For as much as she's stumbled, she's runnin;
For as much as she runs, she's still here,
Always hoping to find something quicker than heaven,
To make the damage of her days disappear
Just like Guinevere
Just like Guinevere
Guinevere by Eli Young Band
"'Lo?"
"Mister Chance."
"Ilsa?"
"I'm tired of running," Ilsa whispered into the phone, collapsing on her bed. "I want to come back."
His breathing is heavy and even from halfway around the world she can tell he's contemplating what she just said. She can tell that he's thinking about it. Thinking about what to say to it. She left for London six months ago with the promise to herself that she'd never look back, never think about San Francisco but she never could completely forget about the city and the blonde haired, blue-eyed ex-assassin who lived there.
"Running from what, Ilsa?" His question sent her mind into a flurry, trying to sort the truth from the web of lies she had weaved to convince him that leaving was best for everyone involved.
"I'm tired of running from the possibility that anything more than a professional relationship with you could end with me getting hurt." Ilsa whispered, her breathing shallow and uneven, tears stinging her eyes.
"Then come back. Come back to San Francisco and you won't have to run anymore."
The statement is simple, as if to say that all she has to do is pack up and leave London. Jump a plane back to San Francisco, back to him and leave all of her reservations about him in London. She stared at her already packed luggage-maybe it was that simple.
"What if I do come back and nothing is the same?" Ilsa questioned hesitantly.
"Then we'll see what happens." Chance replied simply. "You want to come back. We want you to come back and there is no reason why you can't do it, so come back."
He says it as if it's the simplest thing in the world. As if he has the solution to all of her problems. As if his voice can solve her problems. She wonders why he has to be such a gentleman, such a good friend when she's done nothing to deserve it. Nothing to deserve the friendship he's offered so willingly, the friendship that was so rocky at first but has since smoothed over and become something stable.
"What about a place to stay?" Ilsa asked him softly.
"Winston kept your old place empty for you." Chance told her softly.
That's all it took. All it took for her to know that it was time to return to San Francisco-to him. It was time to go back to San Francisco and leave every doubt, every fear, every reservation that she's ever had about him, about the business that she invested in, time to leave it in London. It's time to let go of London, remember as a place that introduced her to her husband and made her the successful business woman that she is. It was time to stop using London as a place to run too when things got hard.
"I'll be there by tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll be at the airport waiting for you."
xxx
The airport is crowded. Families reuniting, fathers and husbands coming home from business trips to their wife and kids. It's a lot more crowded than she expected for a Saturday afternoon. She can't help it, the first person she looks for is the one she needs to see the most. She finds him leaning up against the ticket desk. His blue eyes are darker than she remembers them being and even though it's seventy degrees out, he's wearing his leather jacket over his typical t-shirt, this one is army green, and his dark jeans. She sees Winston and Guerrero holding a quiet conversation in chairs a mere four feet from him. Her bag hits the floor and her heels click on the floor as she rushes to him.
"Chance," She can't remember when the tears started pouring but her face is soaked with them by the time she reaches him.
He pushes off of the desk and opens his arms, pulling his hands out of his jeans as he waits for her. She rushes into his waiting arms and buries her face in that familiar spot in his neck. That spot that was the only place she found comfort after being attacked by a dangerous South American assassin. She suddenly finds herself grateful that he loves his leather jacket as her fingers curl around a fistful of leather and cotton and she's clinging to him.
"Hey," She can feel his lips pressing into the top of her head repeatedly, kissing her head and sniffing her hair as if to make sure she's real. "Miss me?"
The sob she's tried so hard to hold back escapes and before she knows it, he's whispering to her, in a soft timbre that's reminiscent of a father whispering to his sick or sleepy child. His voice is rough and soft, a rough baritone yet his words are gentle and tender and his fingers are lost in her hair, tangled in the soft black curls.
"I'm so tired of running, Chance." She sobs into his neck even though she's already told him.
"I know you are." Chance whispers, rubbing her back.
They don't care that they're having this tender, almost intimate exchange in the middle of an airport and that her bags are waiting, that Guerrero and Winston are watching and that she's getting strange looks. None of that mattered. All that she cared about was having him. Holding onto him as if he gave her life.
"I'm through running," She mumbles into his neck, reaffirming what he already knows. "I'm tired of running because I'm afraid of getting hurt."
He knows she's through running because he knows that she doesn't have anywhere else to run. London isn't her home anymore and as much as she'd like too, she can't seem to run from San Francisco, something always brings her back. She's too caught up in the past to run, to afraid that without the past, she'll lose her sense of reality. Of the reality that her only home was with him now. She was at home in San Francisco because he was there.
As much as she may stumble, she stills runs because she wants to protect herself. Even though she runs, she never gets anywhere because she's too caught up in the past. She's too caught up in the reality that, the past she's trying so hard to run from, still comes back to haunt her. Still brings her back to him.
No matter how much she stumbled and inevitably, how much she ran, she'd always come back. Her reality would always be with Christopher Chance.
Basic Concept. It was just sitting on my hard-drive and because I have a week of posting to make up for, I thought I'd post it :) Leave me some love Dolls!
Love you,
RobertDowneyJrLove