A/N: Ok, people really shouldn't encourage me because then I just keep going! :P This is my 50th story and I decided to celebrate by writing another story in my AU because I love it :) I possibly have one more in this universe up my sleeve, if people are interested?
Thanks for all the encouragement, I love you all - you're awesome!! xo
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
One Last Time
Michael had been longing to come back ever since he had first stepped foot in his new apartment in London. That had been four years ago and the day of his return had finally arrived.
Only he wasn't returning, not really.
Jim Wentworth was returning, briefly, on a business trip. Michael Jardine was going to hope like hell that he didn't bump into anyone he knew.
This had proved a much simpler exercise than he had imagined, although he was assaulted by memories at almost every turn, he managed to avoid all his old haunts. He had all ready trained himself not to look for Jackie around every corner and not to call her just to hear her voice as he had done in the past, back when he was Michael. Though, being back in Glasgow, that training had been sorely tested. Several times he had caught himself directing his steps towards her door.
It was because of his success in avoiding the temptation to seek her out and managing to make it through the week without being recognised that he decided to reward himself.
Perhaps it was a strange reward that led him to the cemetery and he was pretty sure his new colleagues would find it strange if they knew how he was spending their last few hours in Glasgow. But he had to visit Jim Taggart's grave; something he had tried to do at least once a year, sometimes more often, when he had been Michael. It was how he showed his respect for the older man and how he unwound when he was tense; somehow being by Taggart's grave gave him perspective.
He had never told anyone about this little ritual of his, although he was pretty sure Jackie suspected. Therefore he was confident that he wouldn't encounter anyone he knew whilst he was there.
And he was correct, for the most part. Perhaps he would have remained correct and ignorant of how close he had come to being discovered had he not been seized by curiosity to visit his own grave.
To say it was eerie seeing his own name carved into the headstone would be an understatement. It even brought a tear to his eye as he thought that when he did die, he would be buried with his new name, his new identity.
He would be forever grateful for the fact that in the four years he had been gone he hadn't forgotten the particular cadence of Jackie's footfalls. That knowledge was the only thing that broke him from his reverie and alerted him to the fact that it wasn't just another visitor to the cemetery approaching; it was someone he should avoid at all costs.
No matter how much he might want to stay and see her.
He had only just managed to hide himself behind a particularly grand tombstone when she came into view. At first he couldn't believe it was really her he was seeing and not just the phantom Jackie he had seen around London and in his dreams. But as he took a closer look he noticed how she had changed. She looked a little older and more careworn than he remembered her.
He watched as she crouched near the grave, clearing away some of the older flowers and replacing them with the news one she had brought. He was touched that the ease of her actions denoted practice, as though this was something she had done many times before.
He was so busy drinking in her features, committing them to memory and enjoying the unexpected pleasure of seeing her that he jumped when she said his name. At first he thought she had seen him, but he relaxed when he realised that she was in fact addressing the tombstone, talking in subdued tones, much like the ones he used to 'talk' to Jim Taggart.
He hadn't been her best friend all those years for nothing, however, and it pained him to hear the suppressed emotion in her voice. Not for the first time he wished he truly was lying under that tombstone. At least then he wouldn't be hiding in the shadows, watching the woman he loved and being powerless to reach out to her.
All too soon her visit was over and she got to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes that he hadn't even realised she'd shed. He held his breath as she reached out and squeezed the top of his tombstone with the same easy familiarity she used to squeeze his shoulder.
"Good bye, Michael," she said, so softly he almost didn't catch the words from his hiding place. He watched as she turned and walked away; he waited until she was out of sight, before whispering his own farewell.
He moved to a nearby bench to collect his thoughts and to give Jackie a few minutes to leave before he followed her out.
He had hoped that by coming to the cemetery he would get some kind of closure. Now he wasn't so sure he had gotten what he'd come for, but he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't trade seeing Jackie one last time, even if it was from a distance, for anything.