A/N: This chap coincides with Summer Palace/Vaulter. I suppose it should be rated M, but don't go jumping up and down quite yet...

Also, this chapter may jump the shark, as it were, but I suppose we shouldn't worry about that in fan fiction, right? Anyroad, I've taken these characters into increasingly preposterous situations and spaces. Why stop now?

Two days later in the shadow of le Sacre Coeur at le Place du Tertre, Jess savored a café au lait and some déjeuner. She'd skipped breakfast, having woken up at ten-thirty. It was remarkably sunny that day in Paris, and she had planned a full schedule for herself that afternoon. It felt incredible to be scheduling her own meals and accommodations at her leisure and to be able to move freely about a city. It was decadent being in a new place without any responsibilities at home.

Perhaps she would stay and apply to the Sorbonne and finally get her master's in art history. She would become an artist's model and live in a garret.

She relished the last bites of the croque monsieur and finished her coffee. With a luxuriated sigh, Jess slung the Hermès scarf around her neck, belted her new trench coat, and began rifling through her bag for her sunglasses when her phone pinged. A Google alert—for Kendall Roy.

The sound had grown familiar to her over the past four years. From the beginning, she had been instructed to track his media presence and keep in close correspondence with Karolina and the PR department. And now, as she gripped her phone, she realized she'd forgotten to cancel the alert.

Jess strolled for about a block before clicking on the link; at least the preview text hinted that he was still alive. Was this video clip new? The timestamp was just this morning. She stopped on the sidewalk and there, on her way to the Funiculaire, watched the clip. As the ATN business anchor introduced him, Jess held a gasp in her throat as they cut to Kendall. Dark purple rings under his eyes-an unshaven, pale remnant of himself. He was robotic and somber, stuttering, sweating. Jess wondered if he wouldn't vomit right there on camera. Somewhere, she knew, Karolina was having a heart attack.

So, he was on TV shilling for his father. And he was certainly not in rehab.

Jess closed out the video and dropped her phone in her pocket. No longer her chaos, no longer her problem. Kendall was adrift, it seemed, doing a crisis PR tour for his father. Jess imagined herself there, what she would be doing. She imagined the fires, the plates spinning, the feeling of being pressed between her morals and her duties.

But she didn't have to imagine—she knew that he was rudderless, with no close aide by his side. He must've felt scared shitless. And maybe that's what he deserved, Jess concluded as she boarded the Funiculaire and descended down Montmartre. What a view she had—what a resplendent day it was. She promised herself to not dedicate anymore of her mind's energy to Kendall Roy—for her own safety. Besides, she only had a few more days in Paris.

Karolina scuttled off to the quietude of her office on the executive floor and called HR.

"Hey, Melissa," she said in a conversational tone designed to get her confidential information, "can you pull up former employee records?"

"It depends."

"I need Jess Jordan's phone number," she said.

"Um…" the woman on the other end of the line hesitated.

"Who's your supervisor?" Karolina continued in a sweet tone.

"It's Gary—"

"Send him to me if he gives you shit about this," Karolina said, "but I need the phone number. I can't get anything done until I make that call."

She shuddered as she realized Kendall had completely forgotten that Jess had not worked for the company for four months. He looked like he was on auto-pilot: walking into the C-Suite, asking where Jess was, as if Karolina would actively know.

"Sure," Melissa said, and Karolina could hear the sound of computer keys clicking, "do you want me to just text you?"

"Yep—the sooner the better. We're a bit crazy up here."

Jess was wandering around le Île de la Cité when her phone buzzed in her trench coat pocket. A 212 number. With a Waystar exchange. She hit the button on the side, silencing it, and put it back in her pocket.

Whilst in line for the Louvre, her phone rang again.

And during dinner at a bistro in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Finally, Jess picked up on the way back to her hotel.

"Jess," Karolina breathed, "glad I caught you. I need to talk to you."

"If you're calling for answers, I don't think I have any answers—Colin—"

"Um—Colin? No," Karolina continued, "I've not talked to Colin—listen: Kendall mentioned, um, that you contact his friend…Nick-?"

"Yeah, I'm not about to do that right now, Karolina," Jess' heartrate rose, "or ever again, for that matter."

"OK, but Kendall—"

"I'm not even sure I work for Kendall Roy anymore."

"Um…" Karolina trailed off and Jess waited for her to speak. "OK. I'm not sure what I'm even asking then. I think he wants you to come back."

Jess rolled her eyes. Kendall was hopeless.

"Karolina, I really—"

"Jess, we're sort of spiraling here."

"Wow, I'm sorry for that, Karolina, but I really—"

"But—but Jess," Karolina dropped her voice even though her office door was shut, "Kendall is no good without you. He's—he's wandering around…"

"Wandering around?"

"It's like—it's like he's asleep or—"

"Oh, so you wanted me to get him more drugs, is that it?"

"No—no," Karolina began to get frustrated, "but you can get him back on track."

"I can't get him back on track. I never could. The only time he got back on track was when he did it himself."

"Please, Jess—"

"Listen," Jess paused, in the middle of the street, pacing back and forth, "Karolina, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Wait, no, Jess—"

But the call had ended.

Jess heaved a groaning sigh as she went into her hotel room. The net that Kendall had cast around her entire life was rife with questionable work practices, broken promises, an aching, prolonged sexual tension, contract violations, ethics infringement, HR nightmares, and now, déjà vu.

But this time, she decided, he needed to come crawling back to her on his knees.

Kendall steeled himself as he sat in his office, looking at his phone. He had no real job description and therefore nothing to do except his father's bidding. He spent hours at a time doing absolutely nothing at all until his father called upon him, and so he was forced to sit with his own thoughts. He looked up Jess' phone number and hovered his thumb over the call icon but couldn't press it. Kendall powered down his phone, sat staring for twenty minutes, and pulled up her number again. He did this two more times that afternoon and once more that evening at his new penthouse.

Except at home, completely alone in the new empty space, the solitude was relentless and creeping.

Greg had come over with some powder, and after a quick, utilitarian visit, Kendall ushered him to the door.

"Thanks for this, though," he said as he opened the door for his him.

"Oh—right," Greg made a slight bow with his head, "but you're just doing it recreationally, right—"

"Oh, sure, sure," Kendall patted his arm, "you know what? Thanks, man. I feel like no one in this family fucking gives a shit—so, thanks."

Greg nodded, seeming convinced; he turned to go, had a thought and turned back on his heel, bumping Kendall slightly, "but—just so you know, I saw your assistant—"

"—Jess—" Kendall's heart pounded at the name. The coke was hitting his bloodstream like a thundering avalanche.

"—the day you left," Greg continued, "she was…whew, she was upset…like, maybe crying?"

Kendall didn't say anything.

"A damsel in distress at the castle," Greg haltingly proclaimed, "so yeah, so… maybe not family, but she definitely cares."

Kendall gave him one nod, "thanks, man."

"Sure thing," Greg gave a small salute and headed to the elevator.

High on the worse coke he'd ever had, there would be no sleeping that night. Kendall just sat with what Greg had told him: the image of Jess at the castle after he'd left. Maybe she'd be his haven. Maybe she'd welcome him back, relieved at seeing him again. Maybe they could pick up where they left off, and he wouldn't have to explain anything. Jess had been a preternatural expert in picking up his moods without saying a word, and that was what he needed: no words, just acceptance.

Kendall glanced at his phone again, but he knew he needed something more.

Jess had just gotten home from quite the bumpy and stormy commercial flight (it had rained and thundered for the last forty-five minutes of the flight, and Jess thought she would jump out of her skin), and she was about to crash straight into her bed when her phone lit up with that name on the screen. Kendall Roy, with the big decision in green and red before her Decline or Accept.

"Fucking fuck," she muttered into her dark apartment as she watched it ring. The urge, the craving, to answer was too great. She so wanted to just hear his voice in spite of herself.

She hit accept, held the phone to her ear, but could not get herself to speak.

"…Jess?" Came the cracking, tired voice through the phone. A wash of static in the background? Or rain…?

"What?" she asked.

"Jess, I—"

"So, is this going to be—what—a quarterly thing?" she hissed into the phone; his voice hadn't had the effect she anticipated, "Kendall, I can't take this."

"I need you to—"

"So, you have nothing else to say to me?" Jess knew being harsh with him was fruitless, damaging even, but her patience had dried up back in England.

"I'm actually—"

"Aren't you supposed to be in rehab?"

"My dad needed me to come back, so…"

"Oh, did he? And—for what? Why?"

"Listen, I'm downstairs."

"What?"

"Can you let me up?"

Jess' breath quickened, and Kendall heard it through the phone. She was silent, and he stood unmoving in the rain, even though the canvas awning was two feet from him. He was getting soaked, like some horrific romantic comedy scene.

He listened to her on the other end as she weighed the situation while the rain pelted him. After a tense moment, the door buzzed, and Kendall went up. He appeared at her door, wet and pathetic. The park coke was not doing the job he needed it to.

"Jesus," she murmured under her breath at the sight of him. Jess stepped aside and Kendall shuffled in. She dipped into the bathroom and handed him a towel, her voice clipped, "can you take your shoes off, please?"

He obliged and ran the towel over his head. His hair stood up a little, scruffy. Kendall dared to make eye contact with Jess, and he was gravely certain that this was the most enraged he'd ever seen her. She wanted to explode on him (even while offering him a towel). And he welcomed it.

"So?" Jess held her arms out, as if to push him to speak, using anger to cover up her shaking fear at the sight of him.

"Uh—right," Kendall said, "I—I'm sorry."

"Oh? This time? For what?"

"What?"

"List the things you're sorry for."

Kendall grew scared. Her anger made him feel isolated; Greg's words had made it seem Jess would be weeping and throwing her arms around Kendall, thankful he was safe. But here, there was no trace of that, no remnant of her sleeping next to him, no acceptance. List the things you're sorry for. He couldn't even begin to compile a list in the black void that was his mind.

"For… everything."

"Everything," she repeated with a tinge of sarcasm.

Kendall blinked, unsure of what to do. The Jess he knew, the even, organized, dutiful squire, had been replaced by an angered, hurt human who was no longer willing to take his shit.

"I feel like a fucking fool," Jess whispered, "you were lying to me the whole time—"

Kendall's face didn't register what she was talking about; he had a hard time keeping track of all the lies. Could she see what he had done? He felt like it was written across his face; his panic started to bubble to the surface of his skin.

"About Nick?" she asked.

He took a breath.

"I—I don't even know what to say anymore," her words stung, "I'm just so…tired. This is exhausting. You're—it's like you're leaving a trail of destruction in your wake—my career, my life—and you don't even care."

"I do—"

"No, because you do it repeatedly," Jess raised her voice, and it shook, "you fuck with people's lives—"

Kendall dropped his head; the shame was unbearable.

"—and you have no remorse," Jess spat, "none. You fucking lied about Nick so that I'd have his number in my phone instead of yours, and you ghosted me completely in England. I mean, you promised me that when I came back to work for you that you'd be—better—but you've broken—" my heart, you've broken my heart "—my trust completely. I've been the strong one for so long, I don't know if I can do it anymore, being pulled in so many different directions while you're allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. This was a mistake, coming back. Everything's been a mistake. Stewy said my career as an EA is over—and he's fucking right. I'm ruined, Kendall. If I'm being completely honest, and, let's face it, one of us has to be, I want to fucking strangle you right now."

Kendall nodded slowly, "maybe you should."

Jess paused.

"Yeah, just put your hands right here," he indicated his neck, and he trembled, whispering, "and just… fucking squeeze…until there's nothing left."

The bizarre nature of his words swiftly steered Jess' anger to abject fear. She grew still as she studied him, her mouth slightly gaping, while her eyes appraised him with unabashed terror. This was not Kendall, she thought. This person before her was now and very suddenly a husk of who she had known. A shadow of the person she had spent a hundred hours a week with. Sure, Kendall was always a hapless mess, but this? This was different. His tone, his demeanor, sent an icy chill down her back. Jess wracked her brain for an explanation for this and came up empty. None of this seemed to make any sense, and she searched for the missing piece.

"What happened?" she pleaded quietly.

Kendall tilted his gaze downward, staring at her neck, and shook his head slightly.

"What happened?" she implored again, "Kendall, what is this?"

"I—I just need you to come back," he begged, keeping his eyes from hers; his voice broke, "I just—need—"

Kendall stopped suddenly, and Jess' stared at him, searching.

"I don't know…" he muttered, at a loss.

"Well, you got me," she admitted bitterly after a moment, "I can't go anywhere else, and your reference is as good as shit. So here I am."

Kendall heaved a silent sigh. If all he could get was mean Jess, so be it.

"My hours will be 9 to 6," she listed off the boundaries on her fingers, as she wondered to herself just how long she'd hold to these conditions, "you will only contact me via my work phone, and you will never come to my apartment again."

"Uh-huh, got it," Kendall nodded obediently as he silently mourned the last night they had together.

"I'll see you on Monday at 9. Do not contact me over the weekend," Jess indicated the door, "I think we're done here."

Kendall nodded, and he slipped his shoes back on, crouching before her, still wishing for some sort of physical injury at her hands. He stood, moved to speak, but ultimately decided against saying anything else. As soon as Kendall had cleared the threshold, Jess closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. He froze in the hallway for five minutes, damp and alone, before forcing himself home.

It was when Logan had tasked Kendall with the deep dive at Vaulter that Jess started looking at him again. Ever since coming back to work at Waystar, her demeanor had shifted: she was quiet, guarded, and left promptly every day at six, passing the baton to Tony each evening.

It was no mystery to Kendall why Jess distanced herself—she'd made it abundantly clear. Everything that they had hinted at during that singular night in the castle had evaporated. Jess acted as if nothing had ever happened, including the kiss on the rooftop. She was strikingly good at wiping her slate clean. Kendall was envious of that trait—and resentful of it, too.

They spent hours at the Vaulter offices together, but Jess said little. She was right there, as always, and Kendall took a cold comfort in that—her presence was what got him through the days, even if she spent much of their time together doing a fabulous job of pretending that he didn't exist. And now at least there had been a project to work on; before Vaulter, Jess sat at her desk, watching stocks, ordering meals, and catching up on office gossip with Kerry and Lucy.

When Kerry had mentioned to Jess that she was going to a party that evening, Jess had groaned, but upon second thought, decided she should go out and have some fun. She, after all, was young, of increasing means, and living in Manhattan. Why not actually go out? Why not have a life? Why not drown out the scene she witnessed that day at the Vaulter offices with some alcohol and loud music?

"Wait—this is Kendall's building," Jess stopped short of going into the lobby, "what unit are we going to…?"

Kerry checked her phone quickly, "three."

"Ah—Kendall's in six," Jess squinted, remembering a furniture delivery invoice from the week before, "do you think he'll…be there?"

"I'm not sure if he and Greg hang out? That would be an Odd Couple type of dynamic there—"

"Let's just make sure we get off on the right floor," Jess quipped, and Kerry raised a brow at her, remembering the cocktail night just before that disaster of a board vote back in November.

"You know Greg, right?" Kerry asked her as they go onto the elevator.

"As in, Roy-but-not-Roy? What's his last name?"

"Hirsch, but yeah. It's his apartment."

Jess didn't make much note of it but was surprised to see Greg living in such spacious wealth for a first-year EA; Kendall had been generous.

The loft was dark, and there were probably over a hundred people drinking, dancing, and doing at least seven different types of drugs. Pretty generic TriBeCa vibe.

"Ah see, he's very easy to spot in the crowd," Kerry commented as she waved to Greg, who was navigating the throng with a beer in each hand, "he's like… a muppety Ent."

"Good evening, ladies!" Greg greeted them congenially, "welcome to my abode. I—I'm not sure who half these people are, maybe it's more like seventy-five percent, but …enjoy…!"

He handed each of them a beer.

"Hey, Greg," Jess shouted into his ear over the din, "Kendall's not here, is he?"

Greg paused for a split second, wondering how he should respond, he actually had lost track of Kendall's whereabouts at least thirty minutes before. He thought Jess was there to test him, "he was here—uh, I think he went up to his place—not sure."

"Thanks," Jess nodded to him, wondering if Greg had become Kendall's new source.

He gave them a sideways smile and meandered off into the crowd.

"The nicest Roy," Kerry commented glibly; since Kendall got booted after the vote of no-confidence, she'd been transferred to Logan and was less than pleased, despite the major pay bump. Some pay bumps, she had told Jess, would never be enough. Kerry nodded toward Greg, who was dancing to the music with his own tempo, "wish he'd end up being CEO."

"He's too pure for this world," Jess smiled ruefully as she sipped her beer, "did I ever tell you the slippers story?"

The loft was hot and crowded, but Jess and Kerry didn't mind; they drank Greg's not great beer and danced with each other—and with strangers. Jess found herself attached to a tall stranger with shockingly good bone structure, a male model trying "to make it in New York." He allowed her to turn her mind off for a while—dancing, drinking, eating terrible passed hor d'oeuvres—and suddenly her mouth was on his. And soon she had linked her fingers in between his and was leading him off to the bathroom.

Kendall sauntered into the party from upstairs. He'd stolen away to get some ket and came back thirty minutes later to a much larger party. Word had gotten out, apparently. Kendall roamed around aimlessly, weaving in and out of the crowd, nursing a beer. Soon, as the drugs hit him, his thoughts quieted and the adrenaline from what he'd done at Vaulter earlier that day began winding down. Now, he was merely a form, coasting through a fuzzy void. A body just trying to blend into with the crowd, nameless, faceless. A body that just needed to take a piss. Kendall made his way down the hall, slowly. He knocked on one door three times before realizing it was a closet. He moved down the hall further, finding the bathroom.

Kendall, leaning against the bathroom door with a beer in hand, and, with his senses nearly obliterated, knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.

"I don't think anyone's in there, man," someone called from down the hall, gravely mistaken.

He nodded and tried the handle—unlocked. Kendall's hearing was muted, his sight was blurred, but what he saw was in clear contrast at the opposite end of the bathroom. A woman sat, propped up on the counter, the straps of her dress down, exposing a lace bra that left little to the imagination; her head was back against the mirror, and a man's face was nestled between her thighs.

"Oh—sorry—" Kendall knocked into the doorway with his shoulder as he tried to turn around, "I'll just—"

He started to duck out clumsily—his limbs felt so heavy—but glanced back once as he started to close the door. Kendall froze, not comprehending what his eyes were showing him.

Jess gasped as she tried to smooth her dress, tipping herself forward, and the man beneath her fell back toward the tub. In her haste to cover herself while also moving to try and shut the door, she stumbled, catching herself on the towel rack so she wouldn't crash to the floor.

"Ohh…fuck," he muttered when he realized who stood before him, "oh no."

Kendall slammed the door shut and, in spite of the state of his physical faculties, turned back out the door and made it to Greg's bedroom. In that moment he was thankful for the ket, thankful that whatever feeling he would have felt just then was annihilated from his senses. Still, the specter of feeling threatened.

After his mind sent him to a black hole for five minutes, he turned and went down the hall and ran right into Jess, who was trying to escape the party (as her soul was trying to leave her body).

"Look at you," Kendall said, "…look at you."

"Kendall—" Jess couldn't look at him. Her face burned in embarrassment.

"Hey, don't…mind me…" his speech slurred, "we're all adults here. You don't—need permission—"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for it," she said.

Greg saw Kendall from across the room and began to make his way over. It was late, and he was tired. He had been looking for him for the past couple of minutes to get his help in corralling people out the door.

"Hey—" Kendall opened his arms and tried to steady himself as he swayed, "as long as we're being honest with each other—I guess we're free to…"

Jess paused, frozen in mortification, cringing about seeing him the next day in the office. "Kendall…"

"I mean, why is it different?" he asked, more to himself than anyone, his gaze looking at nothing in particular, "the rooftop—that party—this is different…"

Jess hesitated but decided upon the truth: "because…you were sober that night."

Kendall, in his haze, had not anticipated that response. He was thinking she'd say something about being back at Waystar as an employee, or still being angry with him, something about all the lies, or just that he was unlovable. But this made him stop altogether, and his mind began to shut out all the noise around him.

And with that, Jess pushed past him and left. Kendall stood in the middle of the party, music blaring, people sweating, and took a sip of beer.

"Yo, Ken," Greg emerged from the crowd and caught up with him, "yo, how's it going?"

"All good, Greg, just, you know, looking for love in all the wrong places."

The next morning, Kendall had a post-mortem meeting with his father about Vaulter at nine. Jess came into the office while Kendall had been talking to Logan. Ten o'clock rolled around before Kendall finally walked back to his own office; Jess watched him as he went around his desk and gathered a few items. He was somber, like usual these days, and looking a little rough after what had been, Jess knew, quite a late night.

He carried a laptop and his phone charger under his arm, "uh, I'll be based out of my dad's office for a bit-we're huddling on the proxy battle."

"Copy that," Jess said with a nod, "and I have your travel itinerary for the executive retreat next weekend."

"Also, could you get me the key code for the roof?"

"The—roof?"

"Yeah…they're doing work up there, and…" Kendall shrugged, "I want to see what's up."

"Um—yes, noted."

Kendall nodded back, without a hint of emotion or even shame, or regret, or awkwardness. Jess watched him go, utterly shocked that he wasn't stumbling over his words or failing to make eye contact after the night they'd had. How many people can say that their boss walked in on them while they were receiving oral sex from a stranger during a house party? What exactly was the HR corporate protocol for such a scenario?

And then a possibility hit her: he didn't remember.