A/N: BIG thank you to all of my readers, commenters, likers, and lovers. This is a big one. Takes place during "Which Side are You on?" and "Austerlitz."

Jess had to hand it to Kendall; he was good at shielding her. She'd arranged a call with Asha Kahn—curious—and then he instructed her to arrange a call with Ilona Shenoy—curiouser. As she observed Kendall maneuver the call with Asha from her periphery, Jess began to put the scheme together. Kendall was not one for a long game, he was always preoccupied with keeping his head above water (and there was Jess, perennially treading with the life preserver he never seemed to want), so the pieces, Jess assumed, would fall easily into place. She pondered as she watched him speak with Asha.

This time, there were calls, there were moments with Geri; everything had seemed to accelerate after the holiday weekend, Jess noted.

And then there was Logan slipping into Kendall's office. Was that the tipping point? Or was there something else? She couldn't tell.

Frank had definitely now been calling Kendall more.

Jess reminded herself of when Surita shut Kendall down over text and prevented him from talking to her mother—that's when things came into focus.

"Hey, Fiona," Jess called across her desk.

"Yep?" Her head was down, running some numbers.

"Ilona Shenoy—"

"—the board member?"

"Yeah, she's…she's in hospice right now, right?"

"Um—yes, I think."

Jess looked back at Kendall in his office, who was attempting to lean back in his chair. She watched him as he toyed with the idea of propping his heel against the desk drawer to convey a sense of rogue power to anyone who might've passed by.

Talking to board members was not unheard of. But in quick succession? And while they were dying?

A vote.

The words came to Jess with a startling clarity.

Kendall was courting them. This was what he was shielding her from—from any real knowledge of his dealings. It was no wonder he had invited Stewy to the concert last night. (When would Stewy ever remember her name? Never, she concluded.)

Jess tapped a pencil against the corner of her desk absently while she considered the possible fallout scenarios of this, the first powerplay Kendall had ever attempted in his life. She scanned the rest of her team, who were going about their ordinary days. Soon Jess allowed herself a moment of intoxication as she thought of the raises, the promotions, the perks, if Kendall became actual CEO. She thought of the house she could purchase for her mother. The debts she would pay off. She thought of the scholarship fund she'd start in her brother's memory. Jess was far too smart to allow herself more than one moment of daydreaming about what could be.

But soon, she started to feel ill.

The phone rang and lit up the screen before her. She'd memorized the exchange; it was Frank.

"Mr. Vernon," she picked up the receiver, "good morning—yes, he's just on a call right now. I can—yes, I can take a message."

Jess scribbled down the message and hung up; she glanced back over at Kendall, still wobbling through his call. Frank would be the one to reach out to, the one with whom she could commiserate about Kendall. The one who cared, who had tried to act more like a father to Kendall than Logan did. But as she studied her boss through the glass wall, Jess knew that she was in danger of becoming Frank. Being so intertwined with the Roys and then being pushed out, pulled in, abused—when would it stop? For Frank, now, this had been his life.

And then there was Colin. She shuddered to think that she would transform into a Colin.

"Jess!" Kendall called to her as he trained his eyes on his phone, but there was no response.

He called again and when he raised his eyes to look for her, he saw that she was staring into space. He blinked twice; his initial reaction was a certain level of shock. In all of his time with her, she was always either knee-deep in some intricate task or positioned and ready for his instructions. Now, she was glazed over.

The small, questionable micro-moves Kendall had previously engaged in—the hazy business deals, the posturing, and the blowups at staff—Jess witnessed it all, and she'd successfully compartmentalized it. But the fact that Kendall was committed to pestering a dying woman about a possible board vote made her stomach turn. In a violent instant, floods of memories crashed into her—memories of when her father was in hospice. Memories of when his mind began to go right before the end. The morality of her work had begun to haunt her.

"Hey—Jess."

Kendall was now in front of her. She snapped herself to attention.

"What the fuck," he said more out of astonishment than anything.

"Sorry—sorry," Jess murmured as she scrambled for her tablet and bag, "I'm ready for the meeting."

"Chose another time to be, uh," Kendall stomped off with her to the elevator bank, "erm, Han Solo in…fucking… quartzite, hm?"

"Carbonite."

"Carbonite, right."

Upon reflection, those next few days for Jess were a complete blur. She could only remember the calls: Kendall was on constant calls, more Frank, more Stewy—much more than normal—and Geri hanging around, too. The morning of the board meeting was chaotic; Jess was going on two days without much sleep. It hadn't been because Kendall had kept her working through the night—it had been because she was up, worrying.

There had been a terror threat while Kendall had flown out to Long Island. Jess received his frantic call at 11:59 a.m. as everyone was gathering in the executive conference room. Patching the call through to the room—and then seeing Kendall sprint across the executive floor from the elevators to the conference room—she felt a pounding headache burst forth. Perhaps, she had figured, she could run to the break room for a cup of shitty coffee to prop her up.

That had been her first mistake. By the time she'd let the Keurig run, it was over. Jess had reemerged, only three minutes later, and it was done. Kendall had been escorted out—gone.

"What—" her head was reeling; she was in shock that she could miss it. Stupid fucking coffee. Her head began to throb.

"What—happened," she managed in a stilted voice to Fiona.

"They—they fired him—the vote-" Fiona couldn't even begin to process her own words.

"Wait let me—" Jess slammed the coffee cup down onto her desk and whipped out her phone.

"They took his work phone," Tony interjected. "They didn't let him pick up any items."

"Fuck," Jess hissed, dialing his personal number.

It went straight to voicemail.

Jess didn't really recall the rest of the day. There was a hazy memory she could muster of Felicia from HR coming to her, explaining a few things, and then telling her to go to a conference room on the 30th floor. Jess knew what that meant. There were others that were told the same: Lance, Fiona. Tony and Kerry looked on in shock.

The emails had already been ransacked, and it had become clear that the traitors were being routed from the company. Jess had her work phone taken, but she'd been shrewd enough to memorize Kendall's number.

Not that she wanted to call him again. He'd made a big show about loyalty and sticking by one another. Now, her medical insurance—and her mother's—was due to end unceremoniously at the end of the month, which was in a week and a half. After that, it was COBRA.

So, there she sat, in her Tudor City studio, going over her finances with no clear memory of that day in November. The shows of affection, loyalty, the quiet shared moments over the years—fake, she deemed. She was on her own now. Without a reference and without a paycheck. And without any contact from Kendall.

A few weeks of Netflix, Talenti, and autumn park yoga went by until she got a call from an unknown number. At first, she ignored it, but after the third try, Jess answered with a growl.

"Yes?" she asked into the phone.

"Uh—hey, Jess," the voice on the other end responded.

"Um—Roman?"

"Yeah, good I got you," he said quickly, "I thought you may have receded into the depths of the downtown cosmic pit for those sacked from Waystar."

"Well, no, I did end up at Century 21."

"Ah, indeed," Roman cleared his throat as Jess waited for the drop, "hey, um, my brother—he's not…he's not so great right now. I think he may still be in New Mexico? So, you could go pick him up, right?"

"Yeah, I don't work for Waystar anym—"

"No, I mean," Roman tried again, "I know this. But like, I'd pay you something obscene and then you'd go fly out and get him and make sure he's not dead, right?"

"Wait—what?"

"Great," Roman steamrolled her quickly, "just uh, fly out to Santa Fe, and grab him, stick him back on the plane with you—I can't get you private—we're not gonna hold his hand on this—we just don't want him to be dead—it'll be business class. Blech. I'd ask Connor, but he lacks the cognitive capacity to do this, and honestly, so do I. Anyway…I'll have a guy deposit the money into your account."

"Why would Kendall be dead…?"

"Um. Shit," Roman sighed, "yeah. He's … he's fucked up again…so…yeah. Just choose a flight and get him back? You good?"

"No—"

Roman hung up. Jess sat at her small table with her seven-year-old laptop whirring away, 18 tabs open, and her mouth settled into a straight thin line. Her life seemed to be unraveling, but Kendall's, somehow, seemed to be worse. With a huge unsteady breath, Jess stored Roman's number in her phone.

She knew she would go to Santa Fe. She knew she would retrieve the prodigal son.

Jess finally extracted the name of the hotel Kendall may have been in from Roman via text. In her compact rental car, she sped over to the place and had found he was still checked in.

With a wave of tired nausea, she knocked hesitantly on the door. When it opened, she found Kendall, tired, ashen, and groggy.

He was just beginning to crash.

"Oh, my god," he muttered in disbelief at the sight of her, "I'm hallucinating."

"No, you're not," Jess said evenly as she stepped aside him and into the room. It looked relatively neat for a person on a four-day bender. "I'm here to… escort you home."

"Wait—"

"So, we can pack your things—" Jess threw his suitcase onto the bed and started tossing items into it. He didn't seem in such bad shape, she assessed. Good. She was allowed to be mad at him then and hide her fear.

"Who—how—"

"Roman called me," she stayed away from his eyes and focused on the task before her, "and I came. To get you. Are you good to fly?"

Kendall froze for a moment and then crumpled onto the bed. Jess surveyed him: he'd been sweating, the stubble on his face was about ten days old, and his eyes were bloodshot. He seemed to thrum with a chaotic energy that scared her.

He didn't say anything and neither did she. Jess continued to throw his belongings into the bag silently. When she'd finished getting everything together, he followed her out, like a dog at her heels.

She checked him out, and he offered to load the car.

"Of course," she said in a clipped tone as she allowed him to put the suitcase in the trunk.

It seemed a storm was rolling in. Jess hoped the weather would hold long enough for them to get to Dallas. She slipped into the driver's seat, and Kendall took his place on the passenger's side. After some silence, and a bit of raised eyebrows at the fact that Jess was driving a manual, Kendall finally spoke:

"I think this time in the desert was good for me," he said in a low voice.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he responded quickly, "like, really clear. Nice reset. A lot of breakthroughs. I know exactly what I need to do now."

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah," he said, running his fingers through his hair, "I mean, I've been awake for like four days and basically—um—did a desert like, walkabout?"

Jess kept her eyes on the road and her face expressionless.

"And I'm just in a really good place."

She nodded, staring ahead.

"Like, I hiked a lot—I feel really healthy."

"Here, drink this," Jess said in a flat voice as she shoved a bottle of water into his arms.

"And I really truly believe that I can do so many things now," Kendall barely acknowledged her, but opened the bottle, chugging it for a moment as he thought.

More silence.

Jess turned into the airport lot.

"Like, we could do a lot of things together—"

She pulled into the small Santa Fe rental car area as Kendall kept chattering. She returned the car and headed to the small waiting area. The gate was the size of a living room. Kendall kept talking. About crypto, techno, astro—whatever. His mind was racing, and he was speaking so quickly that words started to sound nonsensical, and she felt ashamed that it disgusted her. He seemed ignited—and not in a butane lighter sort of way.

It was more like a forest fire in a drought sort of way.

It got to a point where she pulled him aside, out of line, to survey him more closely.

"What are-" he asked.

"Just—" Jess uttered in a hushed voice as she laid two fingers against the pulse in his neck.

She didn't know what to do.

"I think we should get you to—"

"No, I'm good. Feeling really good."

Jess finally made eye contact with Kendall and knew there was no way she was getting him to a hospital to be looked at. She used all of her energy left to keep herself together and shut herself down. With a nod, she ushered him onto the plane.

Kendall was in the process of coming down as they switched planes in Dallas. Jess still remained silent but studied him closely. They had a five-hour layover—the only availability when Jess had booked the flight—and they sat, at the gate, unmoving. Still, she glanced at him every three minutes or so.

"I'm OK," he asserted with a tinge of aggression during hour three, "stop—staring."

She said nothing, but the tears started to well. Kendall took no notice; he was texting Frank about NFTs.

As the days of methamphetamine wore through his system, as he sat in the stiff airplane seat once boarded, Kendall's thoughts became settled. He glanced at Jess when they were somewhere over Tennessee, and his heart jumped out of his chest.

Had she been crying the whole flight?

Had she been crying since the moment she'd knocked on his door?

But there she sat, completely silent, holding her breath, with sobs burning in her chest. She hid her face from him with her hand, but he saw her quivering. He opened his mouth three times to speak but didn't have words. A woman shuffled by on her way to the bathroom and gave Kendall a disapproving look—what a terrible husband, her face said. Kendall watched helplessly and found that he patted his pants pocket, craving just a bump to get him through this. To help him find the words.

But he was all out. Time for some old hookups in New York, it seemed.

"Jess…" he whispered. His heart thudded in his ears.

She shook her head slightly, as if to ward him off.

It dawned on Kendall.

"Jess—I'm so sorry," he stuttered, now, it seemed, his mind was all but clear, "I didn't know—they would let you go—"

She didn't seem to listen to him. Kendall turned in his seat to face her; he tried meeting her eyes, but she wouldn't let him.

"I didn't know—" he repeated. "I—I can call, um, HR, and see—"

"No, it's not that," Jess ran the backs of her hands under her eyes and sniffed. Another woman watched her from across the aisle, and then glared at Kendall.

"I'm—I'm just—if there's anything—"

"Just—please—stop talking," she whispered.

"Tut-tut," came the disapproving interjection from seat 4A.

"OK, I could do without the mile-high peanut gallery," Kendall scoffed, and the woman went back to My Sister's Keeper.

He reminded himself to never fly commercial ever again. Flying was when the Roys had their biggest blowout fights. Not so when a hundred other people are sitting right on top of your lap.

But Jess wouldn't say what it was that was upsetting her. For the rest of the flight, she did not look at him, nor did she speak. When he'd gone to the bathroom, Jess used the time to go into his phone and turn on the "Find my Friends" feature. She cursed herself for promising to check it later.

After they landed, she waited silently in her seat as the passengers began to disembark so that she could retrieve her bag from the overhead. Kendall tried a few times to think of something to say, but he came up empty.

He felt empty. He was empty.

Still, he trailed her through the gangway, trying to be in step.

"Hey—how long you been married?" Came the question from behind Kendall as they came back through the gate. It was an older man who looked like he definitely lived in Bay Ridge or something. He had been sitting in front of them.

"What-? No—"

"—Listen," the man continued to Kendall, "whatever it is she's upset about, just give her time. Buy her something nice. Take her out. Pay more attention. They always want more attention."

The man didn't wait for a response and continued on to baggage claim.

"Yeah, great, thanks," Kendall quipped sarcastically once the man was out of earshot, "fucking… misogynistic time traveler from 1952. Unsolicited advice in a fucking airport terminal—did you see that?"

He caught up with Jess.

"Wait—why are we going this way?" Kendall stopped short as he realized they were headed for the train.

"I'm going to the E?" Jess said plainly.

"Oh—shit—I guess my car is-?"

"You don't have a car waiting."

"What—"

"I had my work phone confiscated," Jess explained in a voice that was meant for a five-year-old, "I can't contact your driver—Carla—anyone. And the money Roman gave me went to the flights and the rental car, so…"

"I—I could've paid—"

"All right," Jess nodded, "I've got to get home."

"How am I supposed—"

"I don't work for you anymore, Kendall."

The words sent him into a full panic.

"Wait—I—"

Kendall ran to the machine, fumbled with his wallet and quickly purchased a MetroCard for the first time in fifteen years.

"No point in waiting for a car, I suppose," he said with a weak smile.

Jess ignored him, and headed to the Airtrain platform, and then continued onto the E. He followed her because he wanted her to not be mad at him… but also because his brain wasn't functioning, he needed her to agree to look at him, and he also needed her to agree to come work for him, but, most of all, he followed her because he didn't know where he was going. Kendall had forgotten how much the subway smelled like stale, hot urine—even in December—and tried to breathe through his mouth. His leg bounced as they skirted through Queens.

"Are you going home for Christmas?" he asked at Queens Plaza. God, he needed a drink to calm down.

Jess took a breath, "no."

"Yeah, well, neither am I."

More silence. And Kendall felt increasingly despondent—Jess still hadn't looked at him in the eye; he felt like he was spinning out. She was shutting him out, and he couldn't take it.

As they pulled into Lexington Avenue, Jess slung her bag across her shoulder.

"Wait—did you move apartments…?" Kendall asked, hopelessly confused.

"I have to change trains to get to the 4/5/6," she looked at him like he was insane and then realized this was the subterranean world in which the grotesquely rich never tread.

"Oh—oh, shit," he shot up, "I—shit, where—"

A flashback to him and Stewy riding the subway at night during summers off of school. What were the major junctions…?

"Go to 7th Avenue and switch to the B or D," Jess said, brusque, spent, and tired, as she waited for the train to stop. As the doors opened, Kendall got desperate.

"Hey—Jess," he called as he watched her step out, "we could—you hungry-? I mean—we could—"

But his pleadings were drowned out by the doors closing again. Jess headed up the stairs and Kendall watched helplessly from the window of the subway car as she disappeared into the crowd of holiday shoppers.

He'd have her back by New Year's, he vowed. He had no choice. She was the lifeboat, and he was the …what…Titanic? Iceberg? Drowning rat? He didn't know how to finish the metaphor, but he was certain he was something doomed and terrible without her.