A/N: This is part two of a series and picks up shortly after the events at the end of Jake's tale. Hope folks enjoy the story, and feedback is always welcome.

Hammering Through Daisies

Part 2: Maggie

"You're my mother."

The words untethered her. Before, she had been like a boat stuck on a beach, afraid to push herself back into the raging river behind her and unwilling to venture further inland out of guilt for abandoning the river.

Abandoning her past.

It was shrouded in shadow, her life from before, an unknown and unknowable period which she had come to ignore.

But Maggie's conscience pricked at her. In her waking hours, she could ignore the siren's call of every tantalizing clue and hint at her former life. But when the hour grew late, when sleep tried to claim her, shrouding her mind in mystery and pretense, she was left vulnerable to those deep and unrepentant feelings within.

In those weak moments, she had longed for a life which did not belong to her.

Maggie shook her head, hoping the physical action would detach her from the emotions which pulled at her so insistently. But the movement was in vain.

She looked down at the picture Jake had given her. In it, she finally saw herself - or a younger version of the stranger gazing back at her from every mirror she had ever looked in.

"You're my mother."

The words sent chills down her spine even though she had no memory of giving birth to a child. She did not even have the vague, soul-deep hope of a child within her. The concept of it struck her entirely by surprise.

And while she could pinpoint no real memories of her past, Maggie knew one thing with certainty: she had lost someone.

"I love him."

She could hear herself saying the words even if she could not recall having felt them. And just that simple sentence left her replete with regret and loss.

Who is he?

She had asked herself that question a million times. And even more, she had demanded to know who could possibly inspire in her such strong and unquenchable emotions without any physical frame of reference. Long ago, she had recognized that even if she could not remember the specifics of her past, her heart still clung to what it had once known.

Is he actually Jake? My… son?

But the feelings within her were not maternal. The 'he' she longed for was a man, a man for whom she had once felt love and passion. Up until this moment, she had always assumed he was not real. Just a fairy tale prince made up for all the little girls who longed for romance and princes in shining armor. But now, confronted with Jake's strong belief that she was his mother, Maggie's feelings for this unknown man resurfaced once again.

So… she loved a man whose name she did not know. She knew nothing at all about him other than he was likely Jake's father.

Maggie reminded herself that she dreamed of him dozens of times. And every time, she could not see his face. On lucky evenings, she might catch a tiny wisp of his voice, a remnant of a memory, dredged from long ago, provided only to remind her of what she had lost. And what she could never have again.

Jake's words had brought it all tumbling back to her, and she could not escape the doubts and fears which had been her ever-present companions these many years. They stabbed at her, causing a pain almost physical in nature. Her bad leg ached and her weak hand shook slightly.

But she sighed in resignation, knowing that she finally had to face it all.

Even her name was wrong.

She knew it was wrong. As surely as she breathed in and out every day, she knew the name was not her own. But after waking in the nursing home and testing out a dozen popular names, someone had said in passing, "Margaret," and she had felt an immediate attachment to the moniker.

"The wreck of my memories," she whispered to herself, the words being automatic companions to the name.

Maggie had long wondered if those words were the start of a poem. She had idly researched them in the library and come up empty. But perhaps one of the newer writers…

With another despondent sigh, she forced herself to relax, hoping that if she could control her emotions, the old pains in her body might let up. This spot in the park was relatively unused, a little cleared space off the more popular walking trails. Night had fallen and a single dim streetlamp stood far enough away to cast enough illumination to see, but not enough to be seen. It reminded her of her own little world, a space away from the vast and frightening city which surrounded her.

Besider her, Maggie had placed Jake's book on the log where she sad, the one he had insisted she should recognize. Looking at the spine, she read the title again.

Great Expectations

Once more, she waited, expecting something to come to her. While she had no memory of the story itself, the title sounded grand enough for the circumstances to inflame something in her. But as she had experienced so often for the last decade, nothing came.

No memories. No feelings. Nothing. It was just a book, and nothing particularly momentous would come from it.

At least the night was pleasant, Maggie decided as she looked up at the darkening sky, the lights from the city sadly obscuring the stars above her. She could barely remember having ever seen stars. But she knew they were up there… waiting.

Maggie thought about the the small, comfortable life she had built for herself, and it reminded her of this glen. She had a job, she noted with a touch of pride. While many other waitresses had come and gone, annoyed and bored by the routine nature of the work, she had remained - steadfast and loyal.

But in addition to her job, Maggie counted her charitable activities. She read to the blind. Well, not precisely. She read to coma patients, like she had once been, and those who had been robbed of their understanding by violence or disease or time. And she took the time to talk with those who had no family members, taking joy from the light she saw in their eyes whenever she came to visit.

She understood being alone.

Those at the nursing home saw her not as some do-gooder who entered their midst in order to feel better about herself. Instead, they knew her history and recognized her as one of them - a lost soul. A lost soul with a small life. But at least it was hers.

But now Jake had come blundering into her world, shattering the precarious balance in which she had previously lived. And most frighteningly of all, Maggie realized as she looked again at the picture he had left her, she knew in the depths of her soul that he was right.

She was his mother.

Suddenly, Maggie heard a noise in the trees behind her. Instantly, she recognized it was not an animal or the wind. Fear coursed through her as she stood up to face it.

"Who is it? Who's there?"

She scanned the darkness, half ready to run and half to fight.

"I did not wish to disturb you," came a voice.

Its deep timber plucked at her soul as though deft fingers over a harp string. A man's voice, rich with texture and feeling, it called to her on a deeper level.

She knew that voice.

"You are frightened," he said. "That was not my intention. I will go."

She heard the faint noises of booted feet walking away from her into the trees and instantly, she knew that she was about to lose something important - a chance at unraveling her past.

"Wait!" she called.

Immediately, the man stopped his retreat. She stood in silence in the small park, struggling to make out the shadowy darkness which plunged into black just outside the reach of the streetlight.

"Do you…" she began and then stopped, searching for how to give expression to the emotions swirling within her. "Your voice… it sounds familiar to me somehow."

The man made a sound, perhaps a hitch in his breath, before taking a few steps back towards her. But still he stayed at a safe distance, nestled within the darkness of the tree line. "Does it?"

The ache in his tone went through her like a hot knife.

"Do you know me?" Maggie asked.

For a long moment, the man did not speak. Maggie wondered if she had been imagining the encounter with her broken mind, conjuring a voice from some distant, locked away memory, and employing it to torture herself. But then he finally spoke again.

"I came here to find out the answer to that question. I know that Jacob has been-"

"Jacob!" she interrupted, gratefully grasping at a known piece of the puzzle. "You mean Jake? Do you know Jake?"

Another long pause met her before the voice stated, "Yes. He is my son."

Maggie nodded even as that confirmed what her heart already knew. And if she was Jake's mother, as Jake had told her, then what had she been to this person who hid himself in the shadows? What had they been to each other?

Was he the man her heart dreamed about even though her mind could not remember?

"Won't you step into the light?" she asked.

He sighed deeply before explaining, "I do not wish to frighten you. I am… different."

She pressed her lips together, wanting to ask more. A part of her craved that information while a contradictory part feared learning more.

"What is your name?" she asked instead.

"Vincent."

The name seemed perfect for this strange man who would not show his face but otherwise it did not prompt any memories.

"What may I call you?" he asked in return, the query soft and assuring. He seemed to know exactly what to say and how to say it in a way that she trusted him.

"Maggie," she said. "Short for Margaret. That isn't my real name, but-"

"Margaret."

He repeated the name in surprise but made no other comment.

Maggie thought back to those days at the nursing home after waking from the coma. She had been so weak and confused with doctors and nurses fussing over her. Pokes and prods and a thousand questions when all she wanted was to escape. And then that whisper of expression had floated to her.

"The wreck of my memories…" she said, murmuring it aloud, waiting to see if the words meant something to this person.

The man cloaked in blackness tried very hard not to react, but she heard his muffled gasp all the same. So the words, the name, were anchors to her past after all.

"Have you decided yet," she asked slowly and deliberately, "if you know who I am? I'm sure Jake has told you I was in a coma twelve years ago. When I eventually woke up, I had no recollection of who I was before."

"Jacob has told me nothing," Vincent stated, clearly fighting back his own emotions. "But I heard what he told you earlier, that you are his mother… I understand now why he has not told me about you yet. Earlier today, I followed him without his knowledge. He has been coming to this part of the city often of late. It is unusual for him to venture… so far from home. I only wanted to make certain he was not involved with something dangerous."

"And you found me," Maggie said.

With a ragged breath, he acceded, "Yes."

Her question was still unanswered and curiosity filled her.

"If you know who I am, why did you never come looking for me before?"

Vincent responded slowly, his voice filled with pain.

"Until today, I had no idea you were alive."

His tone betrayed pure agony, the sort of suffering which could not be measured or quantified. One could only endure it and in the wake of such a soul-drenched ache, try to break free of its dark and enveloping nature.

Vincent went on, "I was there when you died. You were in my arms and then all sense of you was gone. I felt no breath in your body or pulse of your heart. I did not leave you lightly… Maggie. I took you home from the place where you died. I stayed with you as long as I could and more." He took an agonizing breath, clearly shaken as he relayed the memory. "Had I for one instant believed you were alive, I would never..."

Maggie felt the force of his words sweep over her. They were the impassioned speech of a man who had once felt very strongly about her. He did not need to declare his love, but she felt it all the same. She wished she could see his face, to get a glimpse of his eyes.

Closing her own, she tried to remember anything at all about this man. They must have been lovers for Jake to have been conceived, and yet her mind refused to grant her access to any such memories.

"I wish I could remember…"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pushed at them impatiently, irritated at herself for crying in front of Vincent.

Vincent.

Finally, she had the missing piece of that deep sense of loss she had always carried with her. She had a source of answers for all her questions. But she also felt a burning need to explain herself to him.

"I assumed I had no one," she admitted quietly. "I was in a coma for two years, and no one came looking for me. They had no record of me."

"No one recognized your face?" he asked, incredulous. "Your disappearance was in the newspapers…"

"I sometimes got the sense that I was familiar to others," Maggie said. "Like some half remembered song. But no one could quite place me. And also…"

He waited for her to continue, letting the silence stretch out between the distance which separated them.

"...I was afraid of being recognized. I was afraid of being found. I don't know how, but I always knew there might be people wanting to harm me. That's why I never made a public appeal, why I never really searched for my identity. I thought the only people from my old life were enemies."

After digesting her words for a time, Vincent affirmed gruffly, "Your fears were well founded. There were men who would have had you killed if they knew you were alive. But you also have friends… loved ones. And I…"

His voice broke roughly.

"I cannot adequately describe to you my joy at knowing you are alive."

His voice betrayed an intensity of emotion which echoed in Maggie's heart and she suddenly wanted so badly to reach out to him. She needed his arms around her, the comforting shelter of his warm embrace. Never had she felt such need before.

But still, she could not remember his face. She could not picture any part of her former life.

"Please, may I see you?" she begged. "Perhaps if I saw you, just for a moment, it might help me remember."

He hesitated at her appeal for a long time, and she could tell that he felt conflicted. On one hand, he wished to give her anything she asked. But on the other hand…

His hands.

Maggie tried to remember his hands. They were as different as his face, she realized suddenly. But still she could not see them in her mind's eye.

Finally, Vincent answered her. "I would not ruin this incredible night of finding you again by seeing terror in your eyes. But if you will permit me to see you again, perhaps in time…"

Smiling to herself, Maggie nodded. "I'd like that."

Before she could say more, he had retreated further into the darkness of the small wooded park. Maggie wrapped her arms around herself and glanced towards the book she had left on the log where she had earlier been sitting, contemplating life. Reaching to retrieve it along with Jake's picture, she began the walk back to her empty apartment.

But for the first time that she could remember, she no longer felt alone.

TBC