Nobody was quite sure when. He'd been there when Eve had brought him his breakfast, but she'd needed to leave during the day and by the time she tried to bring him his dinner he was gone. She was the only one who would bother to visit with him throughout the day whenever he closed in on himself and spent his time haunting his rooms, and without her there nobody paid him enough mind to see when he'd gone.
She hoped that Jacuzzi and his gang would get back from seeing to business they'd left behind in Chicago soon. Even though Dallas terrified him, Jacuzzi was too kind to allow someone to be alone all day without ever once checking on them. And if Jacuzzi was there than Nice would be too, if only to bluster at Dallas if he did anything to upset Jacuzzi. Eve knew that her brother wouldn't thank them for their presence, but for her own peace of mind she would be glad to have them there and ready to help if he ever needed it.
She didn't let anyone else come with her when she left to find Dallas. She knew that going off on her own upset Benjamin and Samantha and wished that she could avoid it--ever since the deaths of her father and eldest brother they'd cared for her so kindly and so well--but she had to go alone. She knew where he'd be, and the state that he'd be in, and it would be unkind to her brother to allow anyone else to intrude on him in the place he'd chosen as his sanctuary.
The driver of the taxicab she'd taken looked at her askance when she asked to be let off at the George Washington Bridge at that time of night, but did so without comment. She didn't blame him for wondering about her. After the terrible things he'd been through she'd almost have been wondering about Dallas spending his time in such a potentially dangerous place herself, if she didn't know about his immortality and wasn't positive beyond any shadow of a doubt that he would never, ever, give himself to the Hudson again.
She was never entirely sure why he'd chosen that bridge, out of every one which spanned the river. It didn't overlook the place where he'd been left drowning. He didn't have any sentimental attachment to it; it hadn't even been completely built until a year after he'd vanished. From time to time she suspected that maybe that itself was her answer. The bridge was a sure sign of how much time had been stolen away from him. When he'd gone in it had still been a skeletal structure surrounded by the machinery used to build it. It hadn't even been christened with its final name yet, people had still called it The Hudson River Bridge as likely as not, or by one of the dozens of names the newspapers had made up for it. When he came out again not only was it complete, but it was already beginning to show wear from all the traffic which had passed over it. Every time he stood on it he was standing on a place that should not exist within the world as he remembered it.
When she got close enough to him to make out his face through the gloom she could see that he was staring down at the river with an expression of blank loathing. It was the same way he always looked when she found him on the bridge, and she wished so much that he wouldn't. Her brother was never meant to look so empty, like there was nothing left in him but that hate. Even in the other side of his life, the cruel side that she knew so little about except that she hadn't met a single person he'd known in it who thought of him kindly, she couldn't imagine that he'd ever looked like that.
She'd never be able to completely forgive Luck and his brothers for that. She could be grateful to them for telling her what had happened to Dallas, she could even understand their reasons for what they'd done, but she couldn't just let it go. What they'd done to him had killed her brother, even if it was impossible for his body to die from any injury. The brother that he'd been before he'd vanished, the person that God had meant for him to be, was gone. Even during the times when he almost seemed himself she could see the difference in him, though he was able to fool people who didn't know him as well as she did, which seemed to be everyone.
"Dallas," she said quietly, taking his hand and tucking herself against his side, "I wish that you'd stop doing this."
He gave no sign that he'd even noticed she was there, his eyes never leaving the water and his hand slack in her grasp. She followed his gaze down to the river, trying to hate it as he did. Maybe if she could just understand the way he felt she could think of a way to help him, or maybe if she could share his feelings he'd at least be able to let allow her in when he was caught up in it.
But she couldn't do it. The river itself was blameless. It may have been the thing which had harmed him, but you didn't hate a knife for cutting a person or a gun for firing when its trigger was pulled. But saying that wouldn't help him, not at all. And she could understand why it wouldn't; a knife's blade didn't stay buried within you for three long year. After that long, yes, she could see how anger could be displaced from the ones more deserving of its focus.
It was probably for the best. The Gandor's had only agreed to tell her where he was and let him live in peace if he didn't try coming after them again, and getting that promise out of him would have been more difficult that it already was if he'd focused all his hatred on its proper targets.
Before long she began to shiver from the cool night wind blowing over the river, and at the feeling of her shakes his attention was finally pulled over to her.
"Eve?" he asked, like he'd never even realized she was there. Then all at once some life snapped back into his eyes as he focused on her. "What the hell are you doing out dressed like that? You want to catch a cold?"
It was true that she wasn't dressed at all appropriately for that night. She was still wearing the cool spring dress she'd worn during the day, when the temperature had risen higher than it had been in months, but it was early enough in the season that the nights still held the snap of winter and she'd been in such a rush to reach him that she hadn't even thought to grab a coat. "I'm sorry, Dallas. I just wanted to bring you home. I didn't mean to worry you."
He yanked off his own coat and draped it over her, closing his arms around her and warming her briefly with his body as he made sure it was wrapped snugly around her. Even when he pulled away she could still feel the warmth of him around her, saturating his jacket and soaking into her chilled bare skin. She closed her eyes to feel it more clearly, glad of it in a way that she didn't think anyone else could understand; however distantly he might draw back into himself from time to time, however much he'd been changed from the person he'd once been, he was still alive enough to pass on the heat of his body. The river hadn't stolen away all of his warm and left nothing but its chill in its place.
His arm closed around her shoulders again, guiding her back towards the road she'd come from. "Okay, sweetie, I'll get you home."
She sighed, relieved, as she walked with him. There had been times his blank spells hadn't ended after she reached him and she needed to forcibly drag him home, a feat which would have been impossible for her if he'd ever been aware enough to struggle against it. But the bad spell had broken, and he was almost himself again. She hoped with all her might that it would last this time, that in a few days, or weeks, or months he wouldn't retreat back into himself yet again, as he had now and then ever since she'd found him again.
But hoping wasn't the thing to do, was it?
She closed her eyes and rested his shoulder, trusting him to guide her safely as she walked even if she couldn't see what was beneath her feet, and prayed with all her might; Most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, patron of hopeless causes, of things almost despaired of, pray for him...