She was expecting a regular shift when she clocked in to work at four pm, with a lazy wave to the man behind the bar. It was her first time back at Kovac's in several days, and Jo was hoping to avoid the prying glances and questioning looks — normally, calling in sick raised no eyebrows and effectively covered her impromptu days off. It wasn't the brightest of establishments, after all, and no one seemed to give half a shit as long as she did her job well. But it had become increasingly difficult to maintain her grasp on regular days and normal schedules. Almost the entire week had gone towards skiving off work and being with Dean, because Jo knew that any time with him was infinitely more important than time spent serving tables.

So it wasn't a complete surprise when she popped through the doorway in the back and came face-to-face with her boss, looking edgy and discontent.

Five minutes later, Jo knew exactly where this was headed.

"You're a fucking messed up chick. You go away for days on end; last month you take leave and disappear for over a week, and come back with broken bones and bruises? I don't know what kind of shit you're into, but I don't want a part in it. I ain't no bleedin saint, Joanna." She winces. It's the name on her driver's licence, and the name in the employee records. "I know we're a craphole in the middle of nowhere, but if you can't even come in to work when you're s'posed to... I got no choice. Gotta let you go."

She watched him, arms crossed, waiting.

"Go home, kid." Charlie's voice was tired. He sounded more like a defeated father than an enraged employer. "Go home."

"Yeah. Okay," Jo said. That seemed to be it. She swiftly unknitted the apron she'd only just tied around her waist, and bundled it up before tossing it onto the counter. As she turned to leave, the bartender — Evan — gave her a shrug. No one seemed shocked by the turn of events.

"Bye."

And she left. The sun hadn't even set by the time she started driving back to the roadhouse.