(See first part for disclaimer, spoilers, notes, etc.)

Chapter 44: "One's Loss, Another's Gain"

Bette closed the door of her apartment quietly and leaned against it. The waterfront condominium looked the same as it had when she tore out of it earlier this morning. Dozens of couture magazines littered the floor of the sitting room, the glossy pages reflecting the glare of the sun. She picked a glass of soda, most likely flat by now, and grimaced at the perspiration ring that stained the rich brown wood of the tea table.

"Never liked you anyway," she muttered to the table as she sat the glass back down and sank into the softness of the plush sofa. Was it only this morning that AJ called in a panic, whispering into the phone that Olivia was in trouble? That despite her better judgment, she put Olivia alone on a flight that took her away from Sunset Beach, probably for good? She had wanted to go with her, not trusting that she'd make it alone with all her injuries.

"Livy-"

"Bette, I'll be fine. I don't think I have a concussion. I never lost consciousness and I haven't vomited." Olivia pulled the airline ticket gently out from her friend's tight grip and smiled reassuringly. "I look worse than I really am, I think."

"Uh huh." She sighed dramatically and pulled Olivia away from the boarding gate. "Follow my finger with your eyes," she ordered as she took her friend's chin in her hand, careful to avoid the cut on her slightly swollen lip.

Olivia giggled and tried to push her away. "You aren't a doctor."

"I was married to one. It's the next best thing. Now, follow my finger." She waved her finger from side to side slowly, then up and down. Olivia's blue eyes moved obediently, trailing easily after her finger.

"Want me to stick out my tongue and say 'ahhh' too?"

"Cheeky," Bette muttered as she chucked Olivia's chin before letting it go. "Humor is a good sign," she admitted as she rooted around the inside of her deep shoulder bag. "But we have to do something about that bruise- ah ha!" She triumphantly pulled a long scarf out of her bag. "Turn around," she asked as she folded the square material into a triangle and draped it over Olivia's head, making sure that it was down low enough on her forehead that the discoloration was covered. Two quick ties later and she was draping the excess neatly over Olivia's shoulder.

"You're a genius." Olivia turned around as she adjusted the scarf on her head.

"I don't hear that too often." She stared at Olivia for a long moment. "So I guess this is it, huh Toots?"

"Bette," she whispered shakily, "don't you make me cry." She laughed nervously and reached for her friend, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "I'm not going to Siberia, you know?"

"I know," Bette said, her voice cracking noticeably. "It's just…well- you know. You and me, Toots. Lucy and Ethel. Mary and Rhoda. Laverne and Shirley."

Olivia threw her arms around Bette, hugging her close. She closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek and the hug was returned tightly. "You're just upset that you never got to be the Mary," she teased halfheartedly.

"I'm not upset. I'm not crying," Bette insisted as she pulled back, wiping at her suspiciously misty eyes. She forced a smile to her face as a disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that those holding tickets for Flight 55 should begin boarding. "That's you Toots," she said in a broken whisper.

"Yes," Olivia said softly as she glanced over at the gate. Their hands were molded together, neither wanting to break away first. "New York really isn't that far away," she pointed out, though she wasn't sure if it was Bette or herself she was trying comfort.

"I'll visit all the time. So much so that you'll be sick of me."

"You know that won't happen."

"That I'll visit?"

Her smile was soft as she corrected, "The other."

Bette sniffled as she pulled a tissue out of the box and dabbed at her eyes. She was relieved in a way. Olivia's leaving was the best thing for her. It was her chance for happiness with Gregory. And she understood that. But it still didn't make saying goodbye to her closest friend in the world any easier.

She sighed and drew her knees up to her chest, curling into the corner of the sofa. A beam of warm sunlight came in through the delicate bamboo blinds that she and husband number two bought on their Japanese honeymoon.

"I'm not crying," she said aloud as tears spilled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her knees, her sobbing echoing off the vaulted ceilings.


Olivia slumped back in her seat, alternating the small bag of partially melted ice between her wrist and her face. There was some faint bruising on her wrists, visible reminders of the way AJ's fingers dug into her flesh. Her lip was improving slightly. The puffiness was receding and the cut had finally crusted over with dried blood. As the day wore on, it seemed to her that she just looked worse. Or maybe she was just getting used to seeing the damage inflicted on her body. She really wasn't sure which scenario she found more disturbing.

A ninety-minute layover in Dallas had given her time to eat, temporarily chasing away the hunger pains in her stomach. Under normal circumstances, she would've avoided the questionable refreshment stand, but she didn't want to leave the concourse. The aroma of the coffee though had been too tempting to resist. Steam billowed off the surface as she added her usual milk and two sugars before sipping gratefully from the large Styrofoam cup. She ignored the bitter taste, an indication that the coffee pot sat too long on the hot plate but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, it was the best thing she ever drank. And the slightly stale lemon poppy seed muffin? Heavenly.

She glanced out the small oval window. The late afternoon sun was behind them when they left Dallas and they had been flying into the darkness for close to three hours. White mist hurled past the window as they neared the East Coast and LaGuardia Airport.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she glanced up quickly. "I'm sorry," the flight attendant said softly as she leaned over the aisle seat, "but would you like some more coffee?"

Nodding mechanically, she gently pushed the heavy ceramic mug across the tray table and closer to the outstretched steaming pot. She promised Bette that she'd stay awake and avoid sleep at all costs. The doctor's ex-wife was still wary of a concussion, though as the day wore on, it was clear that she lucked out and avoided that ailment. As for the rest of me, she thought as she peered at her reflection in her compact mirror, I've seen better days.

After adjusting the scarf on her head for what seemed like the hundredth time, she tucked the mirror back in her bag and sighed. Too tired to ask for the extras, she drank the coffee black and grimaced at the taste. Whatever it took to stay awake.

The flight attendant returned a moment later and exchanged the melting pack of ice for a fresh one. She smiled encouragingly at Olivia and patted her shoulder before leaving a small paper cup on the tray in front of her. She peered into the cup as the attendant walked back up the aisle. Two aspirin. She glanced behind her to look for the woman, but didn't see her.

When she boarded in Dallas, with the scarf and a pair of sunglasses covering a large portion of her face, the flight attendant looked directly at her. Emotions washed across the stranger's face and something flickered in her eyes. It was the look of a woman who knew all too well how Olivia received the welt on her cheekbone and the split on her lip.

She sighed tiredly as she popped the aspirin in her mouth, washing them down with a swallow of the coffee. The cabin was relatively quiet, save for the murmuring of quiet conversation between the passengers and the hum of the air filtration system. The empty seat to her right was a blessing. She was in no mood for awkward airline talk.

Finishing the last mouthful of coffee, she set the mug aside as she opened the address book for the for the dozenth time today. She had read the same four lines until they were imprinted in her memory. 200 Central Park South.

Wincing at the cold, she rested the ice on her wrist as she mouthed, "Apartment 1805. New York, New York." She leaned back comfortably in the seat as she whispered, "Gregory H. Richards. 200 Central Park South. Apartment 1805. New York, New York." A bell pinged in the cabin and a moment later a deep voice crackled over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentleman, we have now begun our descent into LaGuardia Airport. A stewardess will be along in a moment to collect your discards and return your tray to the upright position. Anticipating clearance from tower control, we will be landing on runway two-niner, e.t.a. twenty minutes."

Brisk conversation erupted among the passengers as they began passing off their trash to the flight attendant and repacking their carry-on bags. Olivia sat up straight and shoved her bag beneath her seat after her tray was cleared. Her ears began to pop as the airplane dropped in altitude, but she welcomed the sensation. It meant she made it.

The plane cleared a cloud and she could see white pinpricks of light dotting the ground beneath her. A whine drowned out noise in the cabin as the landing equipment was prepared and another announcement came over the intercom.

"This is Captain Redden. On behalf of myself and the crew, I thank you for choosing Tran Global Airways and urge you to remember us when you are planning future trips. Temperature on the ground is a crisp thirty-eight degrees and snow is in the forecast for later this evening. If you are visiting New York for the first time, let me be the first to welcome you. Or if you reside in Manhattan or one of the surrounding boroughs, I'd like to be the first to welcome you home. Flight attendants, prepare for landing."

Olivia wasn't quite sure which of the welcomes applied to her but she didn't care. She didn't care if she ever left the island of Manhattan ever again. She just wanted Gregory, his arms tight around her.

The "fasten seatbelt" sign lit up and she complied, her eyes drawn to the rapidly enlarging lights coming at her. She grazed the window lightly with her fingers, marveling at its icy touch. Right now, in this moment, she couldn't be farther away from Sunset Beach if she tried.

The plane bounced and shook violently as the wheels made contact with the runway. Her throat tightened and she reinforced the dam on her fragile emotions. Not yet. Not until he was within her sight. Not until her lips were pressed intimately against his.

"Not yet," she whispered as the airplane glided to a stop.


AJ stood on the balcony, hunched over the ledge as he watched the setting sun. The orange ball was half hidden behind the horizon, scattering and staining on the ocean. A perfect sunset, one that the town was famous for.

He snorted to himself as he raised his glass shakily, toasting the sunset. "Here's to you," he said aloud. "May you rot in Hell." He tossed his head back, swallowing the last of the Irish whisky in his glass.

He examined the empty glass for a moment. Empty like the vows they exchanged on their wedding day. Empty like his marital bed. Anger simmered in his belly and he hurled the crystal down at the patio below, where it smashed into the stone and shattered into thousands of pieces.

"May you both rot in Hell."


The yellow taxi inched forward only to jerk to a stop a moment later. The driver muttered a curse at the traffic and glanced in his rearview mirror. His fare was still in the backseat, gazing silently at the glowing lights of the Queensboro Bridge in the distance. She wanted to go to a swank apartment building on the corner Seventh Avenue, across from the park. He craned his neck, gauging the amount of cars between them and the bridge on-ramp.

Wrenching around, he asked, "You wanna wait for the bridge? Otherwise we can take the Midtown Tunnel into the city, but then we'll need to go uptown."

Olivia glanced up at him. "I don't care. I just want to get there quickly."

"I'd take the bridge then." The driver reached for his radio and said into it, "Hey dispatch? We got an update on the holdup at the Queensboro?" A harsh series of near unintelligible crackling and static erupted back, causing her to jump. "Gotcha."

A hole opened up in the far right lane and the driver moved in quickly, speeding up in the lane. "Dispatch said the accident's been cleared and we'll be moving soon."

As long as someone understood what dispatch was saying.

It turned out that they were right. The traffic was breaking up and they began to move. Within minutes, the taxi was speeding across the bridge, Queens in their wake. A curtain of lights loomed in front of her like stars in a dark sky. She clutched her bag tighter in her lap and shivered. Her trench coat was far too thin for the chilly New York weather.

A chorus of car horns and engines greeted the taxi as it came off the bridge and navigated through the busy streets. Cars, cars everywhere. The taxi jerked to a stop at a large intersection and a sea of people swarmed off the sidewalks. A light mist fell from the sky, possibly the onset of the predicted snow, and caught in the headlight beams.

The taxi began moving again, seemingly tamer within the walls of the city. Tall buildings rose up on either side of them, until a stretch of space ran along the passenger side. Street lamps spilled pools of yellow light onto the sidewalk and revealing a sturdy fencing.

"Is that Central Park?" she asked softly, her eyes riveted to the little scenery she was able to make out in the darkness.

"You got it." The taxi swerved off to the side, rocking to a stand still next to the curb. "Here you are."

She fumbled in her wallet for the fare as she peered out the opposite window. A brightly illuminated building, the curved building that looked to be made of windows on the park side. She pressed a wad of folded up bills into the driver's outstretched palm and opened the door, stepping out of the cab. An invisible wall of coldness slammed into her body as she clutched her coat closed. The light mist dampened her face as wind swirled down the street, stinging her ears.

Glancing quickly at the street, she darted across the pavement and walked around to the corner and the main entrance. A doorman in a uniform of forest green, gold braids ornamenting his shoulders, nodded politely as he stood at attention and held open the glass door. "Thank you," she said as she passed through the doors, sighing in relief at the warmth in the lobby.

Black and white marble flooring lined with richly colored carpets brought warmth to the lobby. Sleek furniture and cherry wood tables finished off the elegant ambiance, as did the large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"May I help you?"

Olivia walked over to the security desk, resting her hands lightly on the surface of the antique wood. "Yes, I'm here to see Gregory Richards in 1805."

"Name please?" the guard asked, as he opened a thick ledger in front of him.

"Olivia Deschanel." She tapped her fingers lightly as the man's finger ran down the page twice before he looked back up at her.

"Is Mr. Richards expecting you?" The guard stood up, inspecting the woman in front of him. She had lovely blue eyes that were blood shot and puffy. He noted the bruising on her face before forcing his gaze back to the guest ledger. "I don't see your name."

She bit her lip and began to anxiously tug at her hands. "He isn't expecting me. It's…sort of a surprise visit."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but unless your name is on the list, I'm not permitted to allow you upstairs." Her face fell and she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulders. The wide cuff of her sleeve rolled down as she did and he couldn't help but see the discoloration on her wrist.

"Oh," she trailed off as her eyes turned down to the floor. "Is there anyway that you could call him and let him know I'm down here?" she asked hopefully after a moment. Her eyes burned into his, a silent plea echoing in the depths of the blue. "Please?"

The guard paused and looked her over once more. She looked harmless and if anything, it appeared that she had already been harmed herself. And her name certainly wasn't on the list of those that Mr. Richards prohibited from coming up to his eighteenth floor apartment. "I hope this doesn't cost me my job," he muttered as he reached for the white phone.

"Oh thank you," she gushed as she reached into her bag and removed the small compact. Why she bothered checking her reflection, she wasn't really sure. She smiled to herself and chalked it up to habit as the guard spoke softly into the phone.

"Mr. Richards? Sorry to disturb you sir, but this is the front desk. There's a woman asking to be let up to your apartment, but her name isn't on the list. She said her name is Olivia-" He broke off abruptly and glanced up in surprise. "Yes, sir. I understand." He beckoned her closer as he nodded into the phone, "Yes, sir. I'll put her on the elevator myself. Good night."

He hung up the phone and took Olivia gently by the arm, leading her over to the elevator. He nodded at the elevator operator, who sprang into action and held open the metal fence. "Mr. Richards requested that I ensure you get into the elevator safely and he'll meet you on his floor. Take her up to eighteen, Ray," he instructed the operator. "Enjoy your stay, ma'am."

"Thank you," she called out, the fence rattling as the operator locked it in place and the outer door rolled shut. The elevator was dim, antique lamps jutting out from the wood paneling on the walls. A delicately sculpted needle above the door tracked their journey up, the thin metal moving quickly into the teens.

She dropped the compact back into her bag, noting the way her hand trembled in anticipation. She hadn't been this nervous since their first time, all those months ago. Her fingers fluttered as she straightened the collar of her coat, tucking the tail of the scarf underneath. Her heart pounded against her ribcage and the wings of restlessness flapped against the wall of her stomach. Fifteen.

Stepping closer to the door, she stood directly next to the operator. She tapped her foot, the slap on the floor drowned out as the elevator pinged.

"Eighteen," the operator said as the outer door groaned slowly open, revealing a man waiting patiently in the hallway. Gregory shifted his feet as the operator pulled the fencing aside.

And she just stood there, staring blankly. The lump of emotion that she desperately tried to bury on the plane materialized again, settling painfully in her throat. Her vision blurred, the maroon of his robe blurring into the wall behind him. Had he always looked like the calm port amid the rough seas or was that only because of the roller coaster of emotions she'd been on for the last twenty-four hours?

"I'm sorry," she whispered as he stepped into the elevator, his hand brushing against hers. "For the other day, I'm sorry."

The sob rose in her throat as cupped her face, gazing quietly into her eyes. Layers of pain and anxiety that had burned at her soul all day extinguished, as the pounding of her heart calmed. If he had any reaction to her physical appearance, he hid it well. The only thing she could read in his face was incredulousness.

"I have to be dreaming," he said in the barest of whispers for her ears only. His thumbs skimmed over the flesh of her jaw and she couldn't help but sigh. "That's the only way you'd be standing here."

His simple disbelief coaxed a smile from her lips. She'd need to make up for the harsh reality that two days ago would've made it true. "My feet hurt too much for this to be a dream."

The delicate pressure of his lips against hers comforted her, like returning to the safety of your home after a long day at work. She leaned against him as his fingers trailed across the flesh of her neck. He pulled back, a half smile curling the corners of his mouth as he glanced at her feet and clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. "I can take care of that," he promised as he bent down, scooping her into his arms.

Relief mixed with deadening exhaustion as she slumped into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder. "I know you will," she mumbled as he carried her out of the elevator. She closed her eyes tiredly as he kissed her forehead, the scarf sliding back to her hairline. The burning pain in her limbs ceased to matter as the aches faded into the dark. His arms around her back and curled under her knees was enough.

Feathered wings of calm surrounded her, in the form of Gregory's voice as he whispered, "You're safe. It's over now."

Her fingers clenched around the gray lapel of his robe, the silk cool to her touch as she snuggled against him. He was right. It was all over. There was nothing else to hide because everything was out in the open. Her fears conquered, banished away to the dark ravine they slithered up from. For the first time in a long time, she was finally safe.