********************
Jack had been back at his post by her bedside for almost two hours when Ree began to find her way back to consciousness. Sydney, coming back into the room with two cups of coffee, was the one to notice it first.
"Dad? I think she just moved."
He pulled himself out of his reverie and turned to see Ree's eyes flutter open. It took her a moment to make her eyes focus.
"Jack?"
Emotions he didn't want to think about, much less analyze, rose up in him and he couldn't speak for a moment. "I'm here," he said finally.
Sydney set the coffees down and came over to the side of the bed. "Hey, you're awake. How do you feel?"
Ree looked from one face to the other. "How long.? What.?"
"You were shot almost three days ago," Jack told her. His face was taut with an unspoken tension.
"I was shot." Her hand moved toward the bandages on her abdomen, but stopped short of touching them. "I remember. I remember that," she said and saw him stiffen almost imperceptibly as the doctor and an armed police officer entered the room.
And then she remembered the rest of it. She met his eyes and could tell that what he saw there reassured him.
"Mlle. Ash, can you tell us what happened to you?" the officer asked.
Ree replied slowly with what she judged to be just the right amount of halting confusion, "I was shot, from behind, I think. I remember lying on the ground, looking up at a male figure, but I couldn't see his face. The sun." She let her voice trail off. "Then he must have shot me again, but."
"Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?" he pressed.
She shook her head slowly. "No. I don't think." Her face twisted as if she was trying to erase a bad memory. "No," she said with more assurance, "no, that's what made it even more frightening. I tried to talk to him, ask him what he wanted, but he didn't say a word."
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, "Please. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Mlle. Ash needs to rest, "the doctor said firmly. "Questions can wait for another time. If you would all wait outside please while I look her over? Yes, Monsieur Bristow, you as well. It will only take a moment and then you may return. In the meantime, Monsieur Sloane asked to be notified as soon as she awoke. Perhaps you could contact him?"
Jack acquiesced with a grudging jerk of his head and they all left the room slowly, each with their own unspoken reasons for their reluctance.
********************
"I'm bringing her back to the States as soon as possible."
Sloane tipped his head at the tone of Jack's voice on the speakerphone. "I would hardly have thought she was in any shape to sit for a flight of that length."
"Alain has arranged the use of his private jet for us."
Sloane's eyebrows rose. "You've spoken to Alain?"
"Apparently he's concerned that the investigation may come under the jurisdiction of some particularly inquisitive officers. He agrees that if she's out of the country it will be easier to have the matter closed."
There was silence on Sloane's end of the phone.
"And Alain owes me a favor."
Sloane sighed. Now that was a story he'd love to hear and knew he probably never would. "All right, Jack. But I'll expect a full accounting when you return."
"Of course."
"I assume you'll be wanting some time off to be with her while she recuperates."
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "No," Jack said finally, "I don't think that will be necessary."
And Sloane was left listening to a dial tone.
********************
She'd been home for almost three weeks. Jack had arranged nursing care for her - around the clock at first, then tapering off as she recovered. She'd gotten a clean bill of health over a week ago.
Sydney had called a couple of times to see how she was doing.
Sloane had called once.
Of Jack she had seen and heard nothing.
She'd asked Sydney about him once, but the painful hesitation on the other end of the line had told her all she needed to know. She hadn't asked again.
It was better this way. Think about it rationally; a dangerous man with a dangerous job, just being with him had put her in jeopardy; emotionally closed off and unavailable. Was this really something she needed in her life?
Yes, her foolish heart whispered. Yes. And he's different with me. We have something real.
Luckily she'd taught herself how to ignore those whisperings years ago.
It had been stupid of her to think that anything would come of their interlude in Paris. It shouldn't have happened to begin with. He'd even told her how uncomfortable he'd been with the feelings it had provoked in him, how he preferred to keep himself distant - safe. And then to have to deal with her near death.
How could she ever have thought, even for a moment, that he would be willing to risk that part of himself again?
She would have been more amazed if he hadn't retreated back behind the walls that he'd put up to protect himself so long ago.
And she'd gotten over it. Really she had.
Except.
Except that last night she'd dreamed about him again. Dreamed of them making love together. Dreamed of him looking down at her with the half- smile that was all he ever seemed to allow himself.
For a moment when she woke up she had truly thought he was lying there beside her - that all she had to do was turn towards him and he would take her in his arms.
She'd felt impossibly bereft when she'd opened her eyes to find herself quite alone.
Which was how she came to be sitting at her desk - cup of tea long since gone cold - and sketching for all she was worth.
It wasn't until he cleared his throat that she realized she wasn't alone in the house. Her head shot up and when she saw him standing there, looking at her with those bleak, hopeless eyes, she felt her heart stop.
And then she thought perhaps he was just a figment of her imagination. Some sort of extension of her crazy dreams into her waking life.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said when, after several moments, he hadn't disappeared into thin air.
"I intended to stay away." Only his eyes betrayed his emotions. "I couldn't any longer."
She watched him without speaking, giving him the time he needed.
"You deserve better," he said at last. "You deserve more than I'll ever be able to give you."
"You let me decide what I do or don't deserve. That's my decision!" she replied with a touch of anger that sent a brief smile ghosting across his face.
"I can't promise you -"
"I didn't ask you for any promises, Jack." She stood up suddenly, no longer able to remain in her chair. "I know all about what you can't do and why. I know it and I understand it. I'm not asking you for any of that. I'm not looking for some fairy tale happily ever after." She took a deep breath. "But I think together we could find some happiness. And peace. I think we could really have something here. All I'm asking for is a chance. For us."
"I. I think I can give you that much," he said quietly.
"I'll take it."
She crossed the room and stood looking up at him solemnly. "I've missed you."
"I've. missed you, too."
She reached a hand out to stroke his cheek then stretched up to touch her lips gently to his.
Neither of them noticed the breeze that scattered the sketches across the room.
********************
~Fin
Meb 7-17-02
Jack had been back at his post by her bedside for almost two hours when Ree began to find her way back to consciousness. Sydney, coming back into the room with two cups of coffee, was the one to notice it first.
"Dad? I think she just moved."
He pulled himself out of his reverie and turned to see Ree's eyes flutter open. It took her a moment to make her eyes focus.
"Jack?"
Emotions he didn't want to think about, much less analyze, rose up in him and he couldn't speak for a moment. "I'm here," he said finally.
Sydney set the coffees down and came over to the side of the bed. "Hey, you're awake. How do you feel?"
Ree looked from one face to the other. "How long.? What.?"
"You were shot almost three days ago," Jack told her. His face was taut with an unspoken tension.
"I was shot." Her hand moved toward the bandages on her abdomen, but stopped short of touching them. "I remember. I remember that," she said and saw him stiffen almost imperceptibly as the doctor and an armed police officer entered the room.
And then she remembered the rest of it. She met his eyes and could tell that what he saw there reassured him.
"Mlle. Ash, can you tell us what happened to you?" the officer asked.
Ree replied slowly with what she judged to be just the right amount of halting confusion, "I was shot, from behind, I think. I remember lying on the ground, looking up at a male figure, but I couldn't see his face. The sun." She let her voice trail off. "Then he must have shot me again, but."
"Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?" he pressed.
She shook her head slowly. "No. I don't think." Her face twisted as if she was trying to erase a bad memory. "No," she said with more assurance, "no, that's what made it even more frightening. I tried to talk to him, ask him what he wanted, but he didn't say a word."
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, "Please. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Mlle. Ash needs to rest, "the doctor said firmly. "Questions can wait for another time. If you would all wait outside please while I look her over? Yes, Monsieur Bristow, you as well. It will only take a moment and then you may return. In the meantime, Monsieur Sloane asked to be notified as soon as she awoke. Perhaps you could contact him?"
Jack acquiesced with a grudging jerk of his head and they all left the room slowly, each with their own unspoken reasons for their reluctance.
********************
"I'm bringing her back to the States as soon as possible."
Sloane tipped his head at the tone of Jack's voice on the speakerphone. "I would hardly have thought she was in any shape to sit for a flight of that length."
"Alain has arranged the use of his private jet for us."
Sloane's eyebrows rose. "You've spoken to Alain?"
"Apparently he's concerned that the investigation may come under the jurisdiction of some particularly inquisitive officers. He agrees that if she's out of the country it will be easier to have the matter closed."
There was silence on Sloane's end of the phone.
"And Alain owes me a favor."
Sloane sighed. Now that was a story he'd love to hear and knew he probably never would. "All right, Jack. But I'll expect a full accounting when you return."
"Of course."
"I assume you'll be wanting some time off to be with her while she recuperates."
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "No," Jack said finally, "I don't think that will be necessary."
And Sloane was left listening to a dial tone.
********************
She'd been home for almost three weeks. Jack had arranged nursing care for her - around the clock at first, then tapering off as she recovered. She'd gotten a clean bill of health over a week ago.
Sydney had called a couple of times to see how she was doing.
Sloane had called once.
Of Jack she had seen and heard nothing.
She'd asked Sydney about him once, but the painful hesitation on the other end of the line had told her all she needed to know. She hadn't asked again.
It was better this way. Think about it rationally; a dangerous man with a dangerous job, just being with him had put her in jeopardy; emotionally closed off and unavailable. Was this really something she needed in her life?
Yes, her foolish heart whispered. Yes. And he's different with me. We have something real.
Luckily she'd taught herself how to ignore those whisperings years ago.
It had been stupid of her to think that anything would come of their interlude in Paris. It shouldn't have happened to begin with. He'd even told her how uncomfortable he'd been with the feelings it had provoked in him, how he preferred to keep himself distant - safe. And then to have to deal with her near death.
How could she ever have thought, even for a moment, that he would be willing to risk that part of himself again?
She would have been more amazed if he hadn't retreated back behind the walls that he'd put up to protect himself so long ago.
And she'd gotten over it. Really she had.
Except.
Except that last night she'd dreamed about him again. Dreamed of them making love together. Dreamed of him looking down at her with the half- smile that was all he ever seemed to allow himself.
For a moment when she woke up she had truly thought he was lying there beside her - that all she had to do was turn towards him and he would take her in his arms.
She'd felt impossibly bereft when she'd opened her eyes to find herself quite alone.
Which was how she came to be sitting at her desk - cup of tea long since gone cold - and sketching for all she was worth.
It wasn't until he cleared his throat that she realized she wasn't alone in the house. Her head shot up and when she saw him standing there, looking at her with those bleak, hopeless eyes, she felt her heart stop.
And then she thought perhaps he was just a figment of her imagination. Some sort of extension of her crazy dreams into her waking life.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said when, after several moments, he hadn't disappeared into thin air.
"I intended to stay away." Only his eyes betrayed his emotions. "I couldn't any longer."
She watched him without speaking, giving him the time he needed.
"You deserve better," he said at last. "You deserve more than I'll ever be able to give you."
"You let me decide what I do or don't deserve. That's my decision!" she replied with a touch of anger that sent a brief smile ghosting across his face.
"I can't promise you -"
"I didn't ask you for any promises, Jack." She stood up suddenly, no longer able to remain in her chair. "I know all about what you can't do and why. I know it and I understand it. I'm not asking you for any of that. I'm not looking for some fairy tale happily ever after." She took a deep breath. "But I think together we could find some happiness. And peace. I think we could really have something here. All I'm asking for is a chance. For us."
"I. I think I can give you that much," he said quietly.
"I'll take it."
She crossed the room and stood looking up at him solemnly. "I've missed you."
"I've. missed you, too."
She reached a hand out to stroke his cheek then stretched up to touch her lips gently to his.
Neither of them noticed the breeze that scattered the sketches across the room.
********************
~Fin
Meb 7-17-02