with a body, Roger. What the fuck do you do with some one's body??" She blinked softly, realizing even as she asked that she actually expected an answer. Again her cognitive wheels spun and clicked into place, things she'd ignored or denied for years slowly rising to the undeniable surface, "You.. you know what to... how to..." Her breathing quickened to an uncomfortable level as she gripped the back of her chair. 

Suddenly, she was no longer playing pretend. With just the two of them in the frost covered room, the facade of well-controlled mafiosa melted away. "I don't know how to do this, Roger. I... I don't know... how to be... this." Sitting back down next to him, she hung her head furiously rubbing the back of her neck as the forced her self to breathe slowly - counting softly under her breath, "1, 2, 3, 4.... hold... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7." 

Roger lit a cigarette, watching his wife pace back and forth as she calmed her nerves and talked to herself. She was right, the dolls would be to much trouble, at least for right now. BnB? Who'd said anything about a BnB? Maybe this was HER idea? Regardless, Roger puffed away on that cigarette, hoping the smell of burning tobacco would also help ease her. One thing was for certain... For not knowing what she was doing, she could have fooled Roger and the other men.

"Jess, baby... Sit down."

"First we clean."

"Bun Bu-"

"Then we'll worry about everything else."

"Honey Bun..."

"We'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow..."

Roger gave up and leaned back, continuing his calming demeanor. She'd snap herself out in a moment, and if she didn't he would get her attention. He took heed of her quickening breaths however, which set him on alert. If it hastened too much, he'd have to take matters into his own hands. Then, as if her whole persona changed, she snapped and stared at him...

"I dunno what to do with a body, Roger. What the fuck do you do with some one's BODY??"

He grinned, tugging again on his cigarette. She would have to accept what he knew was coming to the front of her mind at some point anyway. She'd known where he came from, she'd known his business in LA. She knew he'd had to make people disappear before... But she finally had to accept it.

"You... you know what to... how to..."

She finally plopped back down into the chair and tried her breathing exercises. Roger placed his hand lightly on her back and rubbed up and down her spine to help her concentration and her relaxation.

"The answers to your questions, you already know, my love." Roger smiled at her, flicking the ashes from his cigarette before leaning back and tugging on it once again, exhaling over their heads.

"I will handle this. You should go and lay your head down. Maybe even take a -COLD- shower this time. Slow you down." He stood and leaned over, kissing the top of her head before putting his cigarette out. "Go, sleep. I've got things to handle and then I'll join you. Or you can help me if you -really- want to."

Roger headed for the door and turned back to her. "If you head to bed I'll tuck you in, my bunny." There it was, the cheesy smirk that she'd fallen for two and a half years ago.

Jes rose from her seat slowly and moved to the door. She looked small and deflated. He was sure she'd move past him and head to bed. But as she reached his side, her delicate hand slid into his, squeezing tightly. 

"No." It was soft and small. Barely a whisper, but it was there. She cleared her throat and set her jaw, an old familiar determination filling her eyes. "Eventually there will come a time when I need to know. I can't let you coddle me forever. It's not safe... for any of us."  She squeezed his hand again, more for self-soothing than anything. "I'd... rather learn now. I made this mess, I'll help clean it up. Teach me?"

She glanced up at him, the turmoil clear in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the door open. Staring at the threshold for a moment she squeezed Roger's hand, looking to him for reassurance. She knew, in the deepest part of her bones that once she stepped over those ivory tiles there was no going back. 

Part of her wished she could stay in the snowcapped solarium forever... watch the beautiful seasons pass in ignorant bliss, like her own little wonderland... bunny through the looking glass. But she knew what it meant to surrender to such delusions. She'd traded that kind of blissful fantasia for life with Roger once. And she'd do it again a million times over. Holding on to that thought, she steeled herself in the new reality of her existence and tugged him over the threshold with her.