Part Two

She couldn't be sure how many Fridays had come and gone. There had been far too many refused invitations. Jennifer stopped asking. It was easier to get her work done when no one bothered to speak to her. It was better that way. With no one to talk to, she had no worry about slipping up. No chance of alerting anyone to the truth, her truth. She wasn't even sure she knew the truth anymore.

John had been an acquaintance. A coworker of sorts. Not quite a friend. Certainly not a lover or husband. And yet, the more time that passed, the more she mourned him as such, the more she ached for the loss of something that had never been, something that never would have been, something that he'd probably meant as another of his odd jokes to ease the tension of impending death. Of course, he'd thought it was his impending death, not hers. Not neither. He fully expected one of them would be dead. If she ever saw him again, she'd greet him as a long lost lover. He'd think she'd lost her damn mind. But no.

His tears.

He loved her. That was what he'd been trying to say. She'd heard him loud and clear in the silence. In the kiss. They'd never needed words. They'd always had that innate connection.

And sometimes, like as she drove to work on a Thursday, she told herself that connection wouldn't fail her. She'd know if he was dead. She'd just know. Part of her would be dead. But then, she wasn't convinced she wasn't dead. How would she know? And if their connection was as strong as she wanted it to be, he should have known that she wasn't dead and would have come looking for her a long time ago. She was in a quiet, lonely, empty purgatory with only her thoughts, her memories, her imagination to keep her company.

As she headed home that night, she thought once again about calling her handler. She wasn't sure anymore that certain death could be any worse than perpetual uncertainty.

The loud pop made her shriek, a noise she'd never made even in her jumpiest moment in Jennifer's company. There was no time to be embarrassed, not as the car veered sharply to the left. Instincts resurfaced, allowing her to regain control of the car and ease it slowly into the left shoulder. She felt good, excited, alive. For a long moment, she reveled in it. The waning adrenaline rush, the multiple explanations for what might have caused the flat running though her mind as though it was a case for her to solve.

In that breath, she was Joss.

Not a witness, not a soulless body going through the motions. It gave her energy. It gave her happiness. It gave her a reason to be alive, a purpose, like she had given John all those years ago. Joss wasn't dead; she was sleeping, hibernating, waiting for the right time to reemerge from her protective cave.

And for some inexplicable reason, she was suddenly convinced that John was very much alive, that he could feel her too, that he knew she was still alive the same way she knew he was. Their bond was real; it had been mutual, after all. Instantaneous and reciprocal. He'd certainly felt it every bit as much as she had.

With a smile on her face, she climbed out of the car to pull the spare from the trunk. The blowout, she knew, had been her fault. They'd given her a car, a used, late-model sedan. But she'd been sleepwalking since then and had failed to do any maintenance, any follow up; she hadn't even given it a once over. Hell, even standing there at her trunk she wasn't even sure of the make and model. She usually just walked towards wherever she thought she'd left it and clicked her key fob at every silver car until one unlocked.

So the flat was her fault, and she was willing to accept that blame, do the penance by changing the tire in the drizzle that was falling while wearing her khaki work slacks and limp to the next service station on the donut for a replacement.

The empty trunk, however, that was her dumbass handler's fault. Bastard needed her testimony so much that she didn't merit a spare. Fuck. Being a cop was too dangerous, he'd told her, but driving around in an unsafe car was an acceptable risk apparently.

Fuck.

She would have kicked something, except her feet were going to suffer enough walking in her pumps. As if to laugh at her, the rain intensified, matting her hair to her face.

Fucking hell.

She locked the car, carefully crossed to the right shoulder, and started walking. Perhaps the most disappointing thing was that she'd paid such little attention to her surroundings in those months that she honestly didn't know where the closest repair shop was.

Twenty minutes of walking along a sidewalk-less state highway in heels, picking her way through trash and debris and roadkill in the now pouring rain, felt like an hour and left her in a thoroughly horrendous mood. It was just one more of those things that never, ever would have happened to her at home. First of all, there would have been a spare. Secondly, it wasn't possible to walk twenty minutes in any direction in New York City without finding a business or public transportation. And lastly, she had absolutely no doubt John would have pulled up beside her in a luxury car and offered her a ride within a block.

Shivering, she finally reached an intersection. There were two gas stations, both with service bays, both open. One was a chain, located on the same side of the road as her, certain to overcharge the shit out of her. The other looked slightly dilapidated, displaying several ancient rusting wrecks blocking one of the two garage doors, across the diagonal of the intersection from her. She'd have to cross two streets to get there and more than likely get ripped off just as badly. The aching balls of her feet and torn blisters on her heels told her to go to the closer of the two.

And yet, she found herself crossing the street in the other direction, her unhappy feet responding to an instinct she couldn't identify.

The hole-in-the-wall was less likely to have cameras, she reminded herself, less chance of anyone ever finding her, and with the way she'd pushed her sopping hair back, there'd be no way to obscure her face. Cameras were dangerous. Whatever was left of HR could still be looking for her, scanning every camera on Earth with facial recognition software, and somehow would easily find her in a Sunoco in the middle of nowhere.

The tiny station was in worse shape close up, reeking of gasoline, oil, and god-only-knew what else. The guy at the counter was even filthier and missing both of his front teeth.

"What can I do you for?" He asked, his eyes slowly dragging down her body, appreciating the curves her wet clothes didn't hide.

Grimacing, she folded her arms over her chest to hide what she could. "I got a flat."

He reluctantly glanced over her shoulder. "Where's the car?"

"About a mile up." She nodded in the direction from which she'd come.

He smiled then, an altogether unpleasant expression. "Then you'll need a tire and a tow." He shook his head suddenly. "No can do until morning, though, I'm closed."

She turned, obviously eyeing the door that was propped open and the still lit open sign hanging in the window. She shrugged and cursed her instincts for making her waste extra time and energy. "Ok, sorry to bother you." Sunoco it was, apparently.

She hadn't made it more than a step when he spoke again. "Course Jimmy don't mind working late sometimes and you're awfully pretty. Let me ask him."

She really didn't like the way he made her feel like he was doing her a favor, but as the miserable rain's intensity increased into a deluge and a rumble of thunder threatened to deafen her, she smiled despite herself. "I'd appreciate it, thanks."

The man disappeared through the door connecting the store front to the garage, reappearing a minute later. "He's still working on another car, but he'll take care of you if you can wait a bit."

With a quick glance at the downpour and a bright flash of lightning, she slumped into the stained orange vinyl chair that had probably not been clean since it arrived brand new in 1971. "No, no, I'm fine with waiting." It was true, because for some reason, she had no compulsion to move. Even the decades of dirt and the lecherous smile of the proprietor didn't bother her any more.

Maybe she was tired.

Maybe it was because she didn't really have anywhere to go.

Maybe, she told herself, she was simply getting high off all the chemical fumes.

Reaching for her purse, she looked up. "Should I settle up now?"

The greasy man shook his head. "Gotta know how far he has to tow you first."

"It's really not that far," she argued. "I walked here."

His eyes moved over her chest again, admiring her shape once again. "I noticed."

He moved toward the outer door, pushing it closed and turning the lock before switching off the open sign. For a moment, her heart raced, her body preparing for a fight, fear settling in. She hadn't heard any noise from the garage where Jimmy was supposedly working. As far as she knew, Jimmy was a figment of this guy's imagination and he'd just locked her in with him.

And there was Joss again, her muscles tightening, ready to fight off her attacker.

It wasn't necessary in the end, as he didn't glance in her direction. He turned away, pushing through the swinging door into the garage. She heard him calling out to Jimmy a reminder not to forget to lock up when he left. She didn't hear a response.

Settling back into the filthy chair, she stretched out her feet. Although a gas station tended not to be the most relaxing place in the world, the pounding of the rain, coupled with the walk, calmed her considerably. Her eyes drifted closed as she took a deep breath and let herself sink further against the back of the chair. Even with her sore feet and wet clothes, she was comfortable. She could drift off to sleep, she knew, if she had enough time. It was tempting, considering her level of exhaustion since her relocation was off the charts, but she couldn't. The dreams, nightmares, memories – they'd come back and she knew she would wake up with the awful sight of him crying over her fresh in her mind.

No, no sleeping. It was best to keep herself awake as much as possible, to keep her real self at bay, to spare poor Jimmy the trouble of dealing with her hysterical over the loss of something she'd never had with a man she'd never get over.

But even as she sat there, semi-conscious and thoroughly relaxed, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She felt eyes on her. His eyes, she'd swear; a nervous yet not unwelcome feeling of anticipation creeping into her body. She must have fallen asleep after all, because there was no other explanation. It would be a nice change, she decided, to have a pleasant dream of him for once. She wanted to enjoy it.

Still, the instincts wouldn't let her be. She reluctantly pried one eye open, promising herself she'd just take a quick peek to assure herself that she was alone, and then she'd happily go back to her dream. Instead, she found Joss' instincts were still dead on, somehow having known someone was there despite his silent arrival. Her mouth dropped open in shock, a smile forming even as she told herself she was definitely still dreaming.

There he was, standing before her, the same imposing height, the same commanding presence, even the same overgrown hair and unkempt salt and pepper beard he'd had the first time they'd met.

~
those eyes
damn them
more addicting that any street drug known to man
just like heroin, the first hit was enough to suck her in
despite his attire, despite the filthy worn out clothes, despite the stench of alcohol radiating from the homeless man, she was drawn in from the first glance
even then, she'd felt his gaze like a touch, a caress, an embrace
his beard hiding what might have been a smile as she attempted to befriend him
but his eyes gave it away
the creases in the corners
he felt it too
she hadn't understood it at the time
he could have shut down, denied her his voice, his prints, his time
but he didn't
he played along
toyed with her, the warmth in his eyes giving away how much that tiny bit of human connection had meant to him
he'd given her his prints without a fight
the only thing he'd given her freely in the long tug-of-war that ensued
their little power struggle
they'd both lost
or won
hard to tell
they kept up appearances, even with each other
except he'd broken finally, when it was too late
she'd seen his tears, his panic, his fear
his love
those eyes held a world of feeling
those god forsaken beautiful eyes

Except it was all wrong.

Those eyes, those playful, mischievous, teasing, tempting, mesmerizing, icy blue eyes that had always, always melted with affection when he looked at her, were missing. Those eyes that had always belied the cold, angry monster he tried to pretend to be when he wasn't helping little old ladies cross the street – they weren't looking back at her. This man's eyes were blue, alright, but they held no mirth or recognition or life. The shiver that ran through her chilled her to the bone more effectively than the cold rain had. She might as well have been staring into the eyes of a dead man. A dead John Reese.

No, it wasn't a dream. It was a damn nightmare and she wanted it to end.

Blinking back the tears that had started to form at the hope of a reunion and refusing to give into the new ones that threatened at the sudden absence of that hope, she glanced at the patch affixed to the grease stained jumpsuit he wore. Gus. Not John. Not even Jimmy. Who the fuck was Gus? Was he even real or a combination of reality and her nightmare?

"You've got a flat?" His voice was gruff and harsh, but not entirely unreminiscent of John's. It sent another shiver through her.

She tried to force a friendly smile while she nodded. No sense pissing off the only thing between her and a long, wet walk home. "Jimmy?"

He jerked his head toward the garage. "Truck's this way." He disappeared through the door without another word, leaving her to assume she was supposed to follow him.

She wasn't sure following a figment of her imagination was a good idea, but she didn't see any other options. Everyone had a double out there, that was what people said, wasn't it? Who could have guessed that John Reese's doppelganger was a grease monkey on the outskirts of Pittsburgh? She'd have to tell him about it someday, provided she ever saw him again.

The truck was already running, Jimmy impatiently gunning the engine. As much as she might want to stare at him and pretend he was someone else, he clearly had other plans. He was staying late to do her a favor, after all, probably putting off his own life, a girlfriend, a wife, a family. Something. Somewhere he'd rather be. Not that she could blame him. There were about a million places she'd rather be herself. Most of them with Jimmy's twin.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled open the passenger door and climbed up into the seat beside Jimmy. The heater was blasting already, fogging up the windows, choking her with the scent of oil and grease and something else, something decidedly masculine, something so familiar it made her ache. She wanted to suck it in, inhale it so deeply she might never smell anything else. Instead she reminded herself it wasn't really him and reached for the window controls, shocked for a minute when she stared at the old crank handle.

"Is it ok if I open the window?" She usually looked at people when she spoke to them, it always helped her determine if they were honest, but she wanted to continue to delude herself on some level that she was sharing the cab with John and she knew if she looked at him, the man beside her would be a regular, greasy mechanic type leering at her and not the spitting image of the man she loved. So while her head turned toward him, her eyes remained down, letting herself believe there was something familiar about the stained gray uniform.

"It's broken."

Every word hurt. The gruff tone was gone, replaced by the voice she'd know anywhere. How could someone look so much like him, sound so much like him, and not be him?

Swallowing hard, she nodded. Obviously, none of it was real. She'd had a bad day and her unconscious was trying to make it better by summoning up someone who'd always made her bad days better.

"Where to?"

She had to look. She couldn't resist. Even if it ruined her little pretend world. His voice had kept her his captive for all those months she'd chased him, when his teasing drove her crazy with how much she wanted more of it. And still, the profile, the face, it was so very much his.

Yet the eyes that looked back at her clearly felt nothing. Definitely not him. John had never been able to hide his emotions, not from her. Her heart was breaking all over again.

Her chin trembled as she turned away. Speech was beyond her, the lump in her throat threatening to dissolve into tears. Her gazed fixed out the foggy window and she saw the other gas station, the one she wished like hell she'd chosen. Some instincts she had, only good for causing her more pain. As though she didn't have enough already. Unable to speak, she pointed to the left.

Of course it took no time at all in the truck to retrace her steps, which was merciful for both of them. She wasn't the only one eager to escape the situation apparently, because as soon as he'd confirmed it was her car, Jimmy jumped out before the truck had completely stopped moving. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself to get through the next few minutes, she met him behind her car.

"Spare in the trunk?"

"If I had a spare, I could have changed it myself."

She watched him, her eyes riveted by the face no matter how much pain she knew it would cause her in the long run. She saw the dread wash over him, an expression she'd never seen on John's face. She'd known Jimmy didn't want to be there anymore than she did, but suddenly she realized that she was getting something out of it, at least seeing a face she desperately missed. He, however, looked very much like he wished he'd refused to help.

She wanted to say something, anything, but words were failing her. So she said nothing.

He nodded at her car. "Put it in neutral, then get back in the truck." He headed for the back of the truck, pulling a heavy chain free and squatting down to attach it to something under her car.

Doing as she was told – she'd never been one to resist that voice anyway – she waited in the truck for him to return and tried to mentally prepare herself the ride back. The rain intensified, pounding on the hood and fogging up the windows while she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She twisted around in her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of her missing companion, wondering what the hell was taking him so damn long and hoping she wouldn't have to go back out in the rain. The paranoid tendencies that had kept her alive so many times as a cop were telling her something was wrong. She adjusted the rearview mirror until she caught sight of him, the familiar stranger who probably had no idea he was killing her. Or maybe he did.

Because he was staring at her.

As far as she could see through the deluge and misty windows, Jimmy was just standing there, staring at her. The car was attached to the truck, front wheels lifted off the ground. And he was still standing there staring. He had to know she had caught him because she felt the almost palpable charge shoot through her body when her eyes caught his in the mirror.

Her heart skipped a beat, her instincts going crazy with indecision. Either she'd been right initially and something was very, very wrong or…

Something was very, very right.