Part Three

Disclaimers in Prologue.


A Sarah McLachlan song was on the jukebox, the soft voice accompanied by slurring guitars and soft drums. The sound drifted through the bar, much like the cigarette smoke, hazy, liquid, sadly sensuous.

"Unravel me,
a distant chord,
on the outside is forgotten
the constant need to get along..."

Yves was talking into a tiny silver cell phone.

"No, I haven't seen him, but I know he comes here." She listened, an impatient expression settling on her face. "It's only a matter of time, Agent Perkins."

A man sat down beside her at the bar, and she spared him a quick glance. A stereotypical businessman, grey pinstripe, loosened tie. Yves brought her attention back to the phone. "All right. I will." She clicked the phone shut and put it away in a pocket of her coat.

The man beside her had ordered a beer. He took a sip of it and asked, "Tough day?" He took out a cigarette and lit it. He offered her one and she noted the gold band on his left hand.

She said, "I don't smoke and I don't cheat."

He gaped at her, before crushing the cigarette in front of her and turning away. She heard him mutter a curse, but she didn't pay attention.

She sifted her fingers through the crumbled tobacco and whispered, "Whatever else I've done, I won't start now."

She sensed someone else sit down beside her and looked over.

He said, "Hello, Yves," and it was as if she'd seen him just yesterday, instead of over ten months ago.

He continued, "Didn't think I'd find you, did you?"

She winced at the accusation in his voice. She looked down at her drink and said, her voice weary, "I wasn't exactly hiding, Jimmy. No reason to now."

"I know you were there, at Arlington, Yves."

She felt anger start to rise and snapped, "I didn't know you would be. Why are you here?"

Instead of home with the boy, she wanted to say, whatever family he is to you, but she knew better than to jump to conclusions. The kid was too old to be Jimmy's son, but the resemblance...

The muscles tightened along Jimmy's jaw-line as he clenched his teeth. He said, "I, God, Yves, you can be so, so--"

"Cold? I thought..." she drew a deep, shuddering breath. She could feel the start of the slow burn in her throat, and the heat in her eyes. "Jimmy, I thought we said our goodbyes. Now you show up, and expect-- I can't go through this again. I can't have you just..."

She blinked and her tears fell. She looked down, wishing he would just leave. Let her be alone.

He moved, reached out a hand to touch her face, but she shied away.

His voice was soft with incomprehension. "What happened to you, Yves?"

"You." She met his gaze. "You happened. There are no other men like you, Jimmy. I should know. If you're just here to find out what I was doing there, there's no reason I can give you but the truth. They were something special, the closest thing to friends I ever had." She shook her head. "I really didn't know you would be there."

"Would you still have come, even if you'd known?"

"Would you?"

"I came here, didn't I? Yves, I don't blame you, not for anything."

"This isn't fixable, Jimmy. You know that, and I know that. There's this gulf between us now and all this pain, and all the forgiveness you might give me isn't going to make it better."

"I could give you more if I knew you would accept it."

He wouldn't offer unless he were free. She searched his face, seeing no lie in his eyes, seeing the same emotion she'd seen that day in the coffee shop. Except it had changed, become lived with and accepted, not as blind as it once was and for the first time she allowed herself to wonder what his life had been like since she'd last spoken to him.

He reached out, smoothing the wetness from her cheeks. She kept still, barely breathing. He cleared his throat, the sound like a crack of a whip in the silence that had wrapped around them, all the other sounds forgotten.

The song on the jukebox finished and another one started.

Jimmy said, "I came by to, to tell you I read the obituary. I know about your father. All the things that kept you hiding--they're over, right? You have nothing keeping you from--"

"Just because my father's dead, doesn't mean it's over. There are things you don't know about, Jimmy, things I need to finish."

"Things I wouldn't understand," he stated and she could hear the faint tone of bitterness laced through it.

"No, Jimmy, things that would get you killed. No matter how cruelly I treated you in the past, I wouldn't want that to happen. You don't know how I wish I could take back some of the things I said to you, but no matter what I would say it wouldn't erase any of it."

"I'm sick and tired of hearing excuses, Yves. Tell me exactly why--"

"My father was murdered, Jimmy, right in front of me. I know who did it and I'm trying to find him. That's why, because no matter how much I would wish it, I can't change my life! Now, if you'll excuse me."

She grabbed her leather coat and slipped off the stool.

"Yves--" he called after her.

She swung back around, saying, "I can't take your caring right now, Jimmy," but he over spoke her.

"How long before you stop running, Yves?"

These words, so close to her dream, caused her mouth to fall open. She would call it coincidence, but it wasn't. It was knowledge. He knew her so well. Always had.

He continued, "Because, it's only so long before I stop waiting for you to stop." He shook his head, his face resigned, "You know where to find me."

He walked past her, and she knew he didn't want her to follow. She'd pushed too hard, once again. But as she stood there, watching him go, it occurred to her that no matter how angry he'd sounded, he hadn't said goodbye.