The snow is past Nora's ankles as she trudges through the streets of Chicago. She can't help but glower at the white stuff. No matter how many Nor'easters she's dealt with growing up in Pennsylvania and all the storms she's seen living in the mid-west, she still hates it.
The cold weather has caused many of the inhabitants to take to the buildings so the streets are mostly empty. The random stragglers who remain lurk in the shadows. She's not too concerned about them, except perhaps for their well-being if they decide to get in her way. She's so pissed off right now that she could probably take on a whole troop of Militia and win. She had made the trek from Pontiac to Chicago in order to secure weapon parts and some ammo. Her supposed ally had upped and left, clearing out his supply as well. Now, she is stuck in the cold and hasn't achieved her goal. She refuses to go back to Pontiac empty handed. For now, though, she needs to find a place to stay for the night, and in the morning she was going after Potter.
She can see a group of people clustered on the steps of what looks like an old hotel. As she gets closer, she sees the faded sign that reads The Grand. Sounds perfect. She silences the whistles of the men with a cold glare and storms past them into the building. It's slightly warmer inside due to the candles lit all over the place. The check in desk seems to have been turned into a bar. Even more perfect. She glances over the group assembled at the counter and the surrounding tables, then steps up to the bar and collapses onto a stool with a soft sigh. The bartender eyes her appreciatively but she lets it slide. He seems harmless enough.
"Need something doll?"
"Whatever's warm."
"Lucky for you, that's all we have sweetheart." he reaches for a glass, pours some whiskey and slides it towards her. She refrains from making a face-it's not her type of drink at all-but at least it will warm her up. She downs the glass, holding back a cough, and pushes it back to him. He refills it and this time she sips it slowly. He leans his elbows on the bar, grinning widely-and showing off the remaining teeth he has. "What's a pretty thing like you doin' out here all alone? No worries, their loss might be my gain."
She lifts her eyebrows in a, 'yeah sure try your best' gesture and brings the glass to her mouth once more.
"Roscoe, I said to watch the bar, not make weak attempts at hitting on my customers."
The new voice-the familiar voice has Nora choking on her drink, dribbling whiskey down her lower lip. She quickly wipes her mouth and tries hard not to look up as Miles slides behind the bar and takes a long sip out of a glass near the non-functioning sink. Oh God, what is he doing here?
"No reason I can't do both." the man, Roscoe, chuckles. He winks at Nora, who smiles weakly.
"For your troubles." Miles holds out a bottle of tequila, making Roscoe whoop happily.
"Jesse, you might just be my best friend." He moves from behind the bar and situates himself on a stool, slumping over the counter with a sigh, hugging the bottle as it if was his first born.
"Sorry 'bout that. Hard to find good help these days." Nora realizes Miles is speaking to her and nods silently, hoping he'll just go away. When the hell did he settle in Chicago? When the hell did he become a bartender? She had heard rumors that General Matheson had disappeared from the Militia. She wonders about that. "Need anything else?"
She shakes her head quickly, keeping her eyes on the glass.
"Hey," he leans down slightly, trying to catch her eye. "You okay? If he got you upset, I'll be more than happy to punch him for you. I've needed a good reason for a while now."
She finally lifts her head and his smirk dissolves into a surprised expression. He quickly recovers, a composed look forming on his face. Her heart is pounding as their eyes meet. She's missed him.
The last thing Miles expects is for Nora to walk in. He didn't even know she was in Chicago. He wracks his brain, trying to remember the last update he got from Billy. Now that he thinks about it, it has been a while. She could have been right under his nose for months. He gazes at her for a long moment, chest aching. It's been four years since he last saw her. He's heard rumors that she's helping the resistance but he's not sure he believes that. She looks different-a little thinner, her hair pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail. But it's still Nora. As he stares at her, he can't help but think, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." -he always was a closet classic movie fan.
"Uh... hi," he mutters lamely.
"Hi," her voice is just as soft. Then she squares her shoulders, regaining a neutral attitude. Clearly no one knows who he really is so she's not going to wreck that for him. "I'm fine, thank you. You don't need to punch anyone. This is a hotel?"
"Somewhat."
"Do you have any rooms?"
"Yeah."
"Good." she drains the rest of the glass and stands from the stool.
"Roscoe," Miles lets out a whistle and the drunkard lifts his head with a mumble. "Watch the counter. I'll throw in a bottle of Jack."
"Whatever you say Jesse." they switch places and Miles leads Nora down a hallway and up a set of stairs. She glances around- there is no one. They are far from the bar now that no one would hear them.
"Jesse?" she questions, an eyebrow quirked.
"Trying to keep a low profile." he pulls a key out of his pocket and stops at a set of double doors, unlocking them. "Here,"
They step inside and she makes a quick analysis. The bed is unmade, clothes strewn over the arm chair and sofa. She turns slowly to face him.
"Someone is staying in here."
"Only when he's not tending bar."
"This is your room?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not-"
"Nora, trust me." he cuts her off quickly with a wave of his hand. Honestly, he's not quite sure why he brought her in here but there was no going back now. "You don't want to be in one of the old rooms. You'll be much more comfortable in here."
"Haven't kept up on the place?"
"Housekeeping is hard to come by." he rakes a hand through his hair and eyes her once more as she slips her jacket off. He swallows, silently telling himself to remain calm, and tells her, "Bar's only open another hour. Once they're gone I lock up. I'll be back. Make yourself at home."
Nora sinks down onto the edge of the bed and heaves a great sigh. Just what she needs. She spent four years trying to get Miles out of her system and she unknowingly walks right back to him. He looks good, she thinks. Even though he looked amazing in uniform, he always seemed too stiff and uncomfortable, hair slicked back. He looks at ease here, in his worn jeans and long sleeved shirts, hair messy like he's been running his hands through it constantly. Or someone does it for him. She feels a flair of jealousy as she thinks of another woman touching him. Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't mean anything anymore. Right, that's why you almost became a puddle of goo as soon as you heard his voice. She glances around the room and the flickering of the fireplace and a sudden thought hits her. He brought you to his room. That must count for something.
She silently chastises herself. No, she was not going to get her hopes up. There is nothing between her and Miles anymore. Still, she can't help from snooping around to see what he's been up to the last four years, which after much searching, is surprisingly bland. She doesn't know what she was looking for- sonnets written to her, evidence of a woman, or whatever. It seems like he has nothing. She thinks of him for a moment-living alone in this dilapidated hotel, only the bar to keep him occupied. If she was him, she'd be miserable. She slumps onto the couch and turns her head slightly, eyeing the black Henley that smelled distinctly like Miles-remembering times she wore it or others just like it, the hem brushing her thighs, his hands sliding up underneath and... no, no, no, not going there.
Oh, who the hell was she trying to kid? As hard as she may have tried, her feelings for Miles were not going anywhere. She could bury them as deep as she could, throwing herself into her work to keep from thinking about him. As soon as she sat down, nothing to keep her preoccupied, her thoughts turned to him. Where was he? What was he doing? Had he moved on? Then of course, there were the dreams- so vivid she swore she could hear and feel him, completely expecting to find him next to her when she woke up.
"You're going to wear a hole in the counter." Abigail, another regular patron of the bar, notes, catching Miles's attention. He glances down at the dirty rag in his hand, not even realizing he has been cleaning the same spot for the past few minutes. His mind has been on Nora since leaving his bedroom. "You look like you're in another world."
"Nah, just tired." he scoops up three glasses and drops them into the sink behind him. Why did he tell her to stay in his room? He's kicking himself at the moment because he knows he did it without thinking. Let his emotions take over. Why did she have to come here? There were plenty of places to stay in the city and she just had to choose this one.
"Doesn't have anything to do with that pretty lady you took upstairs does it?"
"Oh she was pretty." Roscoe chimes in. Miles glares at each of them in turn as he returns to wiping down the bar. Roscoe hoots gleefully, saying, "Maybe she'd like someone to keep her warm tonight. I'll volunteer."
"You're a real pig, you know that?" he grumbles, clenching the rag tightly. The thought of anyone speaking about her like that gets his blood boiling. Abigail notices this and taps Roscoe on the shoulder.
"Didn't you say you were going to see Clarissa?" she asks, "You might want to go now before the snow gets too bad."
He nods, gathering his bottles, salutes Miles, and stumbles out of the hotel and into the snowstorm. The door clangs loudly behind him and Miles shakes his head, relieved the other man is gone.
Abigail smiles as she leans on the counter. She's an older woman nearing her sixties and has emotional ties to The Grand. Miles usually enjoys her company. She reminds him of his mother. She's sweet, only has a couple glasses of wine, and merely enjoys being in a crowded room, observing the others. She has told him on more than one occasion that it gets too lonely in her condo. More often than not, he lets her stay in the only other truly habitable room, not wanting her to be trekking the streets of Chicago on her own.
"Is she a friend of yours?" she asks quietly. There's no one left in the bar and he's itching to put the lock down.
"No."
"I would've thought yes by the looks on both your faces."
"It was a long time ago."
"Didn't end on a good note?" she continues to press and he sighs, thinking back to the last day he spoke with Nora.
"No."
"Yet you're letting her stay here."
"I'm not heartless. It's going to get bad out there."
"So it has nothing to do with it being the first time I saw an actual spark in your eyes or the fact that you still care about her?"
"Abigail,"
"I get it." she holds up her hands, backing off the topic. "Jesse, some times you need to let your guard down and let others in. Second chances are possible and remember that God does work in mysterious ways. I don't think it's a coincidence she showed up here all on her own."
"I'm pretty sure she wants nothing to do with me." he mutters, wiping off a glass. "She's told me so."
"Maybe she told you so but that doesn't mean it's true. I can read people very well and I'm older and wiser than you so don't even think of rolling your eyes at me like some petulant teenager." she smiles slightly and he chuckles quietly. "I think I will head off to bed and let you finish up so you can get back to your friend. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do."
The paper had been sitting right on the edge of the desk. Nora sees it as soon as she sits down, eyes scanning the cluttered top. She feels like she's back in Philadelphia. Miles is as messy as ever. Controlled chaos, is what he told her once.
She picks it up and examines it. Her handwriting has faded over the years but is still legible. The sides are worn, even ripped in some areas, especially at the folds, as if he has opened and closed this a million times. He's still kept it after all this time and in plain sight, like he's just read it. The thought makes her happy and sad at the same time. Maybe they had been too quick to let go of each other, both too stubborn to say otherwise.
She hears the key in the lock and quickly jumps up, leaving the paper where it is, and walks towards the sofa. Miles enters, glances at her, and shuts the door quietly.
"Are you sure this okay?" she asks, wringing her hands behind her back. He stops near the back of the sofa, pondering the question, and then shrugs.
"Why not?"
"I should probably go."
"The snow's about up to your thighs now so I wouldn't recommend that." a slight exaggeration, but still. "Are you hungry?"
"No, no, thanks I'm fine."
"Thirsty?" he jerks a thumb at his personal collection of alcohol and she shrugs,
"Why the hell not?" at least it would probably calm her nerves a bit.
They kill off a bottle between themselves and talk about everything but them. The more they drink and talk, the closer they unconsciously move towards each other on the couch. Their knees are brushing and she turns to face him completely, pulling her legs underneath her. She has one arm stretched along the back of the couch, pressed against the warmth of his back. She needs to keep reminding herself that this is Chicago 2024, not Philadelphia 2020. It's hard to do that though because as she sits here, she sees the Miles that she knows and loves. Except he wanted nothing to do with you or the baby and how did that all end up? Why put yourself through that again?
The silent question makes her frown. He cocks his head questioningly, frowning as well. She had been mid-sentence, then suddenly stopped.
"What?"
She simply shakes her head. She knows they should talk about it. They need to talk about it. But then again, she'll be gone in the morning and they'll really never see each other again so does it even matter?
"Nothing, it's nothing." she finally says. In the years of their separation, she's pieced together their break-up or what she hopes and believes at least. She refuses to believe he's that heartless, that unloving. She doesn't think that it's simply a coincidence that he left Philly just a short time after she did. She's not sure what happened between him and Monroe or when he even made the decision to leave. Anything could have triggered his departure but she tells herself that it was for her. Some days, when she's feeling particularly angry with him, she tells herself to stop thinking with her heart and be realistic; to stop making him out to be some sort of hero. He's anything but.
Tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight, she's staring at him, longing for that short year they had together, and it hits her just exactly how lonely she's been. You drank too much. Yes, that had to be it.
Except, he's staring back at her, hints of the same feelings in his eyes. She thinks back to her note, sitting on the desk after all these years, and slowly leans in towards him. Her lips brush his and for a moment, he's unresponsive and she's suddenly fearful that she's made the wrong decision. Then his body shifts towards her and his hand is on the back of her head, stopping her from pulling away.
He knows this is a bad idea. It is a terrible idea. The only thing this is going to lead to is more pain for both of them. He doesn't expect her to stay and he thinks she doesn't expect to either. So what the hell were they doing?
"I'm sorry." she moves back first, averting his eyes. Her hand comes up to her mouth, touching her lips lightly. She catches him looking at her and smiles briefly. "Don't know what I was thinking."
"It's okay."
"I think I'm a little drunk."
"Yeah, same." he nods in agreement, exhaling a long breath. It's a complete lie. It takes more than half a bottle to get him even slightly buzzed.
He wishes he never met her, wishes she hadn't walked in tonight. She's slowly been killing him ever since that afternoon in the park when they first met. It's been painful, unbearable, completely shitty. But completely worth it as well as he thinks of how good it felt to see her smile, the excitement and desire of seeing her again after being on the road, of being... happy. There's a word that hadn't been in his vocabulary for quite some time. He struggles to remember the saying he heard once. What was it? It was better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all?
He looks back at her, finds her gazing at him, and makes a rapid decision. It's his turn to go for her now but she's moving towards him too. They meet in a frenzied kiss, noses bumping and hands moving erratically.
"This... this isn't," she breaks off in a soft moan as he goes for a weak spot just under her chin that he's all too familiar with. "Oh, hell,"
Her fingers wind through his hair, holding him to her. Between them, his hand moves blindly, popping open the buttons on her flannel shirt.
Maybe one last night would finally give them closure. They could move on, accept that they were finished, sever ties completely, and all that. It wouldn't be an argument, a slamming door, nasty words. It would be a mutual goodbye. They'll never see each other again.
She agrees with him when he tells her so he stands, scoops her up- the couch is too small for them and nine out of ten chances, they would roll into the coffee table and kill themselves- and takes her over to his bed.
She sits on the edge of the bed later, just as the sun is beginning to rise, head in her hands. He's asleep behind her, completely unaware of the inner turmoil she was currently facing. She should have known better than to fall into bed with him. She should have turned and ran the second she had seen him walk behind that bar. Not because she doesn't regret it. She does regret it. Closure is the last thing on her mind. Right now, she's struggling to find the strength to head back on her mission and leave him behind.
Quietly, she stands up and slips back into her clothes, then walks to his desk. She finds a small piece of paper and a pencil and thinks for a moment. Finally she puts the point to the paper and scrawls a quick note. She puts it on the empty pillow, contemplates kissing him one last time, but then decides that would only make her stay. Instead, she grabs her bag, and leaves the room as quietly as possible. She's almost back down to the bar when she realizes she has no idea how to get out. She'll need him to let her out, lock the place back up again. It is nowhere near time to open the bar and she's sure he doesn't want random people wandering around while he's asleep. Except she doesn't want him to know she's leaving because a small part of her is hoping he'll make her stay.
She nearly stops short at the sight of the older woman sitting at the counter. Abigail smiles kindly and stands up.
"You're Jesse's friend. Leaving so soon?"
"Yes, I need to get back to my... family. I got caught in the snow last night. Hopefully, it's stopped by now. Ah," Nora is confused as to who the woman is, if she can trust her, "I don't mean to be rude but who..."
"I'm Abigail. Jesse is sweet enough to let me stay some nights. I used to work here with my husband, back before the Blackout. I suppose you can say I'm a regular customer of his. Is he awake?"
"No," she responds too quickly, then blushes. The other woman smiles knowingly but stays respectful. "You wouldn't be able to let me out by any chance, would you? Or lock up behind me?"
"I wouldn't mind at all. I would think that he'll be sad to see you go."
"He'll get over it." he has to. She has to. Enough was enough. She hears the lock click into place behind her as she steps out into the cold. There's some sense of finality to it all. She doesn't look back as she begins her hike out of the city.
Miles rolls over, hand connecting with the scrap of paper. The crinkling makes him open his eyes tiredly. The words are blurry for a moment as he tries to get his vision to adjust.
I didn't want to leave like this but I think if I waited for you to wake up, then I would never have left. I'm sorry. Last night only reiterated how I feel but I can't stay. Not yet, anyway. There are things that I need to do. I want to believe that some day down the road, we'll find each other. Maybe it's just been the wrong places, wrong times. Love, N
He reads it once more, then crumples it into a ball and flings it at the fireplace. Last night could have been more pain or closure and it turned out to be more pain. You knew she wasn't going to stay so why are you getting all worked up about this?