Chapter Twenty-One

The last few days should have been a blur, a fuzzy jumble of half remembered events in the faded tones of old black and white photographs. The should have been but they weren't. For the first hundred miles of the drive all she wanted was home. To be serving drinks across her bar to familiar faces she'd known her whole life. Those first hundred miles it had all seemed so clear… and then her cell phone had gone off.

Sam had only called the once. Must have been right after he realized she was gone. She didn't dare pick up. Knew that all it would take was a 'please' and she'd be turning the car around and speeding right back to New York. Let the voice mail do it instead. His message had been short and sweet. Seven words with the sound of running water in the background. Must've run the shower so Dean and Cal wouldn't hear him make the call.

Hi. It's Sam. Call me back…okay?

She wanted to so badly. Pulled the car over, cell phone in hand and fingers hovering over the buttons…But how the hell was she supposed to explain this? How could she possibly expect him to understand? He'd only seen the okay parts of her so far… hadn't seen any of the crap that came before. The hell she'd had to scrape her way out of to get where she was now. The endless string of assholes that had almost broken her…almost, came damn close to it. Couldn't recognize her own face looking back at her in the mirror for awhile. Almost broken, but not quite.

It had been so hard…so hard to put all those pieces back together. Some of them lost forever and others so altered that they'd never fit the same ever again. Still, she liked who she was now. Was stronger for all that crap she'd been through. Until a few days ago she'd been sure that whatever life threw at her she could take head on and come out of it shining. Until she'd gotten to know Sam Winchester. Until she'd fallen in love again. Damn.

The difference between Sam and all the other guys she'd ever known? Well other than the obvious fact that he wasn't a self-centered, egotistical sleazebag. The difference was that with Sam, big hairy sasquatch that he was, she couldn't just turn off the emotion like she did the others. A few hours with this guy and it felt like he just belonged there in that part of her life that she hadn't realized was empty until he showed up and filled it. The one that right this very second was blinking in bright neon lights to the rhythm of the pounding in her head SamSamSam…

But Sam…Sam, Dean and Cal, they were modern day warriors really. Hunters of nightmares and all the stuff that no one really believed in anymore. Sam, well he'd have to leave eventually and when he did he wouldn't come back. And that? Well she was pretty damned sure that that right there would be the one thing that could break her completely.

Which was why she left. Self preservation. Except it wasn't really working out as well as she'd hoped.

After that first hundred miles home didn't seem so appealing. There were memories of him at the bar too. Hours of small talk and conversations of this, that and the other thing to kill time during those days after JC and Billie had died while Cal and Dean did their thing. Funny how she hadn't thought much of it at the time but the best part of those conversations had been the natural easiness, the heartfelt laughter. If they'd stayed a little longer then she would have recognized it for what it was…the beginning. Yeah, so maybe she wasn't ready to go home either.

So she drove. Crossed back over to the Canadian side in Niagara Falls. She spent that night driving around downtown Toronto…not really seeing what she passed. Stuck in her own head, even as she tried so hard to just forget. Fran gave up on trying to distract herself somewhere around two a.m. Wednesday morning.

At three am, after spending a full hour just sitting there staring at her cell phone she hit the highway again and started driving towards Ottawa. What should have been a six hour drive tuned out twice as long because she stopped at ever Tim Horton's along the way. Once again using the coffee as a means to keep the dreams away.

The coffee failed her somewhere around Elgin street, downtown Ottawa. She knew she'd have to stop somewhere for a bit when her eyes started to drift closed as she drove. Pulling up to the first hotel that came into view she handed her keys to the kid working the valet parking and walked in to the Lord Elgin hotel. That night was about the only thing she didn't remember of that long drive. Just that in the morning she woke up completely disoriented and fully expecting to be back in Cal's apartment. It was a huge disappointment to find herself at the hotel. She didn't waste any more time getting home after that.

Chez Henri was in the middle of its lunch hour rush when Fran finally pulled into the parking lot. The plan had been to walk into the place and pick up where she'd left off. It was a good plan, really it was. Just not a very realistic one.

Walking into her little bar was like walking into a bad episode of 'Cheers'. There was a loud chorus of Fran! And everyone in the place stopped what they were doing to say hello. It was way too much, way too soon. Fran made a beeline for her office and didn't come out again until just before the dinner rush.

A few hours helping her waitresses on the floor, a few hours behind the bar, about a dozen long neck bottles and it was almost as if she'd never left. She almost managed to forget about Cal, obnoxious Winchester men, tulpas, rock salt and Sam. Almost. Then about an hour before last call she caught sight of the back of a shaggy head of dark hair. The hair, of course, didn't belong to Sam…the body it was attached to was much shorter and smaller. Just one of the local kids out for a couple of brews and a game of pool with the guys.

Suddenly feeling a little shaky she asked one of the girls to stay on and close up for her and snuck upstairs to her apartment. So far…so far she'd managed not to cry. Had managed to fight the tears. Just another fight she'd been destined to lose.

One lonely tear was all it took. A single drop of salt water slowly tracing its path down her cheek and then suddenly there wasn't just the one anymore. Fran didn't think she'd ever be able to make them stop.

Somewhere around four o'clock Thursday afternoon she called Cal on her cell. It was probably a bad idea. If Sam was there he might ask to talk to her. But she was heartbroken and there really wasn't anyone else to talk to about this was there? What would she say when they started asking questions about this mystery heartbreaker? Oh, he's just your average tall, dark and handsome hunter…no, not like deer or bear… spirits, boogeymen and demon are more his style. Yeah, they'd probably have her commited.

Cal didn't answer though. So Fran was left to her own devices to deal.

Chocolate, chick flicks, sad music and a hell of a lot of alcohol. She put the bottle of Jack down at around midnight when she realized she was singing along to the music filtering up through the floor from the bar. Carl singing karaoke to Garth Brooks, Friends in Low Places… yeah, and she was pretty sure she'd just hit a new low.

First thing Fran was conscious of Friday morning was a god-awful pounding in her head…loud enough to shatter her sensitive skull, she was sure of it. God, she was never getting drunk again…ever. Seemed like a good way to forget at the time. A last resort when nothing else worked. Really though? Well if anything the alcohol made it worse, sharpened the pain and actually helped the emotional tidal wave along.

How long had she slept? Couldn't have been more than a couple of hours. Still felt like early morning…and it was really dark in here…wait, that was probably because she had the blankets pulled up over her head…

The pounding wouldn't stop, though she was pretty sure now that it wasn't associated to the pain racking her brain. No, the sound was coming from outside her little bubble of blankets. Someone was trying to knock her door down. Fine. Let 'em. She wasn't ready to move yet. Wasn't ready to join the outside world. Of course, whoever it was that was doing the pounding didn't seem to want to understand that…or maybe they did because after a few minutes they stopped. Well good. Now she could go back to moping in peace.

Took her a minute to realize that whoever it was hadn't actually gone away. There was a scratchy, clicking sound that had replaced the banging and if she didn't know any better… aw hell! Somebody was picking the lock to her apartment door. Damn local boys. Wouldn't be the first time one of 'em tried to get the keys to the bar to open it up early.

She'd thrown off the covers, run to the door and thrown it wide open not caring what she looked like or who the heck was there. "Listen man, I don't care how far we all go back around here this shit isn't funny. La place est ferme! The bar is goddamned closed, and I'll be damned if I open it at the butt-crack of dawn just so you boys can have a morning brewsky. Am I making myself clear here or d'you want me to say it in French for you too"

And then she got a good look at the guy.

Had to look up to get it actually because he was freaking huge.

With a mop of shaggy brown hair…

Shit.

"You're not a local boy."

Yeah, the thing she hated the most about being hung over? The uncanny ability it gave her to state the obvious.

"No. I guess I'm not."

He looked…well upset would probably be understating things a little. Actually, he looked every bit as hung over as she felt. Ugh, just the though of her late night binge and the headache was back. Maybe if she just closed her eyes he'd disappear…worth a try. Squeezing them tightly shut she turned on her heel and felt her way toward the bathroom.

"Ugh. Stupid hangovers and stupid headaches." And stupid men who couldn't leave well enough alone and let you wallow in your own damned heartbreak… "Need Tylenol." She was muttering to herself unhappily.

After downing the pain relievers and a whole glass of water, eyes still tightly shut against the morning light, she'd managed to convince herself that Sam wasn't really there. Just a figment of her imagination. Product of way too much booze. Couldn't be healthy to be hallucinating like that…maybe she ought to get someone to drive her in to the hospital?

Fran made it halfway across her own living room before she ran into a wall… only it was too soft to be a wall… and there just wasn't one in the middle of her living room anyway… so she had to open her eyes and see just what the hell it was…and was forced to face reality. She wasn't hallucinating. She wouldn't need a hospital. He was right there, towering above her.

"Sam."

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