Disclaimer: The characters of Twilight are owned by Stephenie Meyer. The content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by Just4ALE.

A/N1: Thank you to ginginlee and Twi-Fic Promotions for the really nice review about this story. The link is on my profile for those of you who haven't seen it. (BTW, I made the banner posted w/the review. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. LOL.)

Chapter 9

Fleetwood Mac: Go Your Own Way

#

As I ran from the house, snippets of the last awful fifteen minutes spun through my head. Nessie's scream. Gunshots. Jacob's pleas. My stomach churned and I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn't leave them dying like that. I needed to call 911.

But was it safe? I could swear I heard them talking about the police as if they weren't worried about them. My dad had made me well aware that not every cop was a good one; did these guys have crooked cops on their payroll?

I decided to brave it and make the call. If they asked, I wouldn't give my name or location. I stopped, hid in the shadows and grabbed my knapsack off my back. Feeling around, I found the familiar metal object, but was momentarily puzzled when I realized it wasn't my phone; it was Jacob's. I then remembered grabbing it off the bed in my panic and was immediately grateful for that mistake. From what they said, they were tracking the GPS on my phone, and it was lying there in the guestroom.

Unfortunately, the reception wasn't much better here than it was in the house. I wandered for a while, watching the bars on the phone. I was standing at the mouth of an alley when I finally got a signal and dialed.

"Please state the nature of your emergency."

"I want to report an attack," I whispered.

"Excuse me, can you speak up?"

Clearing my throat, I spoke a little more loudly. "I want to report an attack..."

"Where are you, ma'am?"

"No, it's not me. M- my friends, they were attacked." Shit, what was the house number? I just knew where the house was and what it looked like. "O- on Broadway-"

Suddenly, I heard a male voice. "No, I'm still in the neighborhood. What? I don't know… I'm only a few blocks away… Wait. The signal stopped moving." He paused. "Well, clearly it was there with you and now it isn't. So don't give me shit about a fuck-up. Someone was in that house with you and now they're not."

Oh God! They were still tracking this one too!

"Ma'am? Where on Broadway? Can you identify the cross-street?"

I moved the phone away and turned as I heard the voice echoing down the alley. He'd entered from the opposite end and was making his way toward me, checking the doors and boxes. I ducked down behind a dumpster.

"Well you're going to the apartment, so you'll definitely catch her if she goes that way. Maybe whoever this asshole is can help us find her." Pause. "No, Randy is trying to find out who else she hangs around with. I only know this Black guy."

"Ma'am? Are you there?"

I could still hear the operator as I looked down at Jake's phone. What was I doing? I needed to get rid of this thing! I hung up quickly and quietly slid the phone beneath the dumpster. Then I backed around the corner and ran down the street.

His voice was fading as I put some distance between us. "Hey, I think it's here! Not sure. I'll check the neighborhood…"

I ran fast and far and this time I didn't stop. San Francisco was only seven miles wide by seven miles long. Getting around wasn't really difficult. It's the hills that'll kill you. Thank God for my regular workouts… and for adrenaline.

Time just evaporated. Before I knew it, I was on a bus that happened to be stopped. Pulling the hood over my head, I jumped on, kept my head down to avoid the security camera, and found a spot in the back. I sat low in my seat as the bus made its way up 19th toward the Inner Sunset. I couldn't believe what I was about to do.

Suddenly, there I was, standing in front of his home and ringing the doorbell. This is crazy, this is crazy. After a few tries, I realized he was probably out. And then I really went off the deep end.

I climbed the fence to the backyard – nicely scraping myself further – and made my way around to the back. It was very dark back there, which meant I'd be nicely obscured for what I planned to do. Digging in my bag, I pulled out my mini light, felt around the outside pocket and grabbed my MacGyver stash: a hairpin, nail file and library card. One or more of these freakin' things was going to get me into that damn apartment.

My big hoodie concealing my actions, I stood close to the door, put the mini-light in-between my teeth, and pointed it at the lock. Unlike the front door, the back door had only a single lock just like I'd hoped. I fiddled around until I felt the tumbler move. Within a minute, thanks to Mr. Aro's questionable past, I was in.

Keeping the lights off, I let my eyes adjust to the dark for a moment and then made my way to the front of the house where I quickly plopped myself onto the floor, huddled up against the wall behind a coat rack. Had I thought about it, I'm sure I could have found somewhere more logical to sit, but clearly logic wasn't driving my actions at the moment. I'd just broken into a stranger's house and, unlike Goldilocks, I thought it best to make my presence known immediately when he returned.

I tried to make sense of the evening, but nothing was adding up. Questions without answers swirled in my head as I unsuccessfully fought back tears. Who were they? Why were they after us? Could I call 911 now that I was far enough away? Would they be able to help my friends or was it too late? Could I trust the police? If I called from a landline, how long did it take before they traced it? What did they want?

I was so lost in thought that I didn't hear his approach until the key was in the lock. My body went into high alert and I stood up quickly.

He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and turned on the light. He was momentarily startled and we both froze as our eyes met. Fear quickly turned to recognition and then anger in a few brief seconds. In two strides, he was on me, grabbing my right arm and aggressively pulling me out of the corner. I stumbled into him as I struggled to gain some balance. Both of his hands moved to grasp my biceps. For a moment, I thought he was trying to help stabilize me, but I was wrong.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" he snarled, shaking me. "How the fuck did you get in?"

"I-I picked the lock," I stammered, trying to pull away. While he wasn't as tall or as wide as Jacob, his body language was threatening. Standing so close to him, his grip like an iron vice, I was able to register more about his physical presence. He was about eight to ten inches taller than I was, and was lean, but muscular. His reddish brownish hair was pulled back in the same ponytail I'd seen when we'd met and his angry green eyes glared at me.

"How do you even know where I live?"

Oh yeah, this is going well. "I followed you home one day," I admitted.

"What are you, some kind of fuckin' crazy stalker chick? I thought I was pretty clear with you that day, lady! Something wrong with your memory?"

My heart felt like it would jump out of my chest. This hostility was the last thing I needed. I willed myself to calm down. "My memory is fine," I said slowly, watching him carefully. "I clearly recall you acting like you didn't know me…"

He shut his eyes for a beat and his hands squeezed my arms a little tighter. When he opened his eyes, for a brief second I saw his hesitancy. Then he blinked quickly and his steel gaze returned. "And I don't. Why the-"

That was enough of a "tell" for me. "Aw, cut the crap, Tony!" I said, wrenching my arms away from his grasp and backing up a step. I immediately started to rub where he'd just been holding me. I was already cut and scraped up from stumbling in Jacob's secret stairwell and climbing the fence. Now I was going to have huge bruises where his hands had been; I could feel it.

"My hearing is excellent and I'm good with voices. I can recognize almost anyone. After months of talking with you nearly every night, don't even try to lie!"

His hands twitched and moved toward me as if he was going to reach for me, but then they froze at his side. His eyes flashed down to my hands as I rubbed my arms and he quickly stepped back. "Uh, sorry. I'm just extremely protective of my privacy."

"So am I," I said in a small voice, "but I had nowhere else to go."

His face registered surprise as he looked down at my hands and then back at my face. "You don't have… friends… or family here? Anyone who knows you better than I do?"

"I have no living relatives. And my friends…" I trailed off. Oh God, who were these people? Would they stop at Jake and Ness? I recalled what that guy said about tracking down other people I hung out with. Would Leah and Sam, and Angela and Ben be okay?

"I DO have people I know better than you. But certain people know I know them. I figured nobody would find me here."

"What happened?"

"I think my friends Jacob and Nessie were killed. I was in the house when it happened."

He gasped in shock. "You think they were killed?" he asked, looking concerned. "Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I called 911 but they were tracking the phone and I had to run. I heard them talking… the attackers. Whoever did this had connections to the police. I needed to hide so I could figure out what to do." I backed up another step to lean against the wall and then I slid down it. I sat on the floor in the entryway, curling my arms around my knees, closing my eyes and hugging myself, trying to hold it together.

"Hey," he said softly.

I opened my eyes and saw him crouched down in front of me. His eyes were wary, but a little gentler.

"Don't sit there. Let's go to the living room." He stood and offered me his hand, but I waved him off as I lifted myself off the floor and nodded. He turned and walked down the hall and went right toward an open room. It was sparsely decorated with a sofa, a chair and a side table. There was a little desk with a hardwood chair in the corner and windows along the far wall behind the sofa, with blue venetian blinds covering them. He flipped a light switch.

"Please don't," I said quietly as he moved to turn on another light. The room was softly lit and it was oddly soothing.

He looked confused. "Okay." He ran his hands over his hair. "Do you want something to drink?"

I nodded and watched him walk out of the room. I could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere and I looked down at my watch. It was just after eleven pm. What time had I left the house? It felt like a century ago.

I stood in the middle of his living room, hugging myself, and looking down at the floor. I didn't notice that he had come back and was standing in front of me until he spoke. "Uh…"

I looked up and noticed he had two items in his hands: a glass of amber liquid in one and a bottle of water in the other. "I didn't know whether you wanted water or something stronger. This one is scotch," he said, indicating the glass.

I knew I probably should have the water, but I needed something more. I let go of myself and reached out for the scotch with a shaky hand, and then used the other to steady the glass so I wouldn't drop it. "Thanks," I whispered, glancing up at him.

Again, his eyes were soft as they met mine. I quickly looked down and raised the glass to my mouth. The smoky aroma hit me as I took a sip. I felt the burn immediately. "Peaty," I commented, unconsciously, "Laphroaig maybe…"

He exhaled in a small huff. I looked back up and he was looking at me incredulously. "Lagavulin, actually. Strong, but it will warm you… and you look like you need it." He looked around and then gestured to the sofa and chairs. "Do you want to sit?"

I shook my head and moved to the window. I wanted to look out, but fear instantly gripped me. What if I'd been followed? What if I saw them out there? I decided not to think about it and instead leaned against the wall next to it and just held my glass. I took another sip and stared at it. The effect of the alcohol was instant. I could feel my body starting to numb a little.

I heard him move and saw that he'd sat down on a chair facing me. The room was silent but for the ticking. I turned to look at the lovely cherry wood clock on the mantle. Mission-style. Well my time with Mike had some benefits. I could identify Frank Lloyd Wright pieces and brands of scotch even in my darkest hours.

I was just in the process of wondering whether it was a working fireplace when I realized he'd been speaking to me. I turned back to him.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

"Uh, I was just asking you if you'd lost a lot of weight recently."

What? "No, why?"

"Your clothes are kind of baggy. They don't look like they're your size."

"Oh. I, um, I don't really like tight clothes," I said, taking another sip of scotch. I looked back down at my glass and said nothing more.

His smooth voice broke the silence once again. "Do you always wear black?"

What? "Why do you ask?"

"It was what you were wearing when I saw you in the garage, and here you are again, doing your best Johnny Cash imitation," he said with a slight smirk. I knew he was trying to lighten the mood with small-talk but it wasn't helping.

"Black is slimming," I said with a shrug, looking back down at the floor.

"Slimming? Don't you have a mirror in your house?" he blurted. "You're petite… you're very slim."

My head snapped up and I stared at him. "Are we really discussing my wardrobe right now? Two of my only friends in life were just killed. If nothing else, I'm appropriately dressed to mourn for them."

"Shit, I- I'm sorry…" I nodded at him and said nothing. I was surprised when he continued. "It's just-"

"What?"

"After months of speaking, this is the first real glimpse I've had of you." He paused and bit his lip. "You're kind of pale, like me. I don't know if you're paler than you usually are…"

He sure was taking stock of my features. "You must do well with the ladies, Tony. You're so complimentary," I said flatly.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Never mind." He cleared his throat and gestured at my empty glass. "Do you need another?"

I stepped away from the wall and moved to sit on the sofa across from him. "No, I'm sufficiently tipsy, thanks."

"Tipsy? Off of that?"

"I didn't eat much today. We were running around all day doing the Treasure Hunt and then… well, we never got to eat dinner. Besides, I told you that I don't really drink much. As a result, it affects me quite fast." I shrugged. "Cheap date."

"Do you want something to eat?" He stood up and gestured to the kitchen. "I could-"

I held up my hand as I shook my head. "I don't think I could stomach anything really."

He frowned. "You're really thin, Iz. You should eat something." I just stared at him. He cleared his throat again and then put his hands in his pockets. "Well, if you get hungry, just help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen." I nodded and looked down.

He exhaled loudly and I looked up again. He was staring at me. "Listen, it's getting late. You can crash here for tonight and I'll take you home or to the police in the morning so you can get it all sorted out."

"Take me home? You're going to kick me out?" I asked, in a panic.

"I have my own problems, Iz. I don't know what happened-"

"I told you what happened. Don't you believe me?"

"I don't know what to believe. Look, you followed me to my home. I don't know about you, but that ranks right up there as stalkery 'Play Misty for Me' behavior. I live a private life and I like it that way."

"I'd help you if you needed it," I said.

"That's the difference. I wouldn't ask you to," he said matter-of-factly.

"Normally, I wouldn't ask you either. Unfortunately, we're far the hell away from normal," I huffed. "I- I guess I thought…"

"What?" he asked.

"I thought we were… friends."

He scoffed. "Why, because we spoke on the phone here and there?"

"Here and there? I've spoken to you four nights a week for months!"

He shook his head. "That makes us phone acquaintances. You don't really know me," he insisted. "And if you did, you wouldn't want to be my friend."

So this was how it was going to be. The man I had been dreaming about wasn't quite the man of my dreams. Not that I really expected him to be. Reality usually falls far short of fantasy. But I'd hoped that I was at least making a new start. Well, it was time to cut my losses. I stood and nodded. "Would it be okay if I showered?"

He seemed startled by the abrupt change in our discussion. "Of course. I'll get you something to sleep in."

I was baffled by the gesture. It seemed like an awfully nice offer for someone who didn't matter to him. I wished he'd just make up his mind.

"No, you don't need to-"

"It's not a problem, Iz." He turned and I walked behind him down the hall to his bedroom. I stood outside and waited, listening to him rustle around, then he stepped back in the hallway. He handed me a greenish-grey t-shirt and grey sweats. "These are old and unfortunately ratty, but they're clean and small from laundry shrinkage. They should fit you."

"As you're well aware, baggy clothes don't bug me like they bug you, Tony. But thank you," I said taking the clothes from him. Our hands touched and he quickly pulled his away as if he'd been burned. I looked at him and he once again ran his hand over his hair. The ponytail holder was clearly constricting his ability to run his fingers through it. I realized that this was probably a nervous habit of his, but it seemed odd. His hands always stopped at the top of his head.

"There are clean towels there," he gestured. I thanked him again and then closed the door and locked it.

I turned on the water and let it heat up, then looked at myself in the mirror over the sink and inhaled sharply. I was too pale and my eyes were puffy from crying. My ponytail had come loose and my clothes were dirty and had some leaves on them. Lovely. No wonder he was questioning my apparel. I stripped down, felt the water temperature and then stepped into the tub.

The water was scalding and it felt good. After a minute, I could feel my body relax and suddenly my knees started to buckle. I grabbed onto the ceramic soap holder and managed to sit, rather than fall. My adrenaline had been the only thing holding me up and this minor interlude of relief was almost too much. I could feel the tears flowing again and this time I didn't try to silence them. I sobbed uncontrollably, rocking myself in the tub. Oh Jake. Another one bites the dust.

Wrong decade. And besides, two bit the dust. Nessie. Jake.

Appalled at my morbidly inappropriate thoughts, I let the water drown my loneliness for just another few moments. I didn't like wallowing about how I kept on losing those who mattered most to me, but today I felt it was okay, even though Jasper wouldn't approve.

I cried until I felt I couldn't cry anymore and then stood to wash my hair and body. The water started to cool and I realized I'd been in here too long. I turned off the water and quickly dried off and toweled-dried my hair. Unfolding the tee, I briefly registered that it was an old concert shirt before throwing it over my head. Then I pulled on the sweats, folded my clothes, and scooped them up in my arms. I opened the door and was startled to see Tony there.

He was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, his eyes full of concern. I guessed he'd heard me crying. His eyes immediately went to the cuts on my hands and wrists and the bruises that were starting to form on my arm from where he grabbed me earlier. He winced and then raised his eyes to meet mine. "Are you okay?"

"No." His lips parted, registering surprise at my honest response. The guy thought I was a nutjob anyway. No need to hide it. "But thanks for asking," I continued.

"You've got quite a few cuts on you," he commented. "They're bleeding."

I looked down. Toweling off must have aggravated them. "Yeah, getting out of there and then over your fence left me a little scraped up." I looked down at the t-shirt. "Oh, crap! Am I bleeding on your shirt?"

"I'm not worried about that, Izzy, but no, it doesn't look like you are. However, we should probably disinfect those, just in case you came across any rusty nails." He stepped around me into the bathroom and pulled out a box from under the sink. "Come here," he said, gesturing to the sink.

I stood in place for a moment, confused. Now he wanted to help me? I sighed and moved to lean against the bathroom counter. The box next to me was a makeshift first-aid kit, but it was better than any I'd ever seen. There were ointments and antiseptics that I didn't recognize.

He got to work immediately on my cuts. I'd never been okay at the sight or smell of blood, so I closed my eyes and let him work. Neither of us spoke and the only sound was him reaching into the box to get what he needed. His touch was very soft, but also very skilled. He clearly knew how to do this.

It wasn't until my hand was in his and he was picking the splinters out that he spoke. "Were you engaged to him? I mean, it's on the wrong hand, but…"

My eyes popped open. "What?"

He turned my hand over. That's when I realized I was still wearing Nessie's ring. I pulled my hand away as my stomach fell. "J- Jake was showing me the ring when it started. He was going to propose to her," I said, closing my eyes as I felt more tears threatening.

I felt his hand on mine as he took it once again and continued working silently. I opened my eyes and just watched him, then looked down at the shirt. "Did you go to this concert?" I asked, trying to get us on familiar ground.

He nodded. "Back when I was in m-" He stopped abruptly and his eyes met mine for a moment. He looked down again, concentrating on the last splinter. "…my younger days. I saw them in Chicago… in 1997, obviously. It's amazing they stayed together with all those weird inter-band relationships, you know?"

"Yeah, I remember our conversation about it." Most people knew of Fleetwood Mac – named after Mick Fleetwood and John McVie – as the incarnation of the band that hit it big with their Rumours album in 1977. However, that was just the last of many different mixes of band members over the years.

While I had known that Christie and John McVie were once married, and that Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham joined the group as a couple, I hadn't know that Mick Fleetwood had been married to Jenny Boyd – the sister of the infamous Pattie Boyd about whom many songs had been written. Jenny had an affair with a past band member and eventually all three couples ended their relationships. Yet the band continued on for several years after that.

"I guess some people can be adults about their past relationships," I mused.

"I think the drugs and alcohol helped. And maybe Stevie's Wiccan tendencies," he said with a smirk. "There. All finished," he said tenderly.

Sitting there with my hand in his, his gentle gestures patching me up…well, it was a bit overwhelming and it felt intimate. The energy around us seemed to hum and I wondered if he felt it too. I looked at him, and he quickly let go of my hand and started putting the supplies away. He gestured with his head back toward the living room, indicating that I should follow him. I saw he'd put a sheet down on the sofa along with a pillow and blanket. Beside it there was a box on the floor.

"Uh, the previous occupant was kicked out of this apartment and left a couple of boxes behind. There are some clothes there that you might be able to wear tomorrow if you'd like. They're clean; I washed them because I was planning to donate them to Goodwill, but I never got around to it. I think she was probably your size. What are you, a four?"

"You're Tim Gunn, aren't you?"

He was sheepish. "No, I just know someone who used to really love fashion. I learned a few things from her."

On any other night, I might have asked about this "someone." Tonight, I just couldn't. Exhaustion was setting in. "Thanks," I said as I sat on the sofa and looked at the blankets. He was quiet again and I could see he hadn't moved.

Finally he spoke. "That shirt looks good on you," he said quietly. "It's a nice color… you should wear more green…"

I looked up and saw him staring. My eyes met his, puzzled by his gaze.

"Well," he said, awkwardly, "I'll let you go to sleep. You know where my room is if you need me."

"Thank you, Tony. I'm sorry I had to trouble you. I really had nowhere else to go."

"Good night, Iz. I'll see you in the morning."

"It is morning."

He smiled gently. "Yes. It is." Then he turned and left the room.

~#~

The dream was always the same.

Except when it wasn't.

The grocery store. The candy aisle. The ring of the little bell. The shouts. The worker who gestured to me to run and hide. The gunshots. The voices.

Except this time, the scream I heard came from Nessie. And the worker who turned to me was Jacob. I heard the gunshot and saw him fall to his knees. Tears started falling and I went to cry out, but a hand slapped over my mouth and pulled me backward into the corner with the boxes. "Shhh," the deep voice whispered, trying to soothe me, "I've got you."

I turned my head to look at the owner of the hand. Green eyes met mine. I turned back to see Jacob's feet twisted under him on the floor. I could feel my breathing getting shallower. I was hyperventilating. "Shhh," the voice came again, trying to calm me. I removed the hand from my face and cried out.

"Jacob!" I yelled, sitting up. My eyes were wet from the very real tears pouring out of me once again. Even in my dreams, I was mourning my friend. Suddenly, I noticed the dark form right next to me. "Ah!" I shouted.

Tony's voice was soothing. "Shhh, Izzy. It's me."

I was startled to find him kneeling next to me. I clutched the blanket to my chest and looked at him. "What-?"

"You were crying. I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to check if you were okay."

"I dream a lot. Tonight's wasn't so nice."

"I can imagine. Can I get you anything?"

"No."

He reached out and tenderly touched my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I wasn't sure if he even knew he was doing it.

His hands were cool and felt nice against my flushed face. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see his dark gaze. He was an undeniably attractive man, and yet something was off about him.

I reached out to touch his hand and he abruptly stood and stepped back.

Why did he behave like this? I could get whiplash from his gestures: warm one moment, cold the next. Everything about him was so confusing and contradictory.

"Well, as long as you're okay," he said quickly, backing away from me. He turned and started to exit the room. I didn't want him to leave.

"You know, you don't look like a Tony." I blurted.

He whipped around. I could see an angry glint in his eyes. "What?"

"Your name… it doesn't match your face. Do you ever go by your more formal name, Anthony?"

"No."

"Oh. Maybe it's your hair." His eyes widened. "I guess you don't look like what I imagined. I didn't envision you with a ponytail. Have you always worn it like this? It doesn't seem like you."

"What? Are you suddenly a makeover guru yourself?" he snapped.

"No, I just-"

I must have touched a nerve. His hands were closed in fists at his side. I didn't understand this reaction, but clearly Mr. Hyde was back. Caring Tony Masen was gone.

Tell me why everything turned around...

"Never mind. Goodnight," I said, sliding down on the couch and turning my back to him. I could still feel his angry stare on my back, causing my hair to stand on end. After a moment, the light diminished completely as he turned off the hallway light and closed his door loudly.

I tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. I tossed and turned and tried to figure out my next step. Clearly, based on Tony's erratic behavior and his blatant statement, I was on my own. I didn't have time to be upset at this point. He didn't want to help, although I knew I would help him if our roles were reversed.

If I could, maybe I'd give you my world. How can I, if you won't take it from me?

I shook off my disappointment. He'd been a big help letting me stay and that had to be enough. But now where would I turn? I just didn't feel like I could go to the police. From what the Dee voice said, they had connections. I needed to get out of Dodge fast and then see if I could find someone to help me. Unfortunately, it meant doing some things that I would have ordinarily avoided at all cost.

Quietly, I turned on the light next to the sofa and rifled through the box. I found a pair of brown pants, a forest green top and some socks. I stood up, listened for any sound from him, and then quickly peeled off his clothes and put on the new ones. I folded his clothes, the blanket and sheet and left them neatly stacked on the sofa. I was quiet, trained from my years with Mike, a light sleeper. He'd get really angry if I woke him up.

I went to the kitchen, and grabbed the two apples I saw on the counter. Then I returned to the living room, threw them along with the bottle of water he'd left for me into the backpack with my clothes, and zipped it quietly. I paused, looking at his clothes, and decided I would take them as well. There was still a part of me that longed for the friendship I'd thought we had; this was a way to pretend it existed. And right now, I needed a friend.

I reached into my bag, got out a pen and a piece of paper from my notepad, and bent over his desk to write a quick note:

Tony,

Thank you for your help. I'm sorry to have bothered you.
I'll go my own way.

Iz

P.S. I took the clothes you lent me. I don't know when I'll see you again, but I promise I'll get them back to you if that ever happens.

I left the note on the blanket, turned off the light, and walked silently to the front door. I put on my hoodie and sneakers and quietly stepped onto the porch. Then I let the darkness of the early morning envelop me as I left his apartment.

A/N2: Tony is so confusing. Yeesh.

Thank you to the Irritable Grizzzly for her fabulousness and advice.

Please review.

Post A/N: Also not mine – lyric references from Fleetwood Mac's Go Your Own Way.

Mick married and divorced Jenny twice. Mick and Stevie also had an affair along the way. Rumors of Stevie's Wiccan tendencies are supposedly just that: rumors. We'll touch upon the infamous Pattie Boyd at a later point.