Author's Note: There are a couple of mentions of the song, Auld Lang Syne in this part. Obviously, this one also doesn't belong to us.

Part 11

The sound a church bell rang out, announcing the time, and out of habit Kyle checked his watch. Half past eleven. Maybe it was time to go. The pub's patrons were beginning to show a little more life and he just wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by jovial drunks. He could head over to Ontario Place and listen to the bell as it rang out 108 times. It essentially signified a cleansing of the senses and allowed its followers to move into the New Year with a clear mind and body. That was something he could use. The year before he and Isabel had attended the ceremony. No! He slammed the door on that memory.

He shifted and glanced over his shoulder when the door opened to admit another customer and his eyebrows lifted in interest as he watched the man stumble slightly before being steadied by a couple of guys who stood to greet him by name. He'd met Cameron McConnell before. He was a quiet man, ruddy faced with big hands that were callused and scarred from his years working as a logger. Usually when the older man came in he spent his time sitting on the single stool down at the end of the bar. He didn't talk much. He tended to keep to himself beyond a brief exchange with some of the regulars and he never drank much. His gaze drifted over the man, recognizing the signs of too much alcohol.

He watched as McConnell patted his pockets and slowly, and with great effort, made his way over to the old jukebox sitting up against the far wall. He glanced around when he realized that the volume level of the conversations around the bar had dropped to a low hum and it was impossible to miss the respect the patrons gave him as he weaved his way between the tables. He fumbled in his pocket for some coins, sorting through them with bleary eyes, and once he'd picked out the ones he needed he leaned against the jukebox and carefully lined them up with the slot.

It was difficult to miss the way his hand shook as his fingers traced over the buttons, finally locating the ones he needed and pushing them in. The familiar strains of an instrumental version of Auld Lang Syne began to filter through the speakers and Kyle shot a look at the bartender when he paused in his duties to watch McConnell as he pushed himself back, his hands gripping the sides of the jukebox as he closed his eyes and began to quietly sing the words. His voice was surprisingly strong considering his obvious inebriated state and his thick Scottish brogue was impossible to miss as he sang the song in his native tongue.

There was something haunting about the words, especially the heartfelt way the man was singing them. He knew a few of the lines in English, but beyond that he was lost. He'd never really paid much attention to the song and he found himself wondering what it really meant. When it ended McConnell remained facing the jukebox until the final strains faded away and then his back straightened and he raised his head to stare at one of the pictures on the wall above it. Slowly his right hand lifted and he snapped off a sharp salute, his gray eyes never wavering as he stood at attention for nearly a full minute before lowering his hand and taking a step back.

The conversations that had fallen silent from the moment the music began to play began to pick up again and people went on about their business. More than a few of the patrons reached out to pat the man's back or rest a hand on his shoulder for a moment as he passed.

"What's that all about?" Kyle asked when McConnell began to make his way to his stool at the end of the bar.

"You've never been in here on New Year's Eve." The bartender nodded at the wall above the jukebox, his eyes moving over the framed pictures that filled the space. "You know about the wall."

He nodded. The photographs were of local men and women who had lost their lives in various wars over the years. He'd seen the owner, Marc Robicheaux, personally escort a couple of guys out one night for being disrespectful and knocking a couple of the pictures off of the wall. Marc had several photographs of his own on the wall, having lost his great-grandfather, father, an uncle, a brother, an aunt, and his youngest son to different wars. He was a patriotic man, his beliefs were strong and he held people who served in the highest regard. Disrespect to his country or to those who had died in her service was not tolerated in any way, shape or form.

"McConnell came to us back in '91 – "

"Get yer dates straecht, Vince," Molly Buchanan, one of the regulars, said as she sidled up to the bar and settled on the stool Michael had vacated. "Cameron came to us in '92, he did. A tortured soul, that one." She shook her head, her red mane cascading down over her shoulders and drawing the admiring gaze of more than one man.

"So he's got someone on the wall," Kyle guessed, his gaze lingering on McConnell.

"Lt. Sean O'Laughlin. Best friends, the two of them were. Together from birth practically. Coudnae separate the two o' them."

He raised an eyebrow when he heard the quiet undertones in her voice.

"Aye, he's ma uncle," she confirmed. She smiled fondly when the man at the end of the bar raised a hand and she nodded at Vince.

"A pint o' Guinness, lad," McConnell called when the bartender turned in his direction.

Vince hooked a thumb over his shoulder when she offered to take the drink to her uncle, giving his silent permission for her to step behind the bar. "He and O'Laughlin went to war together but his buddy didn't make it. Their unit was ambushed and taken prisoner." He shook his head as his eyes once more moved to the wall. "What happened there he won't talk about. He comes in a few times a year and he never misses a New Year's Eve." He nodded when a customer raised a hand to get his attention and he pushed himself back. "He told me once he comes in on this night to bid farewell to the past so he can move forward." He reached for a glass and started mixing a drink. "Some people can't let go and they can't move forward. They just get stuck in a moment and when that happens they end up here, trapped in a cycle that just won't end."

"Yeah," Kyle muttered quietly as he straightened up. He'd promised he wouldn't just take off and he knew Michael well enough to know if he did he'd have a seriously pissed off hybrid tracking him down. No, he wouldn't just slink off into the night. He wouldn't turn tail and run because that wasn't who he was. Maybe he would leave, see where the road took him, but running wasn't an option.

The bell of a nearby church rang out and he glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes before this year came to an end and the new one was ushered in with merriment and more drinking. Well, one he could do without and the other he'd had enough of. He shifted and pulled his wallet out, checking his cash supply and retrieving what he needed to cover his tab along with a decent tip. He got to his feet and went to get his coat, shrugging into it and speaking to a few of the patrons on his way out.

He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob when Auld Lang Syne began to play again. He turned to glance at the wall before shifting his gaze to McConnell who was still sitting at the bar, his eyes closed and his lips moving, but this time the words fell silently. His head slowly lowered and the lights behind the bar caught the tracks of moisture that trickled down his weathered face.

With renewed determination he turned the knob and pulled the door open, stepping out into the cold night air and drawing in a deep breath. In the distance the bell continued to ring and he fervently wished he could step into the New Year free of the burden weighing down his heart. He pulled his coat closed and was reaching for the zipper when movement across the street caught his eye. Out of habit he controlled his reaction, slowly shifting so as not to draw attention to the fact that he was aware he was being watched. It was a woman standing under the streetlight, a woman he'd recognize blindfolded in the dark. He relaxed slightly as the threat was dismissed but he could feel the tension taking hold of him as they stood there, staring at each other from opposite sides of the street.