A/N:
Dear Readers, thank you to all who read and reviewed. This is the first story I have ever written, and the kind comments were appreciated. Thanks.
She has been abandoned.
And that, she feels, is the worst kind of betrayal. And it cuts like a knife through her chest—leaving no visible wound behind, but drawing a distrust in its place, portrayed by fearful glances, and a separation that can be caused by nothing else.
Every day—every single day—she expects him. She waits for a call, a visit, beer and conversation that had once been expected. But she is secretly relieved he does not appear, she is slightly afraid that he will appear, and her anger will be just as sudden, bringing violence that she will later regret.
She does not trust herself to keep her temper. And after days and days, she gives up on him (just a little).
She isn't sure at the fairness of it all. They were both convicted—they were in this mess together, and there was a connection in that. But his face, colored in amazement at her shackles, crosses her mind often, and it is that, and only that, that keeps her from hating him.
Because despite the arguing voices in her head, she knows his intentions were clear.
So when life has settled some, and she is out of that interrogation room (what were you thinking, Kono?) and back in the field (where she belongs), and she tells him that she couldn't have asked for better backup, she means it. But she wants to watch the insecurity cross his face at her slight mockery, and have him believe that he has been forgotten too. She can't though—she isn't quite that cruel.
She doesn't want to forgive him. She doesn't. Because he had promised ohana, and if a man cannot even keep a promise of family (of the truest kind), then how can that man be trusted for anything? She is not sure of the answer anymore ( or much of anything), and that is why she is so cautious around him.
But now there is forgiveness (or tolerance) and there is northern jungles and missing friends and daring rescues. And it is after he is found, that she is confused, because the expression on his face has nothing to do with a heart palpations, that his partner so describes. It is one of intense concentration and it is this exact crazed face that sends a spike of fear through her, because she knows that he will do anything to find what he is looking for (No, Dad, no, and something to with the truth, a whole lot of revenge and very little justice).
And she is so damn frustrated, because she can't rescue him like she wants to.
Because the blonde has taken her place (in work and a little in him) and is busy on a combat helicopter somewhere, too weak to handle the things that she can. But he is back now—safe, rescued, humbled, and she isn't sure what he means by that.
But she is good undercover—good at the flirting and the taunting and the rush that comes with the effects of being someone else, and not having any consequences that come with her usual actions. She is good at pretending.
That he never broke her heart. That he didn't abandon her. So she pastes a smile on, and pretends to like the blonde, and pretends to trust the man with the black hair and the big muscles and the strength to break. And life goes on.
But she doesn't forget, even if he did.