Getting her back wasn't supposed to be easy.

But still, it was. Everything fell into place quickly after their talk at the Gull. No matter who they were or what they were doing, it was almost as if the two of them were in tune with each other, like they had their own rhythm and no one, no matter how strong they were, could break it. Nothing had changed between them; they still had a connection.

Maybe that was just the guilt talking.

"How was she like?" Rae's question was unexpected, and it definitely felt like someone had punched him in the gut; or like someone had stabbed him in the chest and then took the chance to twist the knife just because they knew how much that'd make him suffer even more. They never really talked about how their lives used to be before whatever they had happened—or at least Duke's life, because Rae's life and memories weren't even real, to begin with—, but it just felt wrong, like he was using her. It was nagging feeling and it was always in the back of his mind no matter how distracted Duke was. Rae looked, talked and acted like Jennifer; had the same code of ethics, even, but it wasn't her. He loved who Jennifer had became and hated lying to her like that to her, Duke really did, but being honest with her at that moment—when she just had gotten used to Haven—wasn't an option. Maybe in the future, when Haven's madness was something they didn't need worry about.

Their eyes met for the first time in what it felt like an eternity; Duke was being a sentimental fool, he knew that much, but for a moment it seemed like Jennifer was the one talking to him. Then, it was gone again and Rae's hands were finding his, a reassuring beam touching her lips. She brought them to her lips and kissed them tenderly before speaking again, "Sorry. I didn't—you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"She was sweet," It took forever for the words to fall out of his mouth, but they were there hanging in the air. Turned out Duke wanted to talk about and get everything out of his chest for months—everything that wouldn't leave him alone for months. When they were together, even before that, Duke'd rather show Jennifer how much he cared rather than simply saying; Duke Crocker never was good with putting his feelings into words, and when Jennifer came along that only seemed to get even worse, but he wasn't sure whether or not she had gotten the message, and regretted everyday for it, "Had a good heart, y'know? She… wanted to help everyone as much as possible."

In one of those rare moments where Duke wasn't feeling guilt or punishing himself over what happened, he'd try to convince himself that that was probably what got Jennifer killed in the first place. It never worked. Instead, it just made the bad mood come back—and it wasn't like that was hard in the first place.

"You really miss her, don't you?" Duke nodded at the words, looking anywhere but Rae; every time Duke looked at her he remembered how close they were to being with each other again, of how close they were to finding their way into each other's arms and finally beginning the lives the two of them wanted and deserved before. Or at least the future Jennifer deserved; the future that belonged to Duke and Jennifer, not Duke and Rae. It was easy to forget they weren't the same person and the only reason he hadn't called her by the wrong name yet was because she walked around with a gun and always mentioned how she felt naked whenever she had to go somewhere without it. The words came out of her mouth and she was whispering now, her eyes shining and Duke knew those pretty well: tears she was fighting to hold back—he had seen enough of them—and that was only when Duke realized Rae was the only one who knew exactly what he was going through. Maybe that was the reason they were supposed to start everything all over again, because maybe, they were the only ones who could pick up each other's pieces.

"Every day of my life," Pain seemed to join the tears behind her eyes and Duke couldn't quite understand whether Rae was feeling for him, for her or for both of them; wasn't sure if those tears were related to the amount of pain they were sharing, or if simply listening Duke to talk was enough to make her miss her loved one as well. Wasn't sure if that was just the guilt talking; after all, she was the one who had started the conversation, the one who brought the tension into the room and the one who reminded Duke of something he had managed to forget until a few minutes ago. It'd come back eventually, sure, it always came back, but it didn't need to be at that moment, when they were so comfortable curled up against each other.

"I, I know how it feels and well, it sucks a lot," Even though Duke thought it was a good idea to talk about Jennifer to Rae—he wondered if that could trigger any sort of repressed memory—, he didn't really touch the subject. That was a sore spot Duke didn't like picking on very much. It was one of the first times Rae talked about her husband so openly too, but the more Duke heard about him (they were always sharing a bunch of little things that didn't matter in the end of the day), the more Duke wondered if he existed to Rae, the real Rae, whoever she was, or if all of that was just a repressed memory of him. The idea of finding out more about it, finally getting the answers he wanted, was tempting, but the idea of hurting her and instead ending up pushing Rae away wasn't exactly what Duke was looking for either.

It'd take a while to get the answers he wanted—to get the answers he needed, but they'd come back eventually. It always did, one way or another, even when they weren't looking for them.

"Do you think it'll ever get better? For the two of us, I mean," There it was in her voice again; that tone Jennifer'd always use when she was talking about something that happened during the day and upset her deeply, whenever she remembered something her parents had said or done, with pure nostalgia on her voice. It always sounded as if she were about to cry and that wasn't any different then.

Usually, Duke'd lie to her, say whatever she need to listen to make her feel better again and soothe the pain. Maybe even make her forget about it for a few minutes. At that moment though, lying was impossible, "No, I don't think so, no."