-Present-

Catherine has decided, out of blue, that she was tired of renting venues for her yearly charity events and she wants to build one. She wants to build a permanent spot for her events to be held. She put Mary in charge of it. It's going fine.

The building is nearly finished, months into the process and Mary is happy the late, late nights can come to an end at last.

She sighs as she watches Louis take some measurements and then he's headed her way. Yes, Louis Conde, Mary dated him briefly after Francis went to Paris and he left her. A little piece of information she forgot to tell Francis about and it really didn't go over well when he found out she had to work with Louis.

She twists her ring under the table.

"It'll be done and ready in another few weeks." He says as he sets his bag on the table, causing drywall dust to fly up between them and Mary waves it away from her face.
"Good," She says softly, "Because the banquet is in three months."

"Are you sure Catherine should be doing this?"

"Pardon?"

"It's...a pretty expensive project."

"The expense is none of your concern and it isn't my job to question Catherine's decisions." She says as she reaches for her phone. He doesn't say anything just nods, she hears the soft click of a container opening and closing and then nearly falls out of her chair when he reaches for her.

"What are yo-"
"There's drywall dust on your shirt." He says with a smirk and she realizes he's holding a wet wipe in his hand for her and she takes it. He watches her wipe it away and toss it in the bin by the table and then she's grabbing her things to get ready to leave.

"All clean now." Louis smiles and Mary simply narrows her eyes at him. She doesn't say anything to him, she just sighs. He's trying to be nice, civil, a decent human being. She wishes he'd stop, wishes he'd go away. She wishes he wasn't here. She really wishes she wasn't here with him but since she's the one overseeing this process, she has to be.

"Mary, this doesn't have to be weird."

"Louis if you have something to say to me, I hope it has to do with work, if it doesn't I ask that you please don't say it." She says as she grabs her purse and her notes. She twists her ring, an action she's gotten used to doing around him. An action she's sure he sees because she's tired of having to verbalize that she's taken to someone who really doesn't care if she is.

"Mary-"
"No." She says quickly, she takes her leave after that. She has paperwork to do anyways and some last minute changes to go over with Catherine. She doesn't have time to discuss what ifs with an ex who hardly qualifies as an ex.

-/-

The first thing she does when she gets back to her office is check her phone, but there's nothing there. He doesn't text her if she's working, she knows that but she was hoping her screen would light up at some point. Even as she fills out papers and types out emails, her eyes keep going to her phone where it rests on the corner of her desk. It doesn't buzz or blink or ding with life.

Her eyes drift to the picture on her desk, it's recent, Anne and Francis sitting together. Her little girl, the little girl who bumped Mary down to number three on Francis' list of favorite people in the world. She's two now, just celebrating her birthday a few months ago. A little two-year-old with blonde bouncy curls and pretty blue eyes. She looks too much like Francis, it's not really fair how much she actually looks like him. She swears she sees none of herself in her own child. She wonders what she and Francis are doing right now.

She sighs as the hour's tick by and eventually she just calls him.

"Hey." His voice is soft and groggy and she kicks herself for not realizing what time it was.

"Hey, did I wake you?" She asks softly

"You did."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize what time it was…"

"It's okay, I've been needing to talk to you anyways," Francis says softly, "Are you coming to Anne's open house?"

"When?"

"Wednesday, I told you-"
"I know, I just...um." She's pulling out her date book, flipping to Wednesday, "The twenty-third?"

"Mhm." She goes quiet. "I take your silence as a no?"

"I have a meeting with...Munro."

"That's alright." She runs her hand through her hair, she knows that 'That's alright' really means, 'We're used to it.'

"I'm sorry." She says softly, "I'm gonna reschedule."

"No, don't worry about it."

"I'm-"

"Mary, it's fine."

"Let me try."

"It's okay." He says slowly, calmly, but it doesn't feel okay, he never lets her know that. She wonders if one day it really will be too much and he'll blow up on her. There's only been one time he's actually done that. "You'll come next time."

"I'll come next time." She nods, "Okay…" He's quiet for a minute, probably not really sure what to say at this point.

"Mary, go home." He finally says and her stomach churns, not yet used to the change of phrase, no longer is it 'Come home,' now it's 'go home.'

She doesn't like going home when he has Anne because then the house is empty and dark and quiet.

"Francis?"

"Hm?"

"I love you." She says softly.

"I know." He says, "I love you too." This is okay, this is good. They need time apart, just until they can be around each other and not fight. She can't help but think about before. This feels like Paris, but it isn't.
It just feels like it. She hates it.

"Go home, Mary. Get some sleep."

"Okay…"

"I'll call you tomorrow."

-4 Years Ago-

Louis is a decent kisser, she thinks, she doesn't have much to compare him to. She's only ever kissed Francis like this and Francis was good. Maybe that's her problem, being with Francis set the bar too high for any future lovers of hers. She wonders if he feels this way too. She wonders if he thinks about her when he's…

Probably not, the man has probably slept his way through Paris by now in some desperate attempt to rid himself of the scent of her.

Mary shifts, trying to get into it. She runs her fingers over the hard muscles of his back and feels the way they tense and move below the fabric of his shirt. She wills her body to relax, she tries to focus on the things Louis does do and not on the things he doesn't.
How he doesn't gently hold her like she'll break under him, doesn't kiss her cheeks, trailing his lips down her jaw to her neck, doesn't tug on her lip with his teeth, he doesn't move her hair out of the way with a soft swift of his fingers.

Instead, she focuses on the way his fingers clench in her hair like he's holding her in place, the way he grinds into her hips hard; and it might actually feel good if he were being more gentle.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when his hand reaches up her shirt to rest on her breast and she's silently thanking whatever god is out there that he had enough sense to keep his hand over the fabric of her bra. He doesn't notice if she's uncomfortable with it, that invasive little touch from a hand that does not belong to Francis.

She doesn't stop him, they've done this before, they've been on a few dates and she likes him enough to maybe let him go a little further, but he knows about Francis and he knows what he was to her. He's trying to take this slow, as slow as Louis Conde knows how to go. This is snail's pace for him, two months in and he still hasn't had her. Kenna questions her some, but not much, it isn't her usual teasing. She joked about the three date rule, she asked if she was thinking about going all the way with Louis but Mary always dodged the question and Kenna drops it after. She knows. She knows that Mary isn't ready.
Not that she's tried very hard to get ready.

"Louis." She says softly when he finally releases his grip on her long enough for her to break the kiss and turn her head, "Can you...not so hard?" It's soft the way she says it and she takes note of the way his lips tilt up slightly at that.

"Better?" He asks, slowing down and she pulls him back down to her lips, where they meet in a hard collision. He wants her, he's impatient.
His hair is short, and not at all like the thick blonde curls her fingers are used to running through. Maybe that's why this doesn't feel right, none of this feels right. She supposes it's something she'll have to get used to. Considering Francis is gone and never coming back, not to her anyway. Never again to her, she made sure of that when she broke him in the home they shared like he didn't matter to her, but he mattered enough to keep the ring and the hoody he left behind that still kind of smells like him.

The faintest scent of Francis tucked deep in a dresser drawer somewhere in her apartment.

She makes a soft sound of protest when his fingers find the button of her jeans, leaving her breast with a gentle squeeze. He ignores the noise she made, he probably thought it was a whisper of encouragement. His tugs her jeans down a little bit, only a little, just enough to leave room for his fingertips to dip below the waistband of underwear and she's louder now with her protest. That's too much.
Her fingers close around his wrist before he can touch and she stops him.

"No." She says quickly and he stops, pushing himself off her and she scoots to the other end of the couch, ignoring the way he's looking at her and ignoring the way her stomach twists in guilt. She does this every time. Without fail.
It's probably reaching double digits by now. It reminds her how Francis used to do the same thing when she'd try to touch him in the same gentle way he touched her. Like the day in her bedroom when Aylee died and he had to retrieve Mary from the roof and she was just desperate to touch him but he wouldn't let her.
That's what this feels like. She knows how Louis feels.

"Why?" He asks softly and she can see that by now he is frustrated, "Why won't you let me touch you, Mary?" She shrugs. He isn't Francis, but she can't tell him that. He already knows though, that would be her answer because he shakes his head and stands with a huff.

"Because of Francis." He says it less like a question and more like a fact. Like common knowledge, like the whole world knows except Francis.
"Louis-"
"I…" He sighs heavily, he's angry, she doesn't blame him. "I can't keep doing this."

"I-"

"It feels like I'm competing with a ghost." He isn't competing with him if he were he'd be losing. Louis has Mary, Francis is in Paris. But Francis still has Mary in more ways than Louis has had her. They have to break up. That's what's coming.

"I'm sorry." She says softly because she is. This isn't fair to him, she can tell he genuinely cares for her and she can't stop thinking about Francis long enough to care as much as he does.
"What are we doing?" He asks, "Honestly. Tell me, am I just a means of distraction until Francis comes back?"

"He isn't coming back."

"Sure." He scoffs, "He isn't dead, Mary."

"I know."

"And he isn't blind." She doesn't know what to say to that so she stays quiet, "Mary, I...really like you. Maybe even…" Oh, don't use the L word. He shakes his head, "You're an amazing woman and I have never wanted anyone more than I want you."

"I don't know what you want me...to say." She feels like she might cry, there's a bit of a lump forming in the back of her throat.

"I want you to want me back!" He snaps, anger boiling up to the surface and she jumps, she deserves this she knows it. She's been pretty much teasing this guy for months now. "But you won't because I'm not him." She's still quiet, "Mary, I've tried to be supportive and patient but I cannot keep competing with someone who apparently isn't coming back."

"You're not competing with him, Louis. Francis is gone...you have me."

"I have you." He says, "Who were you thinking about five minutes ago? Me?"

"Louis."

"When I was touching you, who were you thinking about? Answer the damn question." She doesn't have to answer, he already knows so she just stares at her hands as she digs at her skin, standing up.

"I loved him, Louis…" She says softly, "I spent almost my entire childhood with him...I don't know what else to tell you."
"It's been how long since he's left and you're still so…" He shakes his head, "If he came back right now, got on a plane right this minute and asked you to be with him, you would dump me faster than he can buy a ticket."
"No-"
"Don't try to deny it, Mary, you know you would." She doesn't say anything. Though the scenario is unlikely, she'd dump him for Francis if he did, in fact, come back for her. He won't.

That's not the point.
"I think you should leave." He says softly, "I think...I think it's time we stop kidding ourselves."

"Louis I-"

"Get out!" He shouts at her, "Just go. Okay? Leave." She scrambles for her things, grabbing her coat and her shoes and she's out of his apartment without another word.
She stands in the hallway too long with her back against the door. Her visions slowly blurring as her eyes fill up with tears. Everything he said was right and he had every right to be angry. But that's not why she's crying, it's been a year and Francis still has this unrelenting hold on her. She can't be with anyone else because it's always going to come down to them not being him. It's not fair, as she said he's probably slept his way halfway through Paris and she can't even have a healthy relationship without wanting him.

Her tears spill down her cheeks and drip on her coat, warm and fast as she walks to her car.

-Present-

She was right, the house is empty and dark and quiet when she twists the key in the lock and opens the door. She sighs as she tosses her keys on the table by the door and kicks off her shoes. It doesn't hurt as badly not seeing his shoes next to hers now, but she feels a little sting at it. It's been a long month, a month of separation that's slowly stretching into two.

Mary doesn't bother turning the lights on, just climbs the stairs to their room. It's funny this house holds so many memories. There's still a hole in the wall by their bedroom from when Bash and Francis were being young and stupid. There's a chip in one of the stairs from when Aylee tripped over her prom dress and nearly broke her arm. Kenna's name is still scratched in the side of the railing. This is the house she used to sit on the roof and have long deep discussions only teenagers could have with her friends. Where they all ended up after Aylee died, where Francis dragged her comforter off her bed and wrapped her in it when she refused to come inside.

The house she sold after Francis left for Paris because she couldn't bear to live in it without him. Her mother's house, where she raised herself, where she grew up almost entirely alone. They found out it was for sale again a few months in when they were looking for a new place. She didn't even have to ask Francis if they could get it, he was already putting down an offer.

It looks a little different now, the previous owners changed the old redwood flooring to a darker wood, the pale yellow walls were switched to a light grey with white trim. Yet, they left the tiny traces of Mary's life here alone, like they knew she'd come back one day.

She wonders if Henri's soccer ball still clings to the storm drain on the roof. She wonders if Margot's plastic barbie doll shoe is still holding onto the shingles.

If the walls could talk she wonders what they'd whisper about when they thought she wasn't listening.

Mary, changes in the dark and slides into bed, not yet used to the way the blankets fall differently on one body when there should be two in this bed. She plugs her phone in and sends a quick text to Francis.

Mary: "Can you tell Anne goodnight for me?" He replies in seconds and she wonders if he's having trouble sleeping again.

Francis: "Of course."

She goes to sleep clutching the pillow that still has a faint scent of him.

A/N: So, here's the sequel to Back To You. Obviously, our favorite little couple is having some issues, Louis' back, Francis and Mary are separated at the moment. Stay tuned to see what got them here.