A/N: Sorry for my absence. New stupid job and a bout of depression. Hard to sit down to write when those things are happening. I'm sorry. That being said, it was so heartening to come back and see these kind messages about this story. Pure love! I am SO, SO glad that you all are enjoying it. Hopefully we get more Succession sooner rather than later, but in the meantime hopefully this little fic will hold you. I would hope that if you rewatch the first two seasons, you keep this backstory in mind—it was partly my goal in writing this in the first place.

Content warning (*******possible spoiler?*******): this chapter deals with grief, trauma and the emotions around loss.

Jess decided to go into the office that Saturday to prep for travel on Monday. As she got off the elevator at 8 am, she was shocked to see Kendall already in his office. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him in on a Saturday—alone.

"Why don't you grab a tablet and work in here?" Kendall tried to make the suggestion seem offhand.

"I…" Jess began, but she was too tired to protest, "yeah, I can do that."

She set up a station on the couch across from him, balancing her portfolio, her work phone and tablet on her lap. Her personal phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it and continued to work—business as usual. Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it again. It dinged with a voicemail. And a text message.

Jess pulled the phone out of her blazer pocket to silence it and saw the text message. Just one. From her mother.

Call me.

"I have to—" Jess rose and trotted to the door with her phone.

"Sure," Kendall nodded and watched as she went to the elevator bank, the area where people usually went to have personal breakdowns via cellphone.

After a moment of trying to review reports, Kendall quit feigning concentrating on work and edged over to the glass partition where he had a partial view of Jess on the phone. He saw her hang up, pace back and forth, and he watched her hold her face in her hands for a brief moment. Phone call from the ex-fiancé? Her whole countenance changed. Kendall was compelled to go to her, but instead, saw that she turned and was coming back over to him. He leapt back into his seat and pretended he hadn't been watching her. She came back into his office and sat back down.

Kendall was afraid to ask. He let her speak.

"I…may need to take the rest of the day…um…"

"Is everything OK?" Kendall regretted the question as soon as he studied her face—of course everything was NOT fucking OK.

"My brother left rehab."

"He's—he's left early?"

"And no one knows where he went," she said, "he's been gone now for eight hours. And I may need to go home—"

"—I'm sure he's fine, he'll be fine." Kendall asserted weakly.

"I just need to make some calls, call around to friends, uh—"

"Of course, take all the time you need," he said in a low voice.

"Thank you. I'll forward items to Kerry—she can be your point person for the rest of the day."

"Um… yeah, that's fine," Kendall agreed, "but you'll still be reachable, right? I've got the event at the Met tonight—"

"Yeah, but…since I'll be taking the day—"

"What am I saying—of course," Kendall pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and shook his head. He was so bad at this. Bad at so much, really. "Take as much time as you need. And I'll see you tomorrow."

"I mean—I might need to go home—"

"Right, but he'll be fine. It'll work out—and I'll see you tomorrow night at the airport."

Jess looked at him, confused. "I'll…I'll be in touch."

Kendall took note of her knitted brow but couldn't understand why she looked at him like that; it unsettled him, causing him more confusion. She moved to go, but he rose from his desk and reached toward her, stopping her.

"Hey," he said and came up close, "if you need anything…"

"I appreciate it. You've done so much already," she responded, keeping her eyes lowered as he clumsily grasped her hand. "I couldn't ever begin…"

She trailed off as unspoken words hung in the air between them. After a moment Kendall relinquished her hand. Before he could speak, Jess threw a fleeting, half-hearted smile at him and slipped through his office door.

For the rest of the day, Kendall couldn't concentrate. When Kerry had showed up to the office at noon, he hadn't accomplished anything that he had set out to do that day. He couldn't stop thinking of Jess—how she was doing. He wrestled with the idea of texting her, but as his thumbs hovered over the screen, he found that he didn't quite know what to say. At six, he had Kerry get a car for him and told her to meet him at the Met at seven.

"320 East Forty-Second," he ordered the driver.

As they sat on the FDR Drive in traffic, Kendall found himself drowning in his thoughts. He had no plan once he got there. What would he say to her? What would he do? Kendall couldn't think.

He blinked in response to the driver announcing their arrival.

"Um—just circle for a minute," Kendall leapt from the back seat and strode toward the entrance. After a moment's hesitation, he approached the panel of door buzzers.

Jordan #812, it read.

He pushed the old black button—and waited.

Jess was numb. She'd been numb for an hour—after the searing pain had worn down to an aching dullness. Her mother called her and all she remembered beyond her mother wailing – a sound that she'd never heard her make before – was the shock. Jess knew—she knew before she answered the phone. The feeling of dread had overtaken her earlier that day when she couldn't get a hold of her brother.

She knew.

And her mother had been screaming to her, over the phone, from 3000 miles away. The details to Jess had been unclear; her mind had failed to process whatever words her mother could actually articulate. Jess knelt on her floor and tried to piece together what she should do next. Make plans to get out there. Plan a funeral.

But she had to stand first. She sat on her floor, unmoving, for two hours.

At six, the buzzer jolted her from her thoughts. It rang out twice before she could lift herself from the floor. Dazed, Jess pressed her thumb to the intercom.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hey—Jess—it's…me." Kendall closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly. Great start.

"It's Kendall."

She opened her mouth to speak, but had to force the words out: "Wait—what—"

"—I'm – downstairs."

There was silence, but the low hum of the intercom still lingered, signaling to Kendall that Jess was still listening.

"Can I—come up?" he asked.

There was no answer but the click of the door, and Kendall grabbed the handle and headed up to the eighth floor. He paused for a moment outside of her door and imagined that he felt her move within, just beyond him. It had been opened slightly for him, he noticed. Kendall stepped in and saw Jess at the far window of her studio, staring out into the cityscape. Twilight had started to come, painting oranges and blues across the glass plated skyscrapers. The white and red lights of the bustling city seemed to inexplicably trundle on below—even though her world had screeched to a devastating halt.

She didn't turn to him. She didn't make a sound—but he knew. Kendall tiptoed through the tiny entrance hall; he observed a small closet of a kitchen to his left, an Art Deco bathroom to his right, and before him, in a modest, pre-war studio apartment that was only just larger than his closet, was Jess, perched on her steam radiator. Her shoulders were slightly rounded, her gaze trained on the city.

Kendall took another soft step toward her and she turned. He held in a gasp as he surveyed her. Her mouth was contorted in a heavy grief and her eyes were reddened. She had been crying for hours.

"Jess…" was all he could say.

After a silent moment hung between them, she moved her lips, but Kendall strained to hear.

"I need to go home," she finally whispered in a cracked, tired voice.

Kendall was frozen in place. He caught himself, as he noticed she was waiting for him to react, and nodded quickly.

"I'm so sorry—" she began.

"…Why? Why are you—"

"I'm going to miss work—China—"

"No—it's—it's—you have to go," he said, "go home. Of course. Go home. I can get a jet for you—"

"I'm so sorry, Kendall," Jess's beautiful mouth contorted again. Kendall knew he would lose it if she started to sob there in front of him.

He advanced quickly to her and grasped her shoulders, guiding her to her feet. In spite of her small stature, Jess felt heavy in his grip, as if she would collapse at any moment. Kendall pulled her quickly into a tight embrace, which served to prop her up. As the grief threatened to swallow her whole, Jess wrapped her arms around his neck and buried herself into the curve of his collarbone and shoulder.

"You'll go. Tonight," he said, "I can do that."

"No—please—"

"I insist. Really," he pulled back for a moment, and she drew her head up to meet his gaze.

"Thank you—" she stopped herself, knowing that, in spite of all Kendall had done for her family, it still hadn't been quite enough.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

She nodded, unable to speak, and replaced her head against his shoulder, renewing the hug, and Kendall obliged.

After a moment, she drew a deep breath, and, in a voice that tried to sound steady, she uttered, "So why did you come? Do you need—"

"No. I don't need anything," he said quickly, "I—"

It wasn't the time. Not now.

"—I just wanted to check. On you."

Jess broke the embrace. She turned from him and drew the backs of her hands across her cheeks in an attempt to sweep her face of grief.

"Just let me make a few calls—and it's done."

"Thank you," Jess whispered again as she moved toward the stove, "do you want—tea?"

"No—no—I'll just—" he indicated his phone.

She nodded as she put on a kettle for herself. As she tried to keep busy making her cup, she listened to Kendall on the phone behind her, barking orders to Kerry or Lance or—

"It's done," he said after ending the call, "Teterboro tonight—11 pm."

"I've—I've got to pack—"

"I've got a car downstairs—ready," he said, "but I have to get—shit, the time—"

"—to the charity thing at the Met," she finished, "I know. go—Kerry's probably already having a heart attack."

"—Whatever else you need," he said, "whatever it is. Let me know. Let Kerry know the details—we'll send whatever it is you need."

Jess pursed her lips to keep the tears inside and nodded.

The kettle began to whistle.

"All right," Kendall checked his watch again; he'd be able to grab…an Uber...uptown?

"You should take the car. It makes more sense," Jess said.

"No—he's waiting for you. Downstairs—when you're ready."

He felt the words on the edge of his lips, but couldn't move to say them. Kendall turned to go, but went back to Jess.

"Anything. Call me."

She nodded. "Go."

The elaborate flower arrangements from Waystar Royco flooded the small funeral home. The smell of lilies permeated the building, and Jess felt overwhelmed. Breaking from her mother's side, she stepped outside to get air. Too many people had been talking to her, too many questions had to be answered, too many decisions had to be made. The activity had kept Jess busy and distracted for the better part of the week, but the people—the crying, grieving family members, the distraught high school friends whom she hadn't seen in over five years, and struggling with the belief that the day she had dreaded for so long was now here—had been too much for Jess to bear.

The note sent with the flowers was boilerplate, but the fact that there were two separate arrangements from Kendall and one arrangement solely from Logan (of course he would never have even known—Joan was deft like that), made a difference to Jess. Kerry had kept in close contact with her over that week in spite of being on the scouting trip to China, so everyone at work knew about the memorial service arrangements. As instructed by Kendall, Kerry and Lance had a catered meal sent to the house the night before.

The email Jess had sent in between obtaining her brother's death certificate and her first meeting with the funeral director was short. It was succinct and professional, much like her pitch to Kendall about Shanghai accommodations. And the response had been strikingly immediate:

Of course you can stay in Santa Rosa. Please give your family my sympathies. We are flying back on Thursday. You can take leave, and your job will be waiting for you when you are ready to come back. You are missed.

You are missed.

Who is doing the missing, Kendall? Jess wondered. Flying back on Thursday—the day of the funeral. So that was it. Jess would stay in California, help her mother, and reconstruct herself. She set herself a timeline of six months.

She leaned against the brick veneer of the entrance to the funeral home in the California sun. It was threatening to be a hot day. Jess took a deep breath and went back inside, wondering if she ever could have done more—one last trip home might have made the difference.

The Unitarian Church of Santa Rosa was a midcentury structure with angular clerestory windows and maple beams across the ceiling. Jess focused on the knots in the beams as a way to get through the service. Jess' mother, Sharon, was dressed in a Blue Fish navy tunic and matching leggings—Jess focused on the memory of when they had gone to a yoga retreat in Pennsylvania for the weekend when her mom had come to visit her and how she bought that outfit at a New Age boutique. When Sharon ran her fingers through her wavy white hair, the turquoise cuffs on her arm clinked together—Jess focused on the sound over what the minister was saying. She sat, shaking, trying to come to terms with what was happening. Next to her, her mother was strangely serene; she had meditated that morning at dawn. With a clink of her bracelets, Sharon reached over and laid her hand on top of Jess's and squeezed.

As the service drew to a close, the small choir rose from their seats by the altar and congregated around the piano. Sharon had wanted to follow the casket out of the church, but Jess had protested. Any type of show would be too much, she thought, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to do it. But her mother was adamant, so Jess complied silently, as she dreaded processing out of the building like it were a performance. She slid large sunglasses on as she stood, hoping they would shield her from the pitying eyes around her, and watched as her aunt linked arms with her mother and guided her out. Focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other, Jess lagged behind a bit, happy to be alone, to not have to pretend to be strong.

But then, the choir started to sing. Sharon had worked with the minister to choose the music, and Jess was taken by surprise.

When you try your best but you don't succeed

She could start to feel herself tremble.

When you get what you want but not what you need

Her vision, already darkened by the glasses, now blurred. She gasped to hold herself together, keeping focused on getting down the aisle. She felt people reaching out to her, touching her arm in comfort, grasping her shoulder in solace—and she found herself hating it, recoiling. The last thing she wanted was to make a spectacle of herself, to explode in the middle of everything. The explosion would make all of it real. She gasped again, this time holding the back of her hand to her mouth to stopper the sobs. Jess bowed her head, and felt a hand brush her arm.

She had no idea when he had come in. It was as if he had appeared out of thin air, right before her in that moment.

Kendall stood by the entrance of the church, just inside the vestibule. He wore his tailored Italian cut black suit and his Oliver Peeples sunglasses, which made him stand out amongst the local Northern California crowd. Jess's heart fluttered to life as he nodded to her when she passed by him; feeling revived, she took her place next to her mother in the receiving line and dutifully accepted people's condolences.

He waited in line, she noticed. She could feel him out of the corner of her eye, staring at her through his dark glasses as he waited his turn. Kendall stepped in front of her and slipped his hand against her elbow, grasping it as he leaned in for a small, quick half hug.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered softly into her ear.

Jess was glad the glasses blocked her from meeting his eyes.

"Mom," she said as she cleared her throat as her mother turned to them, "this is Kendall Roy."

"My condolences, Ms. Jordan."

Jess didn't have the heart to tell him her mother's last name was Anderson.

"Well, then," Sharon accepted his hand, "thank you. And thank you for coming."

Sharon glanced at Jess briefly before being called away by the funeral director.

"I—I can't believe you came—you're—you're supposed to be over the Pacific right now," Jess breathed, slipping her glasses back onto her head. She squinted slightly against the late morning sun.

"I got them to leave eight hours early and divert to Santa Rosa—I'm flying out in a bit," Kendall explained, "it's… good to see you."

Jess managed a small, tired smile. "You too."

An awkward pause grew between them.

Kendall held his breath for a moment—now was still not the time to say it. He wasn't sure there would ever be a time to say it. Jess inhaled for the both of them.

"So—there's a luncheon—at—"

"I've—I've got to go. We're changing planes at SFO; I have to be back in Manhattan for a meeting tonight. Things are moving fast now. They want us set up in Shanghai by the end of next week."

"Oh—oh, of course," she smiled again, forced, "you've got a lot of traveling ahead of you."

He nodded with an uneven rhythm.

"OK," Kendall said in low voice; he had kept his sunglasses on, "OK."

"Thank you for coming—I don't know what to say. The flowers—the food…"

"Of course," he replied, "I had to. Listen, I meant what I said—in the email, I mean."

Jess nodded.

"You can come back whenever you're ready."

She nodded again.

Kendall stepped to go, and then turned back to her, "I miss you."

She froze, and watched him lean in quickly, awkwardly, pecking her on the cheek as he slipped his hand against the curve of her waist; he was taking in her scent to log the memory in his brain. But before he changed his mind, Kendall stepped away and jogged off to the waiting car.