From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 7: Where Does The Good Go


Look me in the heart and unbreak broken. - Tegan & Sara


It was such a small thing, but Anne was inordinately pleased as the bouncer at the door to the bar asked to see her I.D. It had been so long since someone had asked her that; it had been so long since she'd went out, period. She dug through her purse for her wallet, trying not to grin. He lifted an eyebrow once he saw her birth date and then handed back her license.

"You looked young," he said gruffly, and Anne felt some of her nervousness melt away as a smile rounded her cheeks. She nodded cordially to the bouncer before stepping inside after Lauren and Ben. She was a jumble of nerves and anticipation. The three of them had left without saying anything to Derick, whose door had been closed, so he was unaware that Anne was coming.

Lauren had been busy texting someone on her phone as she drove them downtown, which was a frightening experience, and Anne had automatically assumed the recipient of all the messages was Derick. She hoped Lauren had told him she was coming; perhaps then he would make up some excuse and back out of the after-party. Anne wasn't sure which scenario she liked better: seeing him again or avoiding him altogether.

The inside of the bar was elegant, with modern furniture in interesting shapes and a hip band playing far across the expanse of the room. They had walked past the line of people waiting outside, trailed by whispers and excited murmurs, and had moved right to the front using Lauren's fame. Anne was almost giddy. She felt a kind of warm contentedness settle through her. She couldn't explain it, but the night had a special feel to it. She wondered if this was what her father and Elizabeth felt like all the time, if this was what her own mother had felt like as a young, famous singer in L.A. As they stepped inside, she recognized several other crew members in the vicinity as they waved. They walked over to say hello and began making small talk with Lauren and Ben. Anne wasn't exactly included, but she didn't mind; she was busy taking in all the activity around her.

As Anne looked around the surroundings with an easy smile on her face, she made accidental eye contact with one of the bartenders. It was clear that he had been looking at her, but he didn't look away upon getting caught, as people normally did. As a side thought, she realized that he was attractive, wearing a crisp white shirt and a black vest. Eyes still on hers, his lips curled up in a one-sided smile, and Anne finally looked away, feeling flustered. She didn't know why he had been ogling her.

Her outfit wasn't out of place, so that couldn't be what was attracting his attention. Lauren had been right about the belt, and Anne fit right in with the rest of the people in the bar. And after all, Lauren was the famous actress; he should have been looking at her, not Anne. She shook her head, putting the bartender to the back of her mind.

A hostess guided them forward to the section of the bar that was reserved for their party, and Lauren chose a booth for them. Anne assumed that Lauren would want to sit next to Derick, so she took the seat next to Ben. Anne was still half hoping that Derick would back out of the evening, but even if he didn't, she didn't think he could totally dampen her mood. It would all depend on how much attention he gave to Lauren.

Lauren passed over a drink menu to Anne before excitedly scanning through the list herself. There were long lists of mixed drinks, cosmopolitans, and martinis, all with the most expensive, top shelf liquors, all listed without prices. Anne raised an eyebrow, deciding that she would only buy one drink.

Lauren suddenly squealed in excitement. "Oh! They have the sour apple-tini. It's my favorite drink! Have you had one, Anne? They're to die for."

Anne shook her head, inwardly laughing at the younger girl's enthusiasm for the drink. "I've never had a flavored martini," Anne said. "I guess I don't drink that often. I usually just have wine when I go out." She flipped through the pages absently, looking for the wine list.

Lauren was looking at her, completely agog. "But that's so boring. You can't order wine here. You've got to try the apple-tini. Trust me. You'll absolutely love it."

Having no opinion one way or the other, Lauren's pressure was enough to change Anne's mind, and she shrugged lightly. "Okay, I'll try one."

Lauren clapped her hands together excitedly and smiled her brightest, most dimpled smile. She raised her hand and signaled over a waitress.

"Two sour apple-tinis," she said promptly, after Ben had ordered a scotch. As the waitress began to walk away, Lauren snapped her fingers. "Oh wait. We should get something for Derick. He'll be here in a minute, I'm sure. What does he like to drink?" She looked at Ben expectantly, like he should know the answer, but he only shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

Lauren gave a little huff and picked up the drink menu again, looking at it in confusion. One thing was for sure; Derick would clearly not be interested in an apple-tini. Her forehead wrinkled, and she appeared to be deep in thought.

Anne noticed the exasperation that flew across the waitress's face. The bar was busy and they were making a waste of her time. Anne felt compelled to speak, when otherwise she wouldn't have. After a moment, she smiled up at the waitress.

"A gin and tonic," Anne said quickly. Lauren looked up from the menu, her mouth a little O of surprise.

"Tanqueray?" the waitress asked, already stepping away, expecting a yes.

"No—umm, Magellan," Anne corrected, and the waitress nodded before hurrying off. Eight years was a long time, but not long enough to forget how much Derick hated Tanqueray. It was one of his small quirks.

Ben and Lauren's faces had identical quizzical expressions. She watched as Ben seemed to take the event in stride, his face clearing as though he'd received a piece to a puzzle he'd been missing. But Lauren continued to stare, eyebrows drawn down, head tilted slightly to the side. She blinked several times and was opening her mouth to ask a question that Anne was sure she didn't want to answer when Ben interrupted.

"Here comes Derick."

Anne hadn't expected to feel grateful at his arrival, but he offered the necessary distraction. Lauren forgot all about whatever she had been about to ask as they all watched Derick stop and talk to several crew members on his way in. The lights played across his face as he walked toward them, and in his dark jacket he looked every bit the handsome actor that he was.

Anne couldn't help feeling that she was embarking on some bizarre double date as Derick slid onto the leather seat of their booth across from her and next to Lauren.

He greeted them all, but his eyes almost immediately slid back to Anne, and he looked her over with a strange expression on his face that Anne couldn't read. Lauren obviously hadn't told him anything about inviting her, and she supposed he was wondering why she was there. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Maybe it wasn't such a wonderful night, after all.

"Took you long enough," Lauren teased, and Derick rolled his eyes, his attention turning from Anne.

"Traffic. And not everyone drives like a lunatic," was his spirited reply.

"I am a wonderful driver," Lauren exclaimed. "Aren't I?" she asked, looking across the table to her companions.

Anne respectfully kept her mouth shut while Ben snorted.

"No comment on that one."

"Oy!" Lauren said with a look of outrage on her face, but the waitress had returned with their drinks. Anne looked down in consternation as a glowing green drink was placed in front of her. It was something she never would have ordered on her own. She took a dubious sip and it was as she had expected: sickly sweet-and-sour candy-apple flavor trying to mask the bite of the alcohol. She knew she wouldn't be able to finish it. She should have just had a glass of wine, after all.

Lauren was drinking hers with rapture. "Yum," she moaned, eyes closed. She looked sideways at Derick, who was sliding out of his jacket. He hadn't touched the drink in front of him.

"We ordered that for you. It's a gin and tonic."

"Oh," he said, looking surprised and pleased. "Thank you. Not Tanqueray, I hope." He lifted the glass to take a sip.

"No." Lauren snapped her fingers rapidly. "What kind of gin was it, Anne?"

Inwardly, Anne flinched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Magellan," she said quietly, hoping that no one would ask her to say more. Still, it was enough to show Derick that she was the one who had ordered his drink.

She saw the almost unnoticeable pause between when Derick raised the glass and when he took a drink. She could feel his eyes on her, but stared at his hand on the glass instead. One of his knuckles was scraped; she focused intently on that. She waited to raise her eyes until she thought that he couldn't possibly still be looking at her.

Pulse racing, she finally allowed herself to look up. She hadn't waited long enough. Their eyes met, and it was the same look he had given her when he arrived. She didn't understand. What was he thinking? For once he didn't look away, and Anne was the one who turned her head. She had to; her heart was suddenly trying to pummel through her chest.

But thankfully Lauren was telling a story loudly. She was already almost done with her drink.

"And I said, 'Are you freaking kidding me? No. Absolutely no way. I said no vampire movies, and I meant no vampire movies'. You should have seen his face. I thought his head was going to explode."

Derick was suddenly smiling his full smile. "See, that's what I like about you, Lauren. That stubbornness. You don't let people tell you what to do, even when it's their job."

Lauren's first response was to glance at Ben with a look that clearly said, 'hear that?'. She looked overwhelmingly pleased with herself. "How could I let people do that?" She sat up straighter and put her hand on her chest, eyes closed. "I'm an artist. I don't need somebody to tell me what to do; I just need freedom to express myself." She opened her eyes and downed the rest of her drink.

Suddenly, Anne just wanted to go home. She had to try hard to keep her expression from turning sour. The magic of the evening had quickly evaporated. First, the looks Derick had been giving her were throwing her completely off balance, and now Lauren was waxing philosophical on the art of acting.

She didn't think he had meant his comment as a barb, but nonetheless, she would have needed ten more drinks to be able to handle listening to such a conversation. Lauren fulfilled every stereotyped idea that Anne had ever had about actors.

But it was Derick's reaction that really puzzled her. She had expected him to look as pleased with himself as Lauren did, but even though he had initiated the conversation, he looked as though he thought her response had been as clichéd and meaningless as Anne had. She saw it in the scornful turn of his mouth. She took a sip of her drink, baffled over everything, and turned to Ben for an easy distraction.

"I've been meaning to ask you about the composer of the score for the play. Rebecca Harville. I've never heard of her, but she's phenomenal. Has she written any other pieces for you?"

Ben's shoulders tightened, and Anne didn't understand this mood shift until he spoke.

"No. Just that one," he said reluctantly. "She was a close friend of mine—she died recently."

Anne felt a horrible sinking feeling. She wished desperately that she hadn't brought up the subject, but she'd had no way of knowing.

"How terrible. I'm so sorry," she said quietly. Ben nodded, and for a moment their side of the table was silent while Derick and Lauren talked animatedly. It was like Anne had thrown a bucket of ice over them both.

"It's been hard. I think about her all the time; I miss her all the time," he said bleakly a moment later, staring into his glass. "It was good to do these extra performances I think; it gave me something else to think about, made me stop wallowing in my misery." He shot Anne a look. "She performed the piece herself, you know. That's why we had to find someone else at the last minute. She had this way of playing… The music is beautiful, but the way she played it was something else. No one else has ever come close to matching her. Except you; you played it just right. She would have been happy." He gave her a brief, one sided smile that left his face almost immediately afterward, and Anne gave him back a wobbly one of her own.

He moved the condensation on the table with his glass and then seemed to rally himself. He looked at her almost sheepishly. "I have to admit that I've been wondering what you're doing teaching. A musician of your caliber shouldn't be stuck in some school. Do you love it or something?"

Anne laughed in surprise, taken aback. "No," she said baldly. "No, I don't. I'm a terrible teacher, actually. I think my students would rather pull their nails out than come to my class."

It was Ben's turn to laugh. "So what are you doing at a university? You should be performing. Composing."

Anne pursed her lips lightly, wanting to nod in agreement. They were quickly approaching a subject that Anne almost always avoided. "It's a long story," she said, sighing, hoping that would end the matter.

Ben gave her an amused look. "I'm pretty sure alcohol and bars were made for long stories."

Anne smiled despite herself. "Fair enough." Ben had been open enough to tell her his story; she figured she had to return the favor. He didn't seem to be the type of person who shared his feelings often, and she didn't want to make him feel slighted.

She took a deep breath and silently prayed that Derick would stay absorbed in his conversation with Lauren. The other two hadn't been paying the slightest attention to her conversation with Ben thus far. Her mouth twitched into a nervous smile. She hadn't spoken of the past in so long; it was strange to be doing it now. She spoke, looking down at her glass.

"I always planned to be a performer. It was what I was going to do, no matter what. I remember being a kid and telling my mom my plans, and she just said, "Yes. Of course", like it was the simplest matter in the world." Anne shook her head lightly, smiling at the memory. "There weren't ever any other options for me. I wanted to tour with a famous orchestra. I wanted to compose masterpieces. And I went to a prestigious school and trained with the best teachers. I did everything that you were supposed to do. I did everything right. I even had an audition to be the accompanist for a virtuoso performer." Anne had been speaking quietly, and she paused to take a sip of her drink while Ben waited, listening.

"And then I broke my arm in a car accident a few days before graduation." She saw the understanding and pity flash across Ben's face.

"I suppose the injury, in itself, wasn't the end. I could have recovered; I did recover, but after the accident everything just unraveled. Everything in my life fell apart. I made choices that I thought were right at the time, but if I could do it again…" She ended in a shrug. "There were too many things that went wrong, and afterward I couldn't bear the thought of doing what I had planned any longer. I didn't want anything to do with the life that I had ruined, with performing, so I picked the farthest thing away from it that I could. You know what they say, those who can't—teach."

Ben nodded. "Did it make you feel better?"

Anne laughed. It was a very bitter sound. "No."

"Kind of a waste, huh?" she said, feeling sad for herself, but then she shrugged. "I finally started composing again a few years ago."

Ben leaned forward intently at that sentence. "I'd love to hear some of your work." Behind his glasses, his eyes were wide with excitement.

Anne blinked away her surprise. "Really?" she asked incredulously. She had long lost hope of ever having her music performed.

"I'm directing another play in six months. We haven't picked the music yet. Send me your stuff. Anything that you have. I bet we'll be able to work something out. Maybe we'll use what you have, or maybe I'll commission you to write something else. With the way you play, I'd be crazy not to." He fished around in several of his pockets before producing a slightly bent business card for her.

Anne was still staring, mouth open, but she took the card with her fingertips. It was the kind of exchange that she had dreamed about for years, and it was reality. Apparently her story had struck some kind of chord with him. He was going to use her music; she couldn't process it. Ben gave her an encouraging smile and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, reassuringly.

Lauren cleared her throat loudly, and Anne's attention snapped away from Ben. To her horror, both Lauren and Derick were watching her closely. She had no idea how long they had been listening or how much he had heard. Her heart was beating somewhere in her throat and she felt a strange, heightened sense of reality knowing that Derick might have been listening in on the conversation. She wondered, dimly, if he even cared what her life had been like after their break-up, but she was too afraid to make eye contact with him.

She was taken aback by the hostile expression on Lauren's face, but in the next moment, Lauren had turned away to hail the waitress to order a third drink. Everyone else still had nearly full glasses. As the waitress walked away, Anne wished that she had thought to order a water, just to get the taste from her mouth.

She sneaked a glance at Derick and found that his eyes were on her again, though he quickly looked away this time, almost guiltily. More than anything, she wanted to know what he was thinking. He was oddly quiet. Lauren was trying to engage him in their usual flirty banter, but something was off. His mood had noticeably shifted.

The waitress returned moments later with two drinks. She put one down in front of Lauren and then looked to Anne. "Are you Anne Elliot?" she asked.

Anne nodded, too surprised to say anything else. The waitress placed the second drink down in front of her.

"I didn't order this," Anne said in confusion, and to her surprise, the waitress grinned.

"I know. It's from the bartender. He asked around to all the other crew members for your name and told me to bring this to you. He said to tell you that you were the prettiest woman to walk in here tonight." She gave Anne a gleeful smile.

Anne gaped at the woman for a few moments before letting out a nervous laugh. However, it didn't appear to be a joke; no one else joined in. She swallowed back anything she had been about to say, and almost against her will, she scanned the bar. When the bartender saw her looking, he grinned and gave her a small nod.

Anne turned quickly back to her drink, feeling completely out of her element. What was the proper response? She hadn't been hit on in years.

Ben was laughing good-naturedly. "Anne, what did you do to the poor guy?"

"I have no idea," Anne said, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention. Lauren was rolling her eyes, taking large gulps from her fresh drink. Derick was turned almost fully in the booth, his neck craned to look at the bartender in question. He only turned back around once Lauren touched his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Huh?" Derick's eyebrows were drawn down into a frown, and he looked at Lauren as though he hadn't heard a word she'd said. After she repeated her question he replied, "Nothing," in a mumble, but a moment later his eyes had drifted over to Anne's face again.

She didn't notice; she was back in conversation with Ben. Her eyes were bright, even in the dim light. When she smiled, her cheeks flushed, and the way her dark hair framed her face was very flattering. The excitement of the performance and the evening out had breathed life into Anne, and she looked like the young woman she actually was, instead of someone tired and beaten down by life.

In the back of her mind, Anne noticed the increasing number of drinks Lauren consumed. She drank them down like water as Ben talked to Anne about his work. It was the only subject that really seemed to engage him. He spoke passionately, touching her hand on the table occasionally for emphasis.

A permanent scowl began to mar Lauren's features, and she listened to their conversation with darkly narrowed eyes. It finally dawned on Anne that Derick had been listening to Ben speak too, and that Lauren was being ignored by everyone. Probably for the first time in her entire life. Wanting to avoid any incoming trouble, she feigned a huge yawn.

"I'm getting pretty tired…" she began, and almost immediately, their bill was paid and they were stepping out into the night, away from the crowd and the bar.

"Where did you park?" Derick asked Lauren, and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked antagonistically.

He gave her a patient look. "So you'll remember where it is when you pick it up in the morning. Is it at a meter?"

"What are you talking about? 'In the morning'," she scoffed. "I'm driving them home." She hooked her thumb backwards over her shoulder to indicate Ben and Anne.

"I don't think you should drive. You had a lot. I can take everyone."

Lauren looked outraged. "I'm fine," she said heatedly.

Derick sighed. "Don't do this. Just give me your keys—"

"Go to hell, Derick," she said, but the bite was taken away as she slurred her way through the sentence. She began to stalk away, presumably toward her car. The other three had no choice but to follow her.

Lauren was muttering angrily to herself, her heels clacking on the sidewalk as she walked. Anne sighed unhappily as they followed. It'd been some time since she'd had to deal with an angry, drunken, 22 year-old woman.

"You two can ride with him if you want, but I'm going home," Lauren said with determination as she struggled to open her car door.

Anne stood several yards away as Ben and Derick tried to persuade Lauren otherwise. Lauren's vehement no's were easy to hear in the quiet night, though the men's responses were only mumbles. Then, with an almighty push, Lauren shoved Ben into Derick, and while they untangled themselves, she used the opportunity to get into her car and lock the doors. They had no choice but to move out of the way as she turned on the car.

Anne hurried over to them as Lauren began to pull out of her space. "We can't let her drive."

Ben sighed in frustrated exasperation. "Well, just try telling that to Miss Belligerent."

Lauren managed to back the car out perfectly, and Anne had the hope that maybe she hadn't been as bad as she seemed, but as Lauren turned the corner of the parking lot she lost control of the car. They watched as, almost in slow motion, the car jumped the curb onto an island and ran head-on into a lamppost.

There was a tremendous scrunch and then silence except for the sound of the running engine.

All three stood frozen for a moment, varying looks of confusion and disbelief across their faces. Derick's mouth was hanging open, and Anne found herself with her hands on her cheeks as she shook her head.

Then Lauren violently threw open the door, managed to clumsily extract herself from the deployed air bag, and promptly vomited on the pavement. Anne made a move to rush over, but Ben got there first. Lauren had her hands on her head as she stumbled toward him.

"Shit. I've only got a minute before my next scene. I've got to hurry," she said urgently, but the words were slow and slurred. A trickle of blood began to roll down from her scalp.

"Lauren, the play is over," Ben said pragmatically. "Let me see that cut." The wound was very shallow, but because it was on her forehead, it was streaming blood.

"No, no it isn't," Lauren said, pushing away from him. "God, the lights are so bright right now. It's my cue. Where's the stage?"

They were in the middle of a parking lot, and the only light came dimly from the lamppost that she had run into. "Lauren…"

"I have to go on stage! I know my lines, see?" She began to sing loudly in a terrible cockney accent, proving that she was not speaking about this night's performance. "Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins, just you wait. You'll be sorry but your tears will be too laaate."

Mouths open, everyone stared at her. No one moved. Her singing cut through the silence of the night like a gunshot.

"You'll be broke and I'll have moneeeey. Will I help you? Don't be funnyyyy."

It was grotesque. Half of Lauren's face was smeared with blood, and she was singing like she belonged in an asylum.

"I didn't think she was that drunk," Derick said.

Anne, her brows furrowed down in confusion, suddenly held up a hand. "No. Wait a second. I think—I think she has a concussion. She's disoriented. Does anyone have a light?"

They all searched their pockets, to no avail. Then Ben produced his cell phone, and even in its dim light they could see the unnatural dilation of one of her pupils.

"We have to take her to the hospital," Anne said firmly. "The air bag must have hit her pretty hard." She felt oddly clear headed. It was a bad situation, but they could take care of it. She knew what to do. Ben and Derick, on the other hand, looked as confused and disoriented as Lauren. She knew that she needed to get Derick moving, to get him doing something to help, otherwise he would begin to freak out.

"Derick, go get your car. You can drive us all to the hospital." Some distant part of her realized it was the first time she had said his name aloud in almost eight years, but she swept that to the side. He looked at her, eyes wide, and then seemed to shake himself. A few minutes later he hurried away to where he had parked.

Anne moved to inspect the damage from the crash. She found a towel among the clutter of the backseat and immediately gave it to Ben so that he could clean up Lauren's cut.

The light pole was, miraculously, undamaged. She thought there might be a scratch on it from Lauren's fender. Lauren's car, on the other hand, looked like it had hit a train. But the engine was still running.

Anne looked to Lauren, who was sitting on the curb next to Ben. He had his arm around her shoulders and was holding the towel to her head. She was still singing "Just you wait…" but with much less enthusiasm now.

Anne knew that the last thing Lauren needed was for the press to find out about the accident. They would have a heyday with the news. She eyed the running car thoughtfully.

"I'm going to try to move her car back to its spot. Stay with her," Anne told Ben. She didn't know what Lauren would tell her insurance company, but that was a problem for the morning. She got the car back into its spot with little difficulty. Anne got out of the car and locked the doors, feeling foolish afterward. She was amazed that the crash hadn't attracted more attention, but the only movement around them was Derick's lights as he pulled into the parking lot to take them to the hospital.


Derick held the door open for Anne as they exited the hospital. The cold air was refreshing and it helped clear her head of the hospital smell. It was nearly four in the morning and Anne was surprised she was still on her feet. Lauren was being kept overnight for observations, and Ben had wanted to stay with her. There wasn't anything else that Anne or Derick could do, so they had finally left, entrusting Ben to keep them updated.

Anne felt that everything was surreal as she followed Derick back to his car. The familiarity and comfort she was feeling made it seem like a dream. She had thought she was too tired, too exhausted by the events of the night to be nervous about the upcoming ride, but then she was actually in the front seat sitting next to him and it was an altogether different story.

He hadn't said anything on the walk to the car, and he hadn't turned on the radio once they had got inside. But sitting next to him in the dark interior was making her pulse thud in her veins. She couldn't count the number of times she had sat with him like this, although before there had never been the oppressive tension between them, the millions of things they couldn't say to each other.

She gave him her address and then closed her eyes, leaning her head against the seat. She felt the motion of the car as they glided along. They sat in silence for a few blocks.

He cleared his throat, and Anne slowly opened her eyes.

"Lauren isn't usually like that. She's a nice kid. I don't know what was going on tonight…"

Anne shrugged noncommittally. She could guess pretty well what Lauren's problem had been.

Derick sighed heavily and continued. "I can't help feeling responsible. I should have just taken her keys from her. It's her own fault though…being so stubborn. I can't say that I'm sad to have to go back to L.A. for some post-production on a film; she just got herself into a huge mess." He paused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Anne was curious at this speech. She'd been surprised when Ben had stayed at the hospital and not Derick. She was surprised now to hear him say he was happy to get away from Lauren. He was going back to California, and Lauren was clearly staying in New York. Perhaps there was nothing to the rumors after all…

Anne was too tired to make sense of it, but something inside of her gushed with joy. It took her another moment of thought, but then the information really sunk in. He wasn't just leaving Lauren; Derick was leaving them both behind, and soon by the sound of it. He was going to fly back out of her life as suddenly as he had entered it. She should have been happy at the thought, glad to have him go, but she wasn't. All she felt was disappointment. Add one more wasted opportunity to the list.

But Derick was speaking again, his voice warm.

"You were good back there. With Lauren and everything. Fast thinking. I wouldn't have known what to do. I'm glad you were with us." He glanced at her quickly before looking back at the deserted street.

"Thanks," she said quietly, looking out the window. She was just trying to breathe calmly. She could have never imagined that the evening would end up like this. She sighed. "What a weird night. 'Just you wait, Henry Higgins'…" she sang, lightly.

Derick let out a surprised burst of laughter, and then Anne found herself laughing too, from sheer tiredness more than there being any real hilarity in the situation. It felt good though; the laughter released some of the tension. She hadn't heard his laugh in so long. It pulled at things inside of her, made the past seem closer than it was. When they'd quieted, he glanced at her swiftly again, adjusting his hands on the wheel.

"I wondered why you were teaching," he said, as though continuing a conversation they'd been having. Anne stared at him, her eyebrows raised, but he kept his eyes carefully on the street. She could only see his profile, the strong line of his jaw and the turn of his mouth. "It didn't seem right, somehow," he continued, doggedly.

Anne swallowed, but to be calmly chit-chatting with Derick about what had happened after their break up seemed about as normal as everything else that had happened in the course of the night.

"Dr. Russel was not pleased," she finally murmured.

"I bet not." He had a ghost of a smile on his face, and he turned to look at her. "Whatever happened to her?" His voice was nonchalant, but Anne had to pause.

"She died a few years ago. Lung cancer."

He gave her a long glance this time, searching her features, and Anne looked back curiously, wondering what he was looking for.

"Oh."

Her chest swelled with emotion. She had a million things to ask him. She had wondered for so long about his life, what it had been like for him after her. How long had it taken him to forget her and move on? For years, she'd had a mental list of stories, of funny things she had seen that she knew would make him laugh. She'd kept hoping that one day she would be able to share them with him. She wondered if he had done the same thing, pretended, even if just for moments, that she was still in his life.

But she was sitting in the car silently; she had no idea how to start such a conversation or if he would even respond. The events of the night had brought them closer than they'd been in years, but she knew it wasn't permanent. She looked out at the road, her jaw clenched in frustration. They were nearing her apartment. There wasn't enough time.

When he stopped the car outside her doorstep, she looked over to him, overcome with memories. All those times she'd leaned over, run her hands through his hair, kissed him softly. All those times she'd invited him upstairs…

He was less than a foot away, looking at her the way he always had. They were separated by the middle console and an ocean of the past. Anne gathered her things, her movements clumsy. She needed to get away from him, from that look. It was doing things to her, bringing up feelings that she couldn't control. She flung open the door hurriedly and then found herself sinking back in the seat, looking over at him. She couldn't make herself get out just yet.

"Thank you for the ride. And—" She broke off. She didn't know what she was doing. She stared down at the gear shift, but she wasn't seeing it. She was thinking about how easy it would be to just lean over… Her heart was pounding so quickly. But it was useless; there was too much to clear up between them. There was too much that she just couldn't say. One night and one conversation weren't going to do it.

"Well, goodnight," she finally said in quiet resignation. She couldn't think of anything else to add that didn't sound trite, and she looked over at him.

She noticed then the grip that he had on the steering wheel and the tense way he held his arms. His knuckles were white, like he had been struggling against all the same things as she had, like his grip on the wheel was the only thing keeping him from acting. She watched him clench his jaw and then open his mouth like he was going to speak, only to close it again. She kept her eyes on his mouth, unable to look anywhere else. She felt almost dizzy, waiting for him to reply, knowing everything that was hanging in the balance of this one moment.

"Goodnight, Anne," was his tired reply. He turned his head away and relaxed his hands, placing them on his lap. Anne let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. They were going to leave things as they were. She knew that they couldn't possibly do anything different...so why did she feel such a crushing disappointment?

She slid out and nodded her head at him before slowly closing the door, fighting back the sudden urge to cry. She knew it was probably the last time she would see him.