Chapter Text
October 31st, 1936.
Joe Rantz grabbed his boots as he continued to hear the group of young boys outside as they threw rocks at the door. The boots then came on quickly as another rock hit the door as it disturbed their small house, if it could be called that, that sat in the Hooverville in downtown Seattle.
He then stood up, wearing nothing but his boots and his janitor uniform, flung open the door and yelled.
"Can you go somewhere else!"
The kids then scurried off down the dark, Seattle streets as he closed the door. He toed off his boots and set them by the door as he yelled to Joyce.
"Sorry, Joyce, but, those kids just wouldn't go away."
He then took a few steps into the small, drafty living room. And while the room wasn't much as it was composed of little more then a couch and a decrepit fireplace that was a bit of hazard with the wallpaper. And he felt this chill as she stepped over the floorboards even if he had his boots on. And even they were a sorry excuse for boots.
Regardless, he sat down next to Joyce on the cold couch as she spoke. 'It's alright; their just being children."
"Being children that break windows."
"You can't say that Joe. Why, I remember us doing damn near the same thing back in Sequim. You remember Mrs. Townsend?"
Joe laughed. "Of course I remember Mrs. Townsend. It was Halloween and we broke her windows. Though my dad gave a good hit for that one."
"My dad did the same. Though, my mother was far angrier." And as she said this, they heard yet another rock hit the door causing it rattle slightly on it's hinges. Joe abruptly stood up and began to walk.
"Those damn kids. I swear, if they have a mind to-"
"Joe." Joyce called from the living room which caused Joe to stop and turn to face her.
"Yes?"
"Leave them be." She said, sitting up. "Plus, it's cold in this house. I need you over here, not defending the house from pebbles."
Joe laughed deeply as she walked back over and sat back down on the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he pulled her closer. he then pressed a kiss to the top of her head before grabbing the discarded blanket from the floor and putting it on top of them.
"Their? Is that better?"
"yes," She yawned. "Is it."
Joyce fell asleep soon after that, her breathing a steady beat in this quiet song of warmth. And honestly, he would rather be here then chasing kids down the street..
For being here meant being warm.
It meant love.
It meant bliss.
It meant Joyce.
And that was enough for him.