We know as we witness them standing in the middle of the mid-western stranger infested airport that it wouldn't have mattered just like we have known all along why he was stuck in neutral.
"It wouldn't have mattered?"
Asking as if she was a homicide suspect, the evidence clear, but he needs to hear the sordid details of the confession for him to believe.
"We would have ruined it. Whatever it was. I know that now. I know it for sure."
Feeling an overwhelming sense of relief her shoulders relax into her body and her breath returns to normal because she's no longer afraid about what he thinks or what he feels.
"We did ruin it, Vic."
Bitterness of their past stops him from crossing the invisible divide that is between them and he adjusts his weight onto his hip and his hands find their place there while his lower lip sucks in between his perfectly white teeth and blows back out with his breath.
He's been using lip balm she thinks and the randomness of her thought makes her wonder if she has completely lost her sanity.
Standing in the middle of strangeness immersed in the hustle of travelers, screaming kids, families on a mission to find the perfect place; their memories collapse amongst them without visible carnage but it leaves pieces of their flesh and soul on the well traversed and marked laminate.
"I don't want it back." The pain is evident in her face.
Crossing the divide, "Neither do I. I never want it back, Vic."
"So" She says.
"So, where does that leave us?" He asks.
"I don't know."
She's no longer running, her feet are firmly planted, both oblivious to the noise and the distractions around them and both completely comfortable with not knowing the answers.
"What do you want?" She asks him soliciting him instead of presuming she knows his answer.
"I want to start over with you, with us, and see where it goes."
"Where do you want it to go?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No."
I've blown it he thinks but I can't lie to myself anymore he has internalized his truth and he chooses not to fail himself or her.
She pushes her hair out of her face with her index finger and he knows by her gesture that she is contemplating his answer, she's thinking about all of the implications, the pain they have caused each other and she is weighing the cost benefit of him.
He doesn't overthink what he feels when he closes the gap between them, leaving his bag on the floor abandoning it, pulling her into his chest holding her with his arms wrapped completely around her without the chaperone of his conscience escorting his feelings and his thoughts and she allows his head to take refuge on the side of her neck and she smells like the beach, clean and crisp and free.
He feels the weight of her turned head over his heart and her arms eventually move and wrap around his waist and he feels her breath through his t-shirt and she feels safe against the doubts and the paralyzing fear of what it could all mean.
When they talk about this moment later they will tell you that time stood still but we all know that is a gross exaggeration of an overused phrase but they stand in baggage claim for three more carousel trips from flights arriving from all parts of the world.
"I better get my bag before TSA tags it a suspicious package." He murmurs into the back of her neck.
When she lets go he immediately misses the warmth of her body pressed against his and as he bends over to pick up his bag she can't help but look at his back bottom and for the first time since she has become aware of him she does not feel any guilt or shame in her actions or thoughts.
They follow the signs and she's comforted in the fact that she has regained the ability to read as they find the parking shuttle stop and they wait on the curb line in silence but not in anger as they process what is happening and each one is trying to remain calm and cool and confident.
Their shoulders bump on the jerky ride in the too small seats, his knees pushed up too high accommodating his extra-long legs, she notices fresh scratches and nicks on the back of his hand that grips the pedestrian bar holding him in place.
"I've never seen you without your hat."
He lifts his ball cap and readjusts it like a Pavlovian dog.
"I wanted to fit in." He smiles but it's a bit shy and she smiles back because she likes it.
At the car, they work it out that he drives and she uses Google maps on her iPhone to map them to the hotel and they marvel at the buildings and talk about the wind and Polish sausage and the Cubs and the Sox and Frank Sinatra and everything about what's really on their mind because neither one of them is ready but they find their rhythm and they laugh.
He pulls into the hotel and follows the valet sign and she points to the self-parking sign and he looks over at her and winks and she feels her face flush. She really didn't expect it but she doesn't fight it either.
Once inside she's not sure if he noticed they are 10 floors apart but he doesn't say anything and they make quick plans to meet in a half an hour for dinner in the lobby and they do and when he sees her he smiles and he lifts his hand up to his waist in a little wave and walks toward her to meet her. His hair is wet and combed with a neat part and he smells like lemongrass shampoo.
He points over his shoulder, "I talked to Quentin, that's the valet, and he gave me directions to the best BBQ joint in town if you're game?"
"Fuck yeah." She says smiling as she notices the little curls start to form at the nape of his neck.
They are strategic in their ordering and they share their food like too old friends completely comfortable with each other's flaws and bad habits and while waiting for the bread pudding they decided to split she leans forward, interlaces her fingers, plants her elbows on the table and asks if he ever took Donna on a date.
"Not in the traditional sense."
"What does that mean?"
"I asked her and she said yes but it never materialized."
"You mean you took her to your place."
"Yes"
He feels guilty for telling her the truth and she's sorry she asked.
"That was the most painful part you know."
"What was, Vic?"
"You used the same line with her that you did with me."
He cants his head like he's trying to not remember.
"You shouldn't go home." That's what you told her.
He thins his lips and he leans forward but he doesn't touch her as he mirrors her position and he sees her eyes filling.
"Vic, listen to me." His voice is soft but its firm.
He confesses, "It was an asshole thing to say but I was so fucking angry with you. I wanted to hurt you."
She can see the edges of his jaw flexing back and forth.
The waitress slides the bread pudding to the edge of the table but they don't acknowledge her or it.
"I went by your cabin that morning. The morning you went after Nighthorse."
He shakes his head at the revelation.
"I had a six-pack and plans but Henry was there and I was embarrassed and I erased my message from your answering machine."
She stays leaning and twirls her thumbs as he shakes his head acknowledging the truth and recalling her number.
"Things would have been different if I had been home." He says and then he adds, "I'm sorry, Vic."
"For what, for not being home?"
He shakes his head, "No. I'm sorry for being an asshole and for hurting you." He reaches over and grips her hands with his, "I'm glad I wasn't home because we would have hurt each other even more in the end and I don't think we would have recovered from that kind of damage."
She nods, not crying, but realizing he's right as that's the sort of pain that isn't recoverable for her and it brings an understanding of why she's not ready for all of him, not now, not right now.
"I was wrong, you know."
She rubs her thumbs against the back of his nicked hands.
"I was wrong to tell you like that. I was trying to get your attention at all costs. I was so lost and so frustrated and so angry with you. I'm sorry for all of it, Walt."
He studies the red and white checked table cloth for a moment and he looks back at her and he flashes a grin.
"I accept your apology."
"I accept yours."
"You want coffee with desert?" He asks as he flags down the waitress.
"I'll have some of yours." She says without a second thought.
"Ok." He says smoothing down the back of his hair.