Did she make you cry
Make you break down
Shatter your illusions of love
Is it over now - do you know how
Pick up the pieces and go home.
~Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac
Eyal holds his breath when he inserts the needle into Annie's arm. His thumb presses down on the plunger and the blue liquid deposits into her veins. His lungs burn with the anticipation, slamming again the anxiety that this insane plan might not work. That it's already been too long. Time ticks slowly, each beat of his heart thundering in his ears though it's only been seconds. Until she gasps, choking on the air that rushes into her lungs when she takes her first breath.
The breath of a woman reborn.
Eyal closes his eyes and makes a silent prayer.
Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, ha'gomeyl lahayavim tovot, sheg'malani kol tov.
She has come back. He is eternally grateful. The river has returned her to him, if only for this brief moment before she is to leave again. He knows this in his soul––he's lived this same insipid game of cat and mouse long enough to comprehend that these kinds of things are necessary.
Her big eyes widen full. Their hazel gaze frightened and confused, until it lands on him and squeezes his heart to within an inch of its own life. God, he knew the depth of his feelings ran far, but never like this. Just seeing her face, the look of relief and gratitude sears him to the core. His skin shivers. She is irrevocably burned in him, imprinted on his heart. Imbedded in his soul.
The profound realization drowns him in the notion that she will either be his salvation or his end. He's known this for a while now––since he betrayed her and lost a piece of who he was––as much as, he knows he cannot ever hold her, tie her down and keep her protected. Her spirit is too big to be restrained. Her desire to make right what is wrong in the world too great. Maybe once they become old and feeble, they will have a chance to be. Not until then, if then ever occurs, but no sooner. Certainly not with that look of determination in her eyes as the oxygen permeates her blood and she is revived.
"You look terrible." He looks away, his hands still shaking.
"I feel terrible."
Rightfully so, she just woke from the dead.
He cups the back of her head and helps her to sit. He holds out a water bottle. "Here, drink this."
She sips and takes in their position in the van.
"We're alone?" she asks, her voice scratchy from lack of breath. "It worked?"
Eyal cannot help the shake of his head and the reflexive smirk. "After all the times we've had, how could you have any doubt?"
"I never had any doubt." Her joy upon seeing him is pure. That brilliant smile washes over him like a dawning sunrise. "I trust you with my life."
He smiles at that because he knows it's true or she wouldn't have called him in the first place. But the sentiment doesn't reach his eyes as he holds a piece of himself back. He cannot allow her to know how scared he is for her. So he falls back on his wit and charm. The façade he plays so well. "Cleary."
Time is of the essence. He gets her situated outside the van in the darkened street. She is wobbly on her feet from the drug that kept her in suspended animation and the ensuing adrenaline of revival but soon gains her equilibrium. He can't seems to keep his hands from her. The small harmless connection to remind him she is very much there––with him.
The orange glow of the street lamp washes over them like a false comfort. Nothing is right about this. How can it be? She just faked her death to catch a sociopath.
He runs through her list of protocols. New clothing, new ID, passport, money. And a gift because he's always got to keep her off balance, even when she's running for her life––Israeli chocolate––something to remember him by.
He hands her the file on Sana Wilcox and she calls him out on the secret he's been hiding since their last goodbye.
"I thought you quit the Mossad." She says it like she's not all that surprised.
Again he falls back on the flippant sarcasm.
"Why would you ever think that, Neshama?" Only, he can't help but call her that––even though she didn't choose him. Whatever her thing is with her friend Auggie––on or off, she will always be the light of Eyal's darkened soul. She knows him better than he knows himself.
Her amused grin says it all. "I bet you never even got on a boat, did you?"
He could, if he wanted to––he would for her. "I didn't even get out of Europe." A small taste of bitter frustration colors his tone. "Mossad's not big on vacations."
Or a life outside. Clearly, he's still there despite how much he's sacrificed and lost.
"So is this really the end of Annie Walker?" He still asks though he knows it's true, for now.
Her face is full of fear and a little sadness over what she's giving up.
"Yes."
That little word hangs there between them with such finality.
His hands caress her shoulders. He tries to be strong for her though he feels like dying inside.
"Then it gives me great pleasure to be the last one to ever tell you this." His smile grows genuine now, as he looks into her eyes. "You are an amazing woman, Annie."
For a moment she sees right through him. All of it lay bare, wide open before her and her gaze cuts through him like a swift knife. She sees and she knows, he cannot truly hide from her anymore.
She blesses him with a compassionate smile. "I can't thank you enough."
"Thank me next time." His smile falters and he knows even as he says the words, he may never get the chance see her again. "Whoever you'll be."
She hugs him so tight it surprises him and he almost can't stand it. The warmth of her body in his arms. The smell of the night air in her hair against his cheek. She rocks into him and he's afraid he might not be able to let go. All of the things left unspoken between them linger as they always have. Respect, trust, reliance, and way deep down… the thing that neither one of them will put a name to.
But she steps back. And he holds her at a distance, like he has so many times before. He cannot hold her, keep her. She is not his to do so. He pushes her away, keeps her at arms length and tells her, "Go." Before he makes an ass of himself on the street and drops to his knees to beg.
She hesitates for just a second. Her duty winning out over her indecision. What is done is done. The plan has been set in motion and both of them are powerless to stop it now. Both culpable in their duplicity. The only way out is through it, until the bloody precarious end.
She gives him one last look.
He watches her walk away from him––again. This is the third time he's remained; the third time he's watched her stride into danger alone. He who never says goodbyes, he who never makes connections has found one so rooted in him he is rendered powerless. There is nothing left to do but wait until she calls upon him again. He will always come for her.
Always.
"Good bye, Annie."
A/N: The Hebrew blessing for surviving illness or danger translated: "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, Who bestows good things on the unworthy, and has bestowed on me every goodness."
His appearance, albeit brief, deserved a further look. I hope...hope, hope, hope, that he comes back and this won't be the last we see of him. That look, those eyes. It's not over for him. And they must explore that. Or they wouldn't have shown it. I have to believe anyway. :) Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.