They belong to JE, not me. Definitely Babe and definitely NOT for Cupcakes. M rating for language and adult situations. All mistakes are mine. Chapter heading quotes from the song of the same name by Enya. This is a short chapter story for the season.

A million feathers falling down/A million stars that touch the ground,

The first snowflakes hit the windshield two blocks after they left the Trenton PD Holiday Party. Stephanie Plum watched the white flakes dance in the headlight beams, then blinked against the tears that clung to her eyelashes and looked out the window instead. No one said anything in the car; Steph wasn't inclined to rehash the way the evening ended, and Eddie and his wife Shirley were too well mannered to bring it up on their own.

By the time Eddie turned into the parking lot of her apartment building, the snowflakes were closer to snowballs, drifting from the night sky like large fluffy clouds. Steph unsnapped her seatbelt, grabbed her clutch purse and had the door open before Eddie could put the sedan into park.

"Steph!"

Reluctantly, Steph settled back and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Thanks for the ride, Eddie. I appreciate your bailing me out of a tight spot."

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. Even though Eddie Gazarra was only related to her through marriage, everyone considered him a part of the family. In Jersey, family looked out for family, and she knew that his question stemmed more from his concern for her than a need to get the latest gossip.

She couldn't help the short, cynical laugh. It had taken her six days to get ready for this party—from the expensive shampoo designed to tame her unruly curls, to the high end silk stockings and designer shoes. Nothing had been left to chance, and when Joe Morelli opened her apartment door, it was to find her primped and prepped to within an inch of her life. If there was one thing Steph knew how to do, it was to turn on the style. When she checked her reflection one last time before walking out with Joe, she knew without a doubt that she was at the top of her game.

"I'm not going to do anything rash," she said. A lump in her throat tried to make her stumble over her words, but she forced it down by sheer stubbornness. "Joe obviously made his choice tonight, and I refuse to take what he's dishing out. If he wants to seduce every single woman in Trenton, then he'd better get busy. He doesn't have a line of credit with me anymore."

"Steph—" This time, Eddie said her name with a mixture of regret and resignation. It made her think of all the other times she had broken up with Joe Morelli, and how many of those times were bookended with her getting back together with him.

When did I become such a needy, dependent woman?

A car swung into the lot, its headlights cutting through the snowy darkness and flashing into the interior of Eddie's sedan. It pulled up behind them, close enough that the headlights disappeared behind the trunk. Steph didn't need to see the car or the driver to know who it was. She tensed.

"I can go out and talk to him," Eddie said quietly. "You can slip inside and you won't have to deal with him tonight."

The sigh that escaped her was more than long-suffering. Trust Joe Morelli to not only get caught red-handed making out in a closet with one of the servers, but to then assume the role of the victim. Waiting wouldn't solve anything.

She squared her shoulders. "Thanks, Eddie, but it's best that I finish it myself."

Eddie half-turned in his seat. "Steph, you deserve better. Joe's a good man, but he isn't going to change. Not for you or anybody else."

"I know, Eddie. Trust me, I finally know."

With a tight smile in his direction, Steph slid out of the car. She teetered for a moment on the snow-slicked sidewalk, then regained her balance and closed the door. She took a careful step back, and Eddie drove away.

All traces of amusement vanished when Joe's battered car pulled into the space. The passenger side window rolled down, and Joe leaned over the seat to lock eyes with her. "Get in."

"No." Steph kept her voice soft, but she could feel her spine changing to steel. The white-hot anger that had come hard on the heels of discovering of her date skulking in a closet had congealed into a cold fury. If her Italian temper ignited quickly, her Hungarian half knew how to pour a generous bucket of accelerant on it.

Evidently Joe wasn't able to read her very well, because his face darkened and he threw it into park. He got out of the car, slamming the door hard enough to dislodge the snow gathering on the hood.

Steph waited for him on the sidewalk, her arms relaxed at her sides and her chin raised just a little bit to indicate that she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Get in the car, Steph. We need to talk and we might as well get it done tonight."

The smile that graced her lips wasn't friendly or warm. "I'm done talking. I'm done with the pressure to change, the lack of acceptance of my choices and the constant insinuations about my job. I'm done with all of it, Joe. Go home and call someone who is willing to put up with your crap, because that person is no longer me."

"Steph, it wasn't what it looked like—" Joe started, but she wasn't about to let him finish.

"Not what it looked like? Morelli, you had your hand on her ass!"

"It slipped! You can't be mad just because I happened to be touching her ass at the same moment that you opened the door!" Joe folded his arms across his chest, daring her to make an issue out of something so innocent.

Steph stared at him, her eyes slightly narrowed as she took in his stance and the gleam in his dark eyes. She let the silence stretch out for twice as long as she normally would. Then she nodded. "You're right. I can't get mad about your hand accidentally slipping to someplace that looked worse than it probably was."

"There. You see?" he asked. "You're blowing it all out of proportion and creating a scene where there didn't need to be one."

Anger lent her speed. Before he could step away from her, Steph punched him in the gut. As Joe doubled over, she brought her knee up, fully intending to propel his gonads into his brain. A loud crunch sounded and a spray of blood across the white snow bore testament to her poor aim. Joe went down hard, his hands instinctively going to his broken nose as more blood stained the ground.

"What the hell was that for?" he asked, his voice thick with pain.

"Your other hand up her shirt. That I'm fucking mad about." Steph stared at him until she saw the light of comprehension dawning in his eyes. "Exactly, Morelli. You wanna know how I feel about your tongue down her throat?"

All it took was a half step in his direction, and Joe was scrambling to his feet to put more distance between them. "Jesus, Steph. What's gotten into you?"

"The reality that while you've been busy giving me a laundry list of things I have to change, you've been going along on your merry way, living your life like you've always done." Steph crossed her arms, holding herself tight as a shiver tried to work its way through her body. "I'm going to make it easy for you, Joe. This bakery is closed. No éclairs, no Boston Crèmes, no cannoli. Ever."

"You don't mean that."

"The hell I don't." Steph glared at him. Joe Morelli might have the finest ass in Trenton, but too many times all she saw was the ass part. While she herself wouldn't win any prizes as Girlfriend of the Year, she knew that Joe wasn't faithful to her. The only thing a ring and marriage would accomplish would be finally clipping her wings. Joe would still be a Morelli, and Steph would step into the role of the long-suffering wife, tied to home and kids while the husband was out having an after work beer with the guys. Or a girl that caught his eye.

Some of her fury must have finally penetrated his fogged over brain. His cop face slammed down, and he took a step towards her.

"I'll pick up my stuff when you're working." Steph stood her ground, still shaking with the force of her determination. "I'll leave your keys on the kitchen counter."

"You sure you want to do this?" asked Joe, wiping at the blood still oozing from his nose. He winced as the broken cartilage shifted.

"I've never been more sure in all of my life."

"Your mother is going to make your life a living hell when she finds out you ruined the Holiday Party and broke up with me." Joe spoke through clenched teeth, although she couldn't tell if it was from pain or irritation.

Steph smiled and Joe backed up an involuntary step. "My life will be just peachy, Morelli. It's your ass you should be worried about."

"Your mom wouldn't say a cross word to me."

She held up her phone, jiggling it a little bit. "Funny thing about smart phones these days. They take great pictures in low light, and I can upload the best ones to the Web right away. I figure Mary Lou and Connie have forwarded them to about half of their address books by now. By morning, just about everyone in the Burg will know Joe Morelli was caught making out in a closet at the Holiday Party."

His hands clenched into fists and the vein popped out on his forehead. "You wouldn't dare."

"I particularly liked the one where your pants are unzipped." Steph cocked her head to the side. "I'm betting that your mother is going to be very unhappy."

"Shit," Joe muttered. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leveled a glare at her. "That's playing dirty, Steph."

"Really, Morelli? And feeling up some girl you just met while I was chatting up the chief detective and the Commissioner on your behalf wasn't? " Steph put a hand on her hip, her eyes narrowing even farther into a mixture of her mother's disapproving glare and her Grandmother's 'make my day' look. From the way Morelli paled, she judged that she might have borrowed too much from Grandma Mazur. "Just answer one question, Joe. Just once, I want an honest answer out of you."

"I don't lie—" He stopped as she shifted her weight. He tunneled through his hair with one hand and sighed. "Fine. Ask your question."

"Were you planning on getting lucky with me after the party? On the same night that you were playing tonsil hockey with a girl you didn't even know, were you planning on having sex with me, too?"

Joe didn't answer, and Steph wasn't even a little bit surprised by it. Admitting to her that he had no qualms in bedding a stranger and her within hours of each other would have been tantamount to a death wish. Whatever else he might be, Joe Morelli was no fool.

She waited longer than she wanted to, but since this was going to be the final act in their long relationship, she was willing to make the concession. When the seconds dragged by with nothing but the sound of the cars passing on the street and the slight whisper of the wind stirring the snowflakes, Steph shifted her balance.

"I think we both know where this is going to lead," she said. "Go home, Joe. I'm not your problem anymore."

"I suppose you have my replacement already lined up," he said, not quite suppressing the bitterness in his voice.

Steph went still, trembling as her temper went from Hot to Thermonuclear. A distant corner of her brain registered surprise that anger could keep her this warm. If it got any hotter, she would probably start melting the snow around her. "I don't need a replacement for you. Having nothing is better than what you've put me through. I'm going up to my apartment, and I'm going to enjoy that I no longer have to worry where you are, where you've been, and with whom."

His face darkened at her words, but Steph wasn't going to take them back. There was no going back, not anymore. She was more than willing to accept the uncertainty of a future without Joe instead of the dread certainty that a marriage would bring. She couldn't fathom a life where she dreaded his coming home because it meant another lecture about the burned supper, the messy house and the sick kids. Or maybe the dread of finding out that she was pregnant again with a Morelli spawn, and that each kid would be another nail in the coffin of the old Stephanie Plum.

Her chin lowered a little bit, the ominous dip of the head that preceded a bull's lethal charge. "Go home, Morelli. Or I swear I will upload the rest of the pictures and send the links to everyone from Stark Street to State Street."

That threat galvanized him. Joe threw her one last glare and stomped back to his car. Steph bit back a giggle as he slid on some ice, windmilled and barely kept his balance. In fact, she was proud that she managed not to show any reaction at all until Joe's car fishtailed out of the parking lot and onto the road. As the growl of the engine faded into the late winter's night, she threw her arms wide and lifted her face to the sky, feeling the tiny kisses of thousands of snowflakes on her face.

She didn't hold the pose for long; it was still December, and snowing, and she wasn't exactly dressed for the weather. Steph carefully walked up the sidewalk to her apartment building, and breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped inside the warm, fluorescent-lit confines of the lobby.

There was no question of her walking up the stairs in her heels, so she slipped them off and skipped up the flights in her stocking feet instead. It was an outrageous, flighty, impulsive thing to do, and guaranteed to put holes in the expensive nylons. Steph didn't care. The occasion of her new freedom required some acts of random impulsiveness, and this was a good place to start.

The keys in her hand jangled in the quiet of the hallway as she unlocked her door. Steph flipped on the foyer light and set her clutch on the table as she passed through. She shimmied out of the dress on her way to the bedroom and threw it onto the chair in the corner. The shoes flew after it, landing with twin thuds in the darkness. Grabbing her comfy sweats, Steph went into the bathroom to peel away the layers of makeup and hair spray.

Less than fifteen minutes later she emerged, her hair in a messy ponytail and her ratty, faded sweats concealing her figure as much as the dress had enhanced it. Her mind was focused on her next move, and she wasn't going to be stopped. Not tonight.

Thank God for microwaves, she thought as she set water inside to boil. She rummaged through her cupboards for a particular oversized mug, a large spoon and a canister. Steph spooned in five times the suggested amount of hot cocoa mix, grinning with anticipation of the thick, syrupy concoction. Her mother and Valerie cringed whenever she made her special recipe, complaining it was too much like drinking liquid fudge. Grandma Mazur, on the other hand, always ordered a double.

The microwave beeped at her and Steph did the honors, pouring the boiling water carefully while she stirred the gooey powdered mess. She snapped off the lights and made her way to the living room by the glow from the parking lot. After setting the mug on the coffee table, Steph turned one of the chairs around to face the window and draped a warm throw around her shoulders. With a satisfied sigh, she curled up in the chair, the, her mug in her hand, and nothing between her and the snow but her thoughts.

Steph sipped the hot cocoa and watched the snowflakes dance in the air between the light and the darkness. The only thing missing was the Christmas carols playing softly in the background.

The locks on her door clicked and turned, and Steph took another sip of her cocoa.

Make that two things missing . . .