NOTES: This tooka lotlonger to post than I expected - sorry! Thanks to all those still reading, and ta also for the reviews and feedback I've been getting - much appreciated, cheers. Just one short epilogue to come. Won't take nearly as long to post, honest!

RATING: PG

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

PART THREE - Distance and Time

Kilmer returned home, dessert in hand, to find Frankie and his mother ensconced again at the table with cups of tea.

Frankie looked up at him as he entered, her face propped in one hand.

'We're discussing the state of my kidneys,' she said.

'I was just telling Frankie how drinking coffee at all hours of the day can affect the renal system,' Joyce explained.

'She got you with the green tea?' he asked, peering over Frankie's shoulder at what she was drinking.

'It's not that bad,' she smiled up at him.

'She was pushing it on me all afternoon. I don't buy it.'

'So what flavour did you get?' she asked, indicating the bag he had dumped on the kitchen counter.

'A classic,' he replied, and pulled out the carton to show her. 'This okay, Mom?'

'Hm?' Joyce looked over at him, seemingly distracted. 'Oh, yes, fine dear.'

So they all sat around the table with a dish of cookies'n'cream, but the mood was subdued compared to earlier. He couldn't help wondering what he'd missed. Something had obviously passed between his mother and Frankie while he was out.

He noticed his mother glancing at her watch. He thought she was looking tired, too.

'If the two of you will excuse me, I told Howard I would call to say goodnight,' she said, suddenly getting to her feet. 'And after that I think I'll probably turn in.'

He stood up as well.

'You sure, Mom?'

'You know how it is, travelling - wears you right out.'

'Goodnight, Joyce,' Frankie said, coming over to her. 'It was nice seeing you.'

'You too, dear,' she replied, giving Frankie a hug, and then turning for her son to kiss her cheek.

'G'Night Mom.'

They watched her leave the room, and then turned back to each other.

'Well, my mother's unsubtle attempts at prying into your personal life aside, that wasn't so bad, was it?'

'You know I've always liked your mother.' Frankie said diplomatically, and began gathering the dishes and spoons from the table.

He helped, following her into the kitchen.

'Yeah, but by the time I got home you had that look like you were about to start beating your head on the table.'

'What she lacks in subtlety she makes up for in persistence. I did mention you were going to owe me for this, didn't I?'

'That bad, huh? What did you talk about while I was gone?'

She hesitated, and then said, 'We had a fairly interesting discussion.'

He sobered then as he stood at the sink, rinsing out the bowls one by one.

'She seemed upset. And going to bed before nine is early even for her. Did you talk about my father?'

He looked at her directly, waiting for an answer.

'She mentioned your father, you're right, though only briefly,' she admitted. 'It started, though, because while we were cleaning up in here my shirt lifted up a bit and she saw the scar on my stomach, from Mexico. She knew it was a bullet wound - she was pretty disturbed by it.'

'Oh,' he said. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. He knew Frankie sometimes couldn't help trying to get people to talk. Now, he found himself wondering how bad the scar was. 'Let me see?'

She raised her eyebrows at that, but pulled up the hem of her shirt.

'I won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon,' she said ruefully.

He shrugged. 'I've seen worse.'

'Of course you have. You've got a couple of your own. It's not something your mother's used to seeing, though, I imagine.'

'Actually,' he contradicted, 'Back home she helps run a women's shelter. I'm sure she's seen much worse than that, too. More likely, it was because it's you, Frankie - someone she cares about.'

Frankie glanced away, her face carefully schooled, but he'd known her long enough to know she was not unaffected.

'She still sends me Christmas cards, you know,' she said after a while.

'Once you're on the list, there's no escape,' he joked gently.

'I guess I always assumed she'd blame me for what happened. With us.'

Her eyes met his briefly and then flickered away again.

'No. Well,' he clarified, 'She was kind of pissed at the time. But mostly at me.'

'Still, I'm sorry I upset her. On top of what she found out today...'

'It's not your fault. And really, you shouldn't worry. My mother's a pretty tough lady, in case you hadn't noticed. She'll be raring to go at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Plans on dragging me all over the Smithsonian and God knows where else.'

Finally she nodded and offered him a small smile, but didn't speak.

'Hey,' he said to break the moment of silence, 'Why don't you help me finish this off?'

He nodded towards the open bottle of wine standing on the counter, about a quarter full.

She agreed after a moment's pause, and he emptied the bottle into two of the glasses from dinner which were drying beside the sink. He gestured for her to precede him into the living room, where they settled on the couch.

They sipped without speaking for a few minutes. Frankie slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet under her, turning towards him.

'I know you didn't want to talk about it the other week, when it had just happened,' she began, 'And you blew me off on the phone this afternoon -'

'I did not blow you off. My father?' he shrugged, looking down into his wine. 'There's not much to say.'

'Well, you know I'm here if you need to...'

'I know.' He sighed. 'Look, he went missing so long ago... It was mostly... a relief, what I found out over there. He died doing what he believed in. He didn't rot in some POW camp for years, waiting for rescue, and he didn't abandon us. He would have come home to my mother and me if he could have.'

'All of that's true,' she said carefully. 'Still... a part of you was hoping you'd find him alive, wasn't it?'

He sighed, and conceded, 'I guess, stupidly, yeah, I did. Despite what it would mean if he'd been alive and well in Cambodia all this time.'

'A part of you will always be that boy who just wants his father back.'

'You know how that feels,' he said quietly.

'Yeah,' she replied simply.

They were quiet for a time, then. Frankie sipped at her wine and he followed her example, considering her over the rim of his glass.

No one had ever known him like she did. Sometimes, it was just plain annoying. At other times it could be comforting. He was glad she was here - even though she'd gotten into a heavy conversation while he was out getting dessert that he still didn't know all the specifics of, and even though he'd had reservations about the whole thing, and had only invited Frankie to appease his mother.

After all, there was still awkwardness there at times. More often there wasn't, though, and that just made the situation worse. Like now, when they were together and it felt simple and natural, and they weren't too busy trying to avert some disaster from happening, and the details of their chequered history didn't seem to matter so much.

More and more of late he was finding himself wondering whether she felt the same.

During this extended silence Frankie set her empty glass down on the coffee table and then reached down to slip her shoes back on.

'I should get going.' Still bent over, her hair was falling forward and covering her face.

He stopped her when she would have risen with a hand on her wrist.

She sat back again and looked at him. He, though, was focused on the placement of his hand. His thumb brushed back and forth on the inside of her arm until she covered his hand with her own, stopping the slight caress. He raised his eyes to hers.

'Thanks for coming over tonight.'

'Your welcome,' she responded cautiously, gently taking her hands back into her lap.

'Listen,' he began, looking away again, focusing on a safe spot somewhere over the coffee table. 'Things are never going to be normal with us, are they? At work we just - we behave like we're friends, like what's past is in the past. But it's not like that, really. It's -'

'It's still complicated,' she filled in. 'I know.'

'But we knew it was going to be like this. We knew it could be weird, working closely together, in a stressful job, with the risks we take on a daily basis... And I think we do all right, under the circumstances.'

'What circumstances would they be?' Frankie asked warily.

He knew she didn't yet understand his line of reasoning.

'Listen, just because we don't let any personal feelings get in the way, it doesn't mean that they're not still there. That's what I mean.'

'Well of course,' she admitted, her manner still cautious. 'When you're out in the field, in danger, it can be terrifying.'

'Yeah, well the feeling's mutual. Like your little adventure down in Mexico. The whole time you were held, I was going crazy.'

'You did your job.'

'Well, I'm a professional - I hide crazy well.'

She laughed a little at that, and her guard was down, so when his hand touched her waist she froze, surprised.

'And when you got shot, and you fell down in my arms, bleeding, I don't think my heart started beating properly again for hours.'

As he spoke his hand shifted a little, until his fingers met bare skin under her shirt.

She gasped ever so slightly, and he caught the small intake of breath. It had been so long since he'd touched her like this, in a manner that couldn't be passed off as platonic. She didn't remain frozen, placing one hand on his wrist at her side, and with the other reached up a hand to touch his face. Her touch and expression were soft, but her next words were as blunt and direct as if he was facing her in an interrogation room.

'You making a move on me, Kilmer?'

'What, am I being too subtle?'

He squeezed her waist slightly. The bare skin under his hand was so tempting, smooth and silky, he wanted to rediscover all that familiar territory. He wanted to find that scar he had only glimpsed briefly and explore it more thoroughly...

Her thumb brushed lightly over his mouth as she said, 'You know, this part was never our problem. Have you thought that it might not be a good idea to rip open all those old wounds? They only just healed up, you know.'

'I've thought about it a lot. As, I suspect, have you.' At that, she indicated her assent with the slightest motion of her head. 'But the thing is Frankie,' he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, 'We've just been in this... holding pattern. It can't just go on like this.'

She frowned suddenly.

'Have you been speaking to your mother about this?'

'God, no. Why,' his face became suspicious suddenly, 'Have you? Jeez, I never should have left the two of you alone. What'd she say to you?'

'Well, she said quite a lot. But the main gist of it was that I should just make up my damn mind. Get on with things.'

'Well, she has a point, there.'

'On the other hand, it's not like we could just pick up where we left off.'

'I know that. You're worried that we'd fall back into old habits.'

'Yeah.' She let out a short laugh, somewhat rueful. 'But you know what they say about habits.'

He closed the distance between them then, and she let him, and he found that kissing her again was just how he remembered it - so achingly familiar he just wanted more and more. And yet, it was marked by something new, some new flavour perhaps best defined as the time and distance between them.

He moved his hand now over her stomach just as he'd been longing to - finding and tracing over the marked flesh where the bullet had entered.

Her back arched at his touch and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back fiercely. Her fingers sifted through the hair at the back of his head.

His mouth moved to her throat then. He kissed the hollow of her jaw, and suckled lightly at the pulse point there. It had been a long time, but he remembered it all - every little thing that made her crazy. Her hands fisted reflexively in his hair, enough to make him wince.

'Sorry,' she murmured with an unabashed grin, easing her grip. 'We were getting a bit carried away.'

'Well like you said, we never did have a problem with this part.'

He would have kissed her again, but she leaned back.

'You know, your mother is...'

He dragged a hand over his face and sighed.

'Currently residing in my bedroom, which is right through that door over there,' he finished. 'Yeah, I know.'

'It's... not necessarily a bad thing,' she said, sitting back, putting a little distance between them. 'We don't rush into anything this way. We can take some time and gain some perspective.'

'Well sure, as long as you aren't planning on waking up tomorrow morning remembering all the many reasons why you hate my guts.'

'Well, it's not part of my usual morning routine, but you never know.' She smiled and looked away. 'I should go.'

He didn't stop her this time, but rose with her.

'Want me to walk you to your car? Where are you parked?'

'I'll be fine. I'm just across the street.'

He caught her fingers in his as they reached the front door.

'Hey. Don't you think, if this is doomed to failure a second time around, it should at least be for new reasons, instead of all those old ones?'

'Do you think that's possible? Are we so different now?' she returned.

He leaned his forearm against the door and ran his hand over his hair.

'When you left me, I thought it was too late to do anything. I figured you already hated me, and you were already gone, and I was harbouring some pretty deep resentments of my own, and so that was it. Now? While I don't plan on giving you a reason to leave me again, all the same, if you did? I'd go after you.'

'That's a pretty good answer.'

'You, on the other hand, are still playing everything close to your chest.'

'Noticed that, did you?'

She considered him evenly for a moment, and he wondered whether she was going to say anything at all, or leave him hanging.

'I wonder,' she said finally, 'Whether you'd be surprised to find out exactly how much time I spend hating you on a daily basis. It's a lot less than you seem to think it is.'

'You never hated me.'

It was with a sudden certainty that he said it - a certainty he'd never felt before. Before, there had been too much uncertainty, resentment, guilt... And the doubt that she would ever really forgive him, ever give him a second chance.

'It wouldn't have hurt so much back then if I did. And...' she paused and took a breath, 'This wouldn't seem like such a bad idea if I did now.'

'A bad idea?' he parroted.

'A very bad idea,' she confirmed.

He kissed her, pressing her up against the door. She hadn't been expecting it, and he took advantage of it, sweeping his tongue through her open mouth. It was deep and thorough and when he pulled away, just as abruptly, he noted how she stayed propped up against the door for a moment before pushing away.

'Sorry,' he tried not to grin, 'Couldn't help myself.'

She accepted her coat which he passed to her then, and slung it over her arm. She met his eye boldly.

'I don't know where you got the idea that you should ever apologise for kissing me like that.'

And with one last glance that was as ambiguous as it was loaded, she slipped out the door.

The next day, as he had predicted, his mother was more her usual self. He took her out for breakfast and then they did touristy things for the rest of the day until the time of her departure drew near.

'It wouldn't kill you to eat more fresh vegetables, John,' she was saying as they left the foyer of his building - it was the latest in a long litany of instructions.

He just snorted as he lugged her suitcase to the curb where the cab was waiting.

'Don't make a fuss,' she said, 'Just do what your mother tells you, all right?'

He sighed.

'Sure, Mom.'

She patted his shoulder.

'Good boy. Now, don't wait so long before visiting again. The holidays are coming up,' she reminded him.

She raised up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

'And listen,' she went on rather more hesitantly, 'About Frankie, I think you -'

'Don't start, Mom.' He forestalled her with raised hands. 'Anyway,' he went on slyly, 'I'm way ahead of you there.'

He grinned at the look of surprise on her face.

'Are you now? Well I notice you waited until the cab got here to mention that,' she said dryly.

'Hey, so did you,' he protested. 'Besides, you know very well I'd rather pull out my own tongue than talk about it with you.'

'Oh yes I know, darling. Although you could humour me. I'm not getting any younger, you know.'

'Sure you are.' He moved away then and opened the car door for her, saying pointedly, 'Have a good trip home, Mom.'

She pursed her lips but climbed into the back seat of the cab.

'I was serious about the holidays, though,' she said as he shut the door after her.

'I know, Mom. I'll see what I can do.'

'Good. Look after yourself, John,' she said, giving him one last wave farewell as the driver pulled away.

He shook his head, watching the cab drive off. He loved his mother, but sometimes, with her it was like pulling teeth. Still, he reasoned as he headed back inside, the weekend had not been nearly as difficult to get through as he feared.

The elevator was still waiting on the ground floor and so he walked right on. As he reached to press his floor number, he wondered whether he should call Frankie.

end part three

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