Sue Ellen Ewing battled against the craving for a drink, one sip alone would be Dutch courage enough to face her husband. Dignity – or, as much as she could muster – in every step that brought her closer to him; her hands manically loosened and tightened the grip on her purse like a nervous twitch. Her hazel eyes preyed on his form, slumped and stretched over two white wicker porch chairs. His jacket had been draped over the back of one and his tie had been loosened from underneath his chin, while his eyes gazed off into the distance, as if he were far removed from the tragic reality of his brother's death.

"I shouldn't have left after the funeral," she shrugged her shoulders, whole-heartedly ashamed of herself. She convinced herself that why didn't matter, so long as it meant she wouldn't have to explain her behaviour and a simple admission would suffice. "It was wrong."

His refusal to meet her eye was a dismissal of her presence, his verbal response the only acknowledgement. "You should've thought about that before you deserted the family." In light of the circumstance, it wouldn't have killed her to show an essence of loyalty - if not to him, then to his family.

Sue Ellen decided to let the remark slide and stood her ground, "It was a mistake." The funeral may have been a small and intimate affair but oilmen thrived on scandal almost as much as their socialite wives, and the rumour that Mrs. J.R. Ewing had been accompanied by Clayton Farlow's son would spread faster than Marilee Stone's legs in the process of hazing a fresh face into the oil business.

"Little late to apologise, isn't it?" J.R. clicked his tongue; the damage to his reputation had been done, not to mention the wound on his ego. The presumption that Sue Ellen would stand by him in times of tragedy, regardless of their marital failings, had been crushed and J.R. discovered himself in the rather unusual position of the fool.

"J.R., you're not the only one who's hurting." Her voice remained so calm as she softly reprimanded him, reminiscent of the tone a teacher would use to scold a small and inexperienced child. "Bobby was very special to me, too." He was floating on an ocean of self-pity, the very way he had done after Jock's passing. The history between them back then had prevented Sue Ellen from diving into the storm and dragging him to safety, but she recognised Bobby's death may be the nudge they needed to rescue the sinking ship that was their marriage.

He was mildly comforted by the reassurance of her affection for Bobby, and flicked his head, "He wasn't your brother."

It was with every particle of self-control that Sue Ellen refrained from reaching out and consoling him, mainly for fear of further rejection. "I loved him." Somehow, it seemed as if she spoke those words for the both of them; J.R. had never been comfortable with public, verbal displays of affection, even to those closest to his heart.

Finally, J.R. swung his head toward her with a stern expression, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Perhaps, she hoped he would be so blinded by loss that he would forgive her betrayal. If that was the case, she would be sorely mistaken.

"Don't you think I share your pain?" She momentarily faltered, losing her patience, not that anyone would have noticed since her voice didn't even rise a decibel. Her anger wasn't born from bitterness, or his mocking her attempt to reconcile but from her frustrated concern for his state of mind. There he sat, like a little boy lost, and if only he would open himself up to her, the loneliness wouldn't overwhelm and consume him so.

"Oh, I won't let you," he snapped, his response quick as lightening, and his eyes flared in a dare for her to challenge him a second time. "We haven't shared anything in a long, long time, Sue Ellen; not my love, or my bed, or the responsibility for John Ross." J.R. scoffed, as he overlooked her still-enviable figure. Yet, she was downtrodden, a shadow of the Texas beauty queen he had fallen for. "What's left?"

Sue Ellen's lips twitched, resentful of those unforgiving eyes. Grief held a vicious grip on people, shining light on the ugliest traits so often hidden away and J.R.'s beastly characteristics lay just beneath the surface. "We could help each other," she offered, her voice the epitome of genuine. Surely, this was not where their marriage was destined to end; in the wake of Bobby's death, when emotions ran so high. If she had any real power over her fate, this was the moment to harness it.

There was an underlying temptation to bury himself in Sue Ellen but his resentment ran too deep. Sue Ellen's misguided decision to appoint Dusty Farlow as her plus-one to Bobby's funeral was just another crack in their marriage. "Go back to your bottle, that's the only help you need." Like respect, loyalty is a provision that comes hand-in-hand and, in recent weeks, when J.R. had needed her the best - in the critical moment of John Ross' appendicitis and Bobby's death - Sue Ellen had been absent, presumably in favour of the one love affair J.R. simply couldn't beat – the bottle.

Her eyes widened in defensive horror, "I haven't been drinking!" Lord only knew, the temptation had increased considerably since the start of the conversation.

Any admiration for her had dissipated, replaced with only disdain. "The day's young yet." Animosity swept between them like an unforeseen hurricane and Sue Ellen abandoned any hopes of a bittersweet reconciliation. Tail between her legs, Sue Ellen bowed her head and turned toward the house; if she couldn't pay her respects too J.R., she at least needed to explain herself to Miss Ellie. J.R. snapped his head in her direction, "Where're you going?"

The question delayed her slow and mournful walk away from him, "I have to see Miss Ellie."

"Don't even think about it," he warned. The Ewing family stood by one code of honour in times of trouble - all for one, and one for all. If he couldn't rely upon Sue Ellen, then his family couldn't either.

"J.R., please," she swivelled on the spot to implore him. Her voice cracked a little and Sue Ellen wasn't too proud to beg, if necessary. "I'm sorry."

"You're a terrible embarressment, Sue Ellen. Nobody 'round here wants to see you." This time, J.R. couldn't ignore the glistening tears in her hazel eyes and his voice softened somewhat, even if his words delivered a harsh dismissal. "You're sinking, honey, and you're dragging me down with you. I can't allow that to go on, not for my sake or my son's." One of the paramount lessons in life, which his father had beaten into him, was the law of evolution; in order for the strongest to survive, the weak must be allowed to die, and Sue Ellen was most definitely one of the weak. As essential as a mother was for his son, what kind of mother could she be with the death-grip her addiction had over her?

The torment of her failure paralysed Sue Ellen and her bottom lip quivered, "He's my son, too." She doubted her maternal ability as much as J.R. did, if not more, but the fact remained that John Ross was her only child.

J.R. replied to his wife with his most unsympathetic look, disconnected from the undeniable evidence of her broken, disheartened remains. "He doesn't have a mother. I don't have a wife. You don't exist." The devastation of his cruel exile provoked Sue Ellen to bow her head in shame, but J.R. refused to relinquish the power he had over his submissive. "You're just a bad memory that doesn't know when to go away." The final blow winded Sue Ellen and, as he turned away in ignorance of her heartbreak, J.R. listened to the fast-paced click of her heels, as she abandoned him again and his world filled with a deathly silence once more.

"Where's Sue Ellen going?" Pam had momentarily escaped the chaos of consolation, and the intrusive sympathetic stares, in enough time to see the blur of navy blue eclipsed behind the evergreen bush planted on the edge of Southfork's elognated driveway. Then, there was the rare emotion of regret etched onto J.R.'s face.

"I don't know and I don't care."

A formidable flash of red, hot anger exploded onto Pam's face. "Do you need to be so cruel, J.R.?" It was out of respect for Bobby that she had refrained from reprimanding him for his cold shoulder toward Sue Ellen at the funeral, which even she had noticed in the midst of her grief. She had never liked J.R. and Bobby's death did nothing to change her opinion. She had endured the wake at Southfork, after the private funeral, only in devotion to Miss Ellie and Pam suddenly wished she had accepted Jamie's earlier offer of a ride home. "This may come as a surprise to you, J.R., but you're not the only one hurting. We're all here today because we loved Bobby and, no matter the problems between you, that includes Sue Ellen!"

Antagonised by her interference, J.R. leapt to his feet and turned on her with a heinous snarl. "After the way you treated my brother, ripped his child from him, you are in no position to lecture me about my marriage!" Her do-gooder imitation had ruffled his feathers from the day Bobby brought home the baby Barnes. She went against all the Ewing name stood for.

"After the way I –" His words had riled her beyond the point of no return and Pamela clenched her fists, furiously. "After the way I treated him? Bobby and I would have never divorced, if it weren't for all your dirty little tricks! You're the one who manipulated Katherine into helping you, too. It was under your influence that she wrote that letter and, when she realised that we could never be parted, she went insane and tried to kill me!" Discovered on Katherine's body had been her falsified identification of 'Rebecca Blake' and a key to an apartment, where the police had located a collection of diaries circa 1983, from the day their mother returned to Dallas, to the day Katherine died. The hatred, envy and bitterness were as clear as the unnamed third party that was J.R. Ewing and Pamela reconciled how easily J.R. guided an unhinged woman's to murderous intentions. First Kristin, then Katherine...

His ears diligently pricked at her words and J.R. witnessed her face fall, as she heard her own words, ignorant of a filter. "Never be parted?" He faithfully recited the phrase and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Are you telling me that the reason that maniac you called a sister murdered my brother is because he was stupid enough to fall prey to your advances a second time?" The criminality of his brother's death knocked J.R. sideways and he shook his head, as he looked to the cloudy grey skies, "Oh, Bobby, I always knew you were a fool..."

Panic suffocated her heart and Pam inched closer to him, "Think what you like, J.R., but if you breathe one word of this to anyone, most of all Jenna, I will come looking for you." No one could possibly understand, most would brand it a "betrayal" and Bobby's memory would be tainted, and all for what? What could have been...

Pam returned inside and he slumped back into the wicker chair, wondering what it was his baby brother had ever seen in that damn Barnes woman.