*looks around nervously*  Um, anyone remember this fic?

I know, I know.  It's been forever (or another 47 days, same difference) since this was updated.  Life and other fics (coughPurgatorycough) have gotten in the way lately.  Hopefully the next update won't take so long.  But for now, here's a reminder of where we left off and then the next chapter.

Thanks for reading!

~Jennifer

Twelve—Goodbyes

Madison slowly walked down the hallway, absent-mindedly noticing the guard who passed her carrying a package of post-it notes.  "You don't."  Did Laura Brist—Irina Bris—dammit, get it right.  Did Irina Derevko actually have a heart?

She reentered the main room of the Joint Task Force Center, listlessly looking for an empty cubicle so she could sit for a moment.  At last she was able to sink into a vacant chair, her mind still whirring.

"Thompson.  Did you forget we had a meeting?"  Devlin tapped his fingers impatiently on the top of the cubicle wall next to her.

She looked up.  "Oh yeah.  Sorry," she apologized.  "I went to see Derevko first because I didn't want to miss her before she left for Panama."

He shook his head.  "Come with me."  He jerked his hand and motioned for her to follow him.

They entered the same office they had spoken in before, and Madison quickly settled into a seat.  She watched as Devlin shut the door behind him and casually scooted the box of tissues closer to them.  "We need to talk."

"Is this about not wanting to go see the doctor the other day?  Look, I know it wasn't very professional of me, and I do apologize, but I really hate—"

"Grace," he interrupted.  He sighed wearily.  "It's not about that.  In fact, I wish it were that simple."

Madison stared at him warily.  "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to speak and regarded her sadly.  But before the words could even come out, a scenario flashed through her mind.  No no no no nononono . . .

"There's no good way to tell you this, Grace."  He reached over and touched her hand.  "Your father passed away this morning."

"No," she moaned quietly to herself.  She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.  "You're lying.  He was fine the other day.  You said so yourself."

"I know, I know.  The nurses say he was fine last night when they checked on him, but this morning at six he was unresponsive.  They immediately attempted to resuscitate him, but it was too late."  He paused, gauging her reaction.  "I'm so sorry."

Madison slumped in her chair, her mind and emotions in overdrive.  I didn't get to say good-bye.  I haven't even seen him in eight or nine months.  Tears rolled down her face.  I'm so sorry, Daddy.  I wish I had been there.

"An agent was sent out there this morning to assist with the funeral arrangements," Devlin continued.  "You know, of course, that you will be unable to attend.  I'm confident though that this agent will serve you well in your absence."

"You sent Ashley, didn't you."

"Yes.  Given your history as childhood friends, it made sense that she would go and take part in the planning.  When she gets back, she will contact you."

She leaned back in the chair and covered her eyes with her right hand.  She silently accepted his tissue with her left as the tears began to roll down her face.

"He died peacefully in his sleep," Devlin tried to comfort her.  She nodded dully, the impact of the news hitting her once more.  He's really gone.  Totally and utterly gone.

Devlin patted her shoulder.  "I'm going to give you some time alone.  Let me know when you're ready to be taken back to your car."  He walked to the door and paused.  "I'm sorry that this had to happen, Grace, especially now.  Burke's out of town anyway; take a few days off from your job, mourn your loss instead of bottling it up.  If you need anything, I trust you remember the emergency codes your handler gave you."  She nodded, and he quietly shut the door behind him.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, blankly staring at the empty desk, before the door opened again.  She turned slightly and found her friend watching her.

"Devlin just told me.  I'm so sorry, Gracie," Isabel murmured, hugging her awkwardly.

Madison jerked back.  "Daddy used to call me that," she said in a detached voice, willing her voice to cooperate.  "Gracie.  I always knew if he called me Grace I was in trouble.  Or something was really, really wrong," she added as an afterthought, standing to throw away her crumpled tissue.  "He called me Grace when he told me Mom died."  Her legs buckled, and she quickly leaned back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.  Isabel sat down beside her, bringing the box of tissues with her.

"I've never lost a parent, so I really don't know what to say here," Isabel admitted quietly.  "Saying I'm sorry seems so empty."

The two friends sat in silence, neither one knowing what to say.  "Ash is planning the funeral," Madison said dully as she folded her hands in her lap.  "That's where they sent her this morning."

"That explains why she looked so upset," Isabel commented.

"He was like a second father to her."

"I know."

"Sometimes when I would go and visit him, he couldn't remember if I was Grace or Ashley," Madison admitted.  "I got so mad at him one day for that.  I—I—" she choked back a sob.  "I'm so sorry, Daddy," she sobbed, staring at the ceiling.

*****

Tap, tap, tap.  "Grace, I'm sorry to intrude, but just to be safe you need to leave soon," Devlin said quietly from the doorway forty-five minutes later.

Madison and Isabel looked up.  "I'll drive you," Isabel told her friend.  She rose from her spot on the floor and tossed the used tissues into the trash can.

Madison nodded and slowly stood up.  "Do you have a pair of sunglasses I can borrow, Iz?" she murmured as they passed Devlin and made their way back to Isabel's desk.

Isabel frowned.  "Somewhere in my desk.  Hang on a sec," she muttered.  "Here, have a seat."  Madison gratefully sank down into the chair beside the desk.  "Now, where did I put those glasses . . ."

Madison watched her rummage through the desk drawers before a commotion on the other side of the room caught her attention.

"Here they—what's going on?"  Isabel interrupted herself as she looked on with interest.

"All I can see from here is a group of suits," Madison replied, relieved to have something to distract her.

"Gee, imagine seeing that here at the Ops Center," she said sarcastically.  "A bunch of old white guys in black suits."  Her eyes flashed.  "Wait a second," she slowly said.  "It looks like—no, that can't be right."  She craned her neck.  "You've seen her before, Gracie.  What does she look like?" she whispered.

Madison looked at her, confused.  "Who are we talking about?" she whispered back.

Isabel jerked her shoulder towards the crowd that was drawing nearer.  "Derevko.  Is that her they're leading out?"

Madison rose from her seat and glanced around.  There, at the back of the group of suits, was Irina.  She groaned softly.

Isabel swiveled around.  "What?"

"It's not fair.  She even makes a ball and chain look good."

Isabel snorted.  "Bristow sure seems to think so."  The two agents watched as Jack followed Irina through the main floor and down the hallway to the exit.

"He never took his eyes off of her, did he."

"Would you look away if you were responsible for a known terrorist?"

Madison shrugged.  "I don't think he was looking at her because she's a terrorist," she said softly.

Her friend eyed her sharply.  "You don't think that . . . do you?  Come on, Gracie, don't start getting any ideas."  She grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes; Madison reluctantly turned her attention from the guards who were changing shifts to her friend.  "I know this is a horrible time for you, and I know that for the most part you're going to be surrounded by people who don't really know you or what's going on.  And I know that even Ms. Independent Gracie is going to be needy and vulnerable, whether you want to admit it or not.

"But please, for the love of God, don't fall for Burke.  He's not one of the good guys.  You know that, and I know that.  Just try to stay strong, okay?"

Madison nodded slowly as she embraced her friend.  "I—I think I need more t-t-tissues," she mumbled as she tried to choke back fresh tears.

Isabel grabbed the box from her desk and picked up her purse.  "All right, let's get you back to your car."  They linked arms and made their way to the exit, Madison dabbing her eyes along the way.

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she felt Irina's eyes on her as she walked through the parking garage and climbed into the car.

*****

"Madison!"  She blearily raised her head from the throw pillow on the couch.  "Mmphf," she muttered incoherently, laying back down.

"Madison!  Madison, are you in there?  Are you okay?"  She reluctantly sat up, willing her swollen eyes to focus.  Where was that noise coming from—ah yes.  Her front door.

She walked across the room on unsteady legs and unlocked the door, swinging it open without even bothering to glance through the peephole.  Anything to make the pounding go away.

"Maddie?"

"Uh huh," she yawned, trying to smooth out her oily hair.  She failed miserably.  "Hi, Chris."

"Are you okay?"

She blinked and stared at him.  "Do I really look okay, Christopher?" she asked sharply.  She paused, distracted, before squinting at him.  "Wait a sec.  Why are you back so early?"

"Early?"  he echoed.  "I came back a day late from my trip.  I called you and left a message on your voice mail telling you my change of plans, but I guess you didn't get that message either."

"Oh."

He gently pushed her inside her apartment and led her to the couch, making note of the tissues thrown haphazardly in the direction of the trash can, the sweat pants and t-shirt she had apparently been wearing for a few days, and the papers and pencils strewn all over the coffee table.

He delicately picked up a sheet of paper at random.  "This is good," he said surprised.  "You did this?"

Madison cringed.  That's it.  My cover is blown.  "Yeah," she admitted hesitantly.

"Who is he?"

"My dad," she said softly, the tears slipping down her face once more.

Christopher selected another page, one of a man and a young girl—she was relieved she had only been sketching in black and white—as he wrapped his arm around her.  "You and your dad?"

She nodded, choking back a sob.  "He—I—"  She paused, trying to regain her composure.  "You should probably leave, Chris," she finally said.  "You don't want to be around me right now."

He pulled her closer to him and stroked her hair.  "Yes, I do," he insisted.  He glanced at the coffee table.  "Would it be wrong for me to assume that you've spent the last several days hidden away from the world, drawing all of these pictures?"

She shook her head slowly.  "I don't have any photos," she whispered.

He nodded as he understood what she meant.  "The fire.  It destroyed everything."

She looked up at him, realizing he had given her a way out.  "The fire . . . it was a year ago this week."  She focused her eyes on her hands, which were folded in her lap.  "I guess it hit me harder than I thought it would."

"You're allowed to feel things, you know.  You don't always have to be a logical, rational person," he pointed out.  "Some times you just have to follow your heart."  She opened her mouth to protest, but found she couldn't come up with an argument.  "Now, all I want you to do is lean back and relax, try to rest.  You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I'm not sleepy," she retorted, even as her eyes began to close.

Christopher looked down at the woman in his arms, surprised at how fiercely protective he was of her after just a few short weeks.

Madison snuggled closer to Christopher and drifted off to sleep, still thinking about his words.

Maybe it was time for her to follow her heart.

Or maybe not.

An image of Isabel instantly flashed in her mind.

"But please, for the love of God, don't fall for Burke."

She quickly dismissed the memory and clutched his hand to her face as she finally fell asleep.

*****

The following evening Madison sat alone in her apartment, clutching a pillow to her chest as her mind raced.  After a day and a half of nonstop togetherness, she had finally convinced him to go home.  "I'll be fine," she had said.  "You don't need to worry about me.  I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay?"

He had reluctantly agreed and slipped out the door and down the stairs.  That was two hours ago.

No, that was three hours ago.  She groaned.  "I give up," she said aloud.  She went to her bedroom and changed out of her pajamas—at least they were a clean pair, she mused—into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.  She grabbed her keys and her cell phone, waiting until she was safely inside her car to dial a familiar number.  "I was calling to see if you had a suspense novel in stock," she recited.  Thirty seconds later she hung up and focused on her driving, appearing minutes later at a twenty-four hours grocery store.

She pulled into a spot, waiting for the lone shopper that had appeared to drive away before emerging from her vehicle.  She quickly slipped into the backseat of the car beside her.  "Thanks for getting to me so fast," she said, her heart still pounding.  She received no answer as the car quickly shifted into drive and headed towards the source of her salvation.  The source of her downfall.

Seven minutes later she was approaching the clanging barriers once more, wishing she could just run through them and find the one person who could calm her down.

The guard—why was she always stuck dealing with him? she wondered—smirked at her.  "I can't let you in."

"You what?"

"I can't let you in," he repeated smugly.

"But I'm on the list!" she protested.

"Take it up with Bristow.  I'm sure he'd love to explain this to someone else."

Madison stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.  When he didn't, she threw her arms up in the air and sighed in frustration as she spun on her heel, quickly retracing her steps.

Finding Jack took a matter of minutes.  She was surprised to find him sitting in a conference room with not only Kendall but Devlin as well.  She hesitantly knocked on the door and entered the room.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she began in her most professional voice, "but I came to speak with the prisoner and was told I needed to speak to you about it."  She looked at the three agents, hopeful for an explanation.

Devlin closed his eyes and sighed.

Kendall glared at Jack and gestured for him to speak.

Jack glared back at Kendall before fixing his gaze on Madison.

"The prisoner is no longer here, Agent Thompson."

"She was transferred?" Madison interrupted.  "Why didn't anyone tell—"

Jack held up a hand to stop her.  "No, she was not transferred," he growled.  "In Panama.  She . . . escaped."

tbc