"Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start"

-Coldplay, "The Scientist."

They day they win Lucas can't bring himself to get out of bed. It's the same bed he'd spent his entire marriage using, the same sheets that had been on it the day that Riley had left, though the smell of her has long since faded.

Sometimes, he presses his nose to them anyway and pretends that there's some piece of her that she left behind for him. Today, isn't one of those days where delusion has any kind of chance of comforting him.

"You should be proud," a voice that sounds too much like Isadora Smackle is chastising him in his head and he wants to yell at her, wants to remind her that she got everything she ever wanted, while he got this position as some kind of consolation prize.

"I'm not proud," he informs her, beyond caring if he's talking to himself or not.

The voice in his head used to be Riley; used to caution him against acts of anger, used to tell him exactly what the right thing to do was. But her voice had abandoned him, maybe, before she had and he's not sure how to ever get it back.

He grabs his cell phone from the bedside table and searches through his contacts, until he finds the number that he wants, holding it up to his ear and half-expecting it to go straight to voicemail.

"Friar," her voice is cutting and hostile, but there's so much history there that he thinks she could greet him with a string of expletives, and he would still probably be relieved that she answered.

"Is she happy?"

6 Months Earlier

The silence of his office is uncharacteristic; probably because he had wandered in that day and closed his door. For as long as he had been in office, he'd insisted that when he was working alone the door would be open and he would be accessible to the members of his staff.

This morning he couldn't bear to talk to anyone, so he had shut the door tightly and taken a seat behind the dark mahogany of his desk.

A picture of Riley was turned towards him; her hair windswept from playing among the fall leaves and a wide smile spread across her face. She was wearing a sapphire coat that was dusted in the crushed colors of fall and looking up at him forever frozen with laughter and joy.

He can't help thinking that it had been an awfully long time since he had brought any of those emotions to his wife's face.

"Your door is closed," Smackle enters without so much as a knock. Her dark hair has been pulled back into some kind of elaborate bun and she was wearing a sheath dress in dark red that ends somewhere below her knees, "Ozzy faxed this over for you to go through and there is a list of possible donors that would like to meet with you. I have highlighted the ones that are worth a personal lunch and the others might be satisfied with an invitation to the brunch that we have been planning."

"Smackle?" he's the only one that still calls her that and there's the briefest hint of annoyance that flickers across her face before she is composed again, "Did you stop by the house?"

"I told you that I was meeting with Ozzy to go over the campaign this morning," she brushes off his question, setting a set of papers in front of him, "If you are that concerned, I can have one of the aids drop by your house."

"My wife isn't a task to be delegated to someone else," Lucas's voice takes on an edge.

"Zay's been visiting her," Smackle's head rose, until her gaze meets his, "I think she is being well taken care of."

"She almost died," Lucas reminds her, and he can see the way the words affect her, poking at her impenetrable armor.

"Riley has been my friend for almost two decades. I love her, too. But she has become a liability to your career. Her drinking is out of control and she should have gotten a DUI for the crash that night. We are lucky that Isaiah has such a soft spot for her, or we would already be getting chewed up in the press. She isn't the Riley that we both know, and I think you need to consider placement in rehab."

"You mean that I should consider hiding her away until my career is on steadier footing," he rose from his chair, sliding his jacket on and turning to face Smackle with murder on his face, "If you want the White House then I suggest you find another candidate to back."

"You are being ridiculous," Smackle takes a step back, blocking the doorway with her body, "We have come too far and worked too hard to give it all up because of Riley mistakes."

"Because of my mistakes," Lucas crosses the room, stopping directly in front of her, "Getting caught up in this world was hardly her fault."

"You cannot tell me that you don't want this," Smackle counters, her chest rising and falling as she breaths heavily with the adrenalin of their argument. There's fear in her eyes and he can almost see her mentally calculating all that she had put into this position; all the sacrifices she had made to get him to where he is today.

They had fought battles and waged wars to accomplish what they had set out to do and he knows that they could go so much further. His name could be one immortalized in history and Isadora would be content with that so long as she got to be beside him.

"I want her more."

"I think we should try again," He's not facing Riley and the steam on the mirror makes it difficult to do much more than discern her shape in the glass.

However, it's impossible not to know exactly what she's talking about. It's been sitting in the silences in their conversations and the look in her eyes whenever she seems to go distant, which is far more often then he would like these days.

He's, honestly, surprised she has waited this long to bring it up.

He should turn around and face her, but instead his shoulders tense as he spits the rest of his toothpaste into the sink.

In his dreams he still sees her blood on his hands and feels her body cold in his arms. For a second, he'd stared at her on the kitchen floor believing that she was dead, and it had felt as though ice water was running through his veins. He'd frozen, unable to move and paralyzed by the realization of what it meant to live without her.

Her hand settles on his back and he nearly jerks away from her, too consumed by the memories that run on a constant reel inside of his head. She has no idea what it was like and the words fail him to try and describe it.

"It's too soon," are the only words that he can manage to choke out and her hand instantly drops from his back.

"My OBGYN gave me the all clear months ago. I've taken the time to mourn what we lost and process what happened and I'm ready for this. We have to move forward, Lucas, we can't keep living terrified of something that is in the past."

"I don't think you really have processed it," Lucas counters, wiping his mouth with a hand towel, "Because I don't think you fully understand what happened in the first place."

"It happened to me," Riley's voice raises and he, finally, turns to fully face her, "It's my body, Lucas."

"It may be your body, but I'm the one that almost had to bury it."

His phone calls go to voicemail, though they seem to ring endlessly beforehand. The city passes unnoticed outside of his window and his heart beats steadily inside of his chest, seeming to echo endlessly inside of his ears.

On impulse, he dials Zay's number and is told that he's out of the office before Lucas abruptly hangs up on whatever secretary had bothered to answer.

His life seems to have spiraled so completely out of his control that he's not sure how to even begin to try and take it back. There are too many people who depend on him, too many expectations weighing heavily on his back and Riley had been the one who had paid the price. He should have been there, he should have felt more and, yet, it had been so much easier to throw himself into his work with a single minded focus then recognize that his wife was slowly unraveling with every moment their life wasn't what they had set out for it to be.

"I'm going off my birth control," Riley informs him, and he can hear the sound of pills being jostled in a bottle from where he has already gotten into bed for the night. He has a book laid out across his chest that he lets drop, as he struggles to come up with a response to her declaration, "You're, of course, welcome to pick up the responsibility, but I'm well aware of the consequences may be of my actions and am willing to pay the price."

"You don't want to talk about this?" Lucas questions, watching her shadow as she continues through her nightly routine like they're discussing something mundane and not walking straight back out into the minefield that they'd been avoiding for months.

"I'm talking, Lucas. I'm talking and talking and talking and, maybe, you're listening, but I don't have any idea. We are definitely not talking because that would require for you to give me something other than the phrases that are programmed into your default settings. That would require that you stop trying to make me feel like there's no possible hope for a good outcome from this. We had one awful, terrible experience and I know that it scared you. It scared me, too, but I refuse to live my life afraid of ever chasing after the things that I want because there's a slim chance that it might end badly. And I refuse to feel bad for wanting a child. You knew that I wanted your child before we were married and asking me to change my mind because of one moment that I didn't have any control over isn't fair."

She leaves the bathroom, pausing at the foot of the bed with her arms folded across the pale, white linen of her nightgown and he takes in the look in her eyes that is a direct contrast to the firmness in her tone. If he pushes, she will give in, the same way she has every time he's insisted that he needs more time to process the trauma of what happened.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, leaning forward, until he's close enough to reach out and grab her hand, "For a second, I thought you were gone and that there was nothing in my power I could do to bring you back."

"I can't promise you that I'll be here forever. I can't promise you that nothing bad will ever happen, but even if we don't try, Lucas, there are still a million things that could tear us apart. I want something to exist in the world that's part of you and part of me."

"I want that too," he sighs, and she leans forward until her forehead rests against his.

"As long as it is my choice, I'll be right here with you."

It's the fragment of a long-ago ended conversation that runs through his mind on repeat, as he hesitates with his hand on the door.

"I should have known something was wrong. I should have felt it," Claire's words were filled with a million emotions from regret, to anger, to despair.

"You couldn't have known," Lucas's hand reached for hers across the covers and she let him take it; biting her lip, as she struggles to hold back tears.

Between his mother and his sister, they've shed enough tears to fill the pond out back and he wonders if it makes them feel better. He's never been someone to cry, probably because his father himself had taught him at a young age that it was a weakness no one else should ever see. But he wonders if it's better then the anger that buzzes just beneath the surface.

"There were two walls between him and me. Only two. And he died alone."

He can hear his sisters voice, can feel the emotion like it is his own. He had tried to comfort her, to absolve her from her regret and he had believed it for so long. How could she possible have known that his father was dying just down the hallway?

It's a strange moment to be blaming his sister for something that happened almost a decade before, but for a second he allows himself to.

He knows that something is wrong, that something is missing. He knows that the minute he opens the door his life will be irrevocably altered, so for a moment he lets himself hate his sister with a passion he hasn't felt in a very long time.

Then, he slides his key into the lock.

He's never given much thought to Isadora Smackle's appearance. If asked to describe her the words would come far too easily to describe her mental capabilities and accomplishments, rather then such rudimentary things like her hair color and he thinks that maybe she would prefer it that way, anyway.

However, it's difficult not to take note of the changes in her appearance when he catches her out of the corner of his eye and his mind automatically places exactly where he knows the familiar profile from.

She's not traditionally beautiful; there's something sharp in the angles of her face and the set of her shoulders. She wears a pair of spiky stiletto heals that make her taller, though they're mostly hidden beneath the perfectly ironed creases of her pants and her dark hair hangs ramrod straight around her face, going nearly down to her elbows.

Her lips quirk into the semblance of a smile as she catches his gaze, her attention drifting from the conversation that is taking place just a few feet outside of his office. And something about the moment sticks with him because he has a feeling that there will forever be a before and after this moment and that someday that distinction will matter.

The door slides open and he steps inside immediately being enveloped in air that feels entirely too cold. There's a pair of his dress shoes sitting in the hallway, exactly where he left them the day before.

As if in a dream, he moves slowly through the house turning on lights and noting the way everything seems frozen in time. His cereal bowl from that morning sits untouched in the center of the sink and a hastily composed grocery list is still stuck the counter where he had forgotten it.

He opens his mouth to call out for his wife but finds that nothing comes out. He had never been one for the dreams where you're paralyzed and can't speak, but he understands the terror of it in this moment.

"I'm thinking about quitting," Riley admits, biting her lip as they both stare out the windshield at the road ahead of them.

"I thought you liked the newspaper," Lucas can't quite keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I do, but if you win, you'll be spending a good chunk of the year in Washington and I can't take that kind of leave and keep writing the things that I want to write. It might be better if I left on my own terms and I've been thinking I might have other things to keep me busy."

"You're not?" Lucas trails off, unsure how to feel about the question coming out of his mouth.

"No, but I made an appointment to see a specialist. I think it might be time to try a more aggressive approach," Riley explains, one hand cradling around her nonexistent stomach, "And I'd like to give this my complete focus."

"If that's what you want," he tries to keep the sinking feeling from coming through in his voice. He can't help wondering how long this blind hope can last and how long they're supposed to try before they turn their pursuits elsewhere, but she's been so happy planning and trying and he's tired of being the practical one to try and put things into perspective, "And if I don't win?"

"I can't explain it, but I just know that you will. I know that this is what you're meant to do.

He takes the steps two at a time, a panic welling up in him, until he feels that he might explode. The bedroom door is wide open, and a light is still on in the closet. The covers on the bed have been pulled up in a cheap imitation of made and the bathroom cabinets are open, Riley's things noticeably removed from where they should be.

He starts taking stock and notes the way she's only taken the absolute essentials. The book she had been reading is still left on her nightstand and the box of pills are still sitting exactly where he'd left them that morning.

There are barely any clothes missing from the closet, though her favorite pajamas are clearly missing out of their drawer in the dresser and he can't help feeling that certainly this was an impulsive decision and she's going to be back.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Riley's cell, throwing it down in frustration when the drawer of her nightstand lights up and the vibrations can be clearly heard from within.

"Where would you go?" he questions the empty room, spinning wildly as he searches for answers that just aren't there.

"Is everything okay?" Topanga's voice contains nothing but worry considering that most of his phone calls of late have revolved around the wellbeing, or lack thereof of her daughter.

"Is Riley with you?" he offers no preamble, though he already knows the answer. Topanga wouldn't be worried if she knew the whereabout of Riley.

"No, is she supposed to be?"

"She left sometime this morning and I thought that maybe she had gone home," Lucas runs a hand through the hair on the back of his neck, trying not to let blind panic win out.

"Have you talked to Maya?" Topanga offers a completely sound suggestion and he hangs up without so much as a goodbye, searching through his contacts for the blonde's number.

"You don't have to look," Riley suggests, as she rubs an alcohol swab along her stomach. He tries not to pick out the way she winces as it stings the already red and swollen skin. Her stomach is bruised from the number of injections that have already been administered and its swollen from the hormones that she's continuously pumping into herself.

It's a special kind of torture that torments him in a way that Riley hasn't failed to notice. He hesitates to touch her, afraid of that small intake of breath, as she tries not to let him know that he's hit another patch of sensitive skin, which is all she seems to be made up of these days. And her moods swing from despair to hope, so quickly that he never knows exactly when she'll dissolve into tears or smile in that way that makes him feel a little bit sick.

She seems more manufactured then real these days and he hesitates over the million wrong steps that he can't seem to stop himself from taking. He can't fix these problems; can't give her the baby she is desperate for, can't help her find equilibrium among her violent moods, and can't bring himself to inject the medications that she's living off of these days.

"You asked me to be here," he reminds her, his gaze still focused on the agitated stretch of skin, as she pulls the cap from the injection that she is about to poke herself with.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to watch," she insists, one hand pulling the skin tight before she plunges the needle directly into her skin, "I've done it so often, now, that it barely even hurts."

They both know that the words are a lie and he tries to ignore the way she blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes.

"It will all be worth it," she promises him, pulling her shirt back down over her stomach and turning away from him to clean up the mess of medications, syringes, and medical supplies that have taken over their bathroom counter.

He wants to tell her that he's not sure how to love a child that has caused its mother so much pain and that none of what they've done is even a guarantee that they'll get one, but so much of their marriage seems to be about keeping the peace these days.

"I love you," he resists the urge to reach out and touch her and she smiles her appreciation at him through the mirror.

"It will all be over soon," she promises.

"I don't know where she is," Maya's voice is cold, and he tries to remember what Smackle had said about the hospital. She'd said there had been a disagreement between Maya and the doctors, that she'd been getting in the way of Riley's care and they'd had no choice but to send her away.

"Would you tell me if you did?" Lucas questions already knowing the answer.

She hangs up without another word.

"It's an incredibly rare side effect of the medications that we have her on," the fertility specialist is talking, but Lucas can barely get his brain to translate the words into anything that makes sense.

"You found her on the ground," Lucas's attention turns to where Zay is standing beside him.

"There was a buildup of fluid in her abdomen that caused the fainting spells, but she should make a complete recovery," the doctor continues on, as though Lucas hadn't just interrupted him, "In fact, we should be able to proceed exactly as planned."

"That's what she wants," Zay's voice takes on a tone of warning and Lucas can't escape the feeling that everyone is talking around him, maneuvering because they know how close he is to doing something that he might regret later. Or, maybe because their goals line up with what Riley wants, while all Lucas wants is to keep her safe.

"I want to talk to her," Lucas ignores them both, stepping between them and into the hospital room where Riley is already tucked in for the night.

"I'm sorry you had to cut your trip short," Riley apologizes, her hand reaching out for his, though he can't bring himself to meet her halfway. He can't say what he needs to say and be holding her hand at the same time.

He closes the door behind him, not caring what Zay thinks about having a door slammed in his face.

"We're done," Lucas's voice is firm and he watches as Riley closes her eyes in some attempt to find the right words that might appease him, "I've let you try and I've watched you put your health at risk and I've stood here and been supportive."

"Lucas," Riley attempts to cut in and he feels something snap inside of him.

"No, I'm not the one being irrational anymore, Riley. Your desperation is killing you and you can't even see it. But I can. I can see the way every disappointment and failed attempt is killing you and I keep waiting for you to see that it's time to stop, but I don't think you're capable of looking at this for what it really is. We're not going to have a child. There is no biological baby for us and it's time to stop pretending that if we hope enough and kill ourselves with treatments and spend thousands of dollars on a doctor who cares more about the money then your wellbeing that maybe we'll get a miracle. There aren't any more miracles."

"You don't know that," she disagrees, her eyes welling up with tears, "This is a dark moment when all hope seems lost, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a light at the end of this. I know that there's a light."

"I can't do this anymore," Lucas closes his eyes, trying not to let her tears sway him from what needs to be done, "I don't want this anymore."

"Then get out," Riley's voice is choked with tears and anger, "And send Zay back in."

The darkness presses in around him and it's all he can do to toe out of his shoes and strip off the suit he had worn to work. He presses his face into her pillow, relieved when he can pick up traces of her scent in the bedclothes.

He's out of people to call and the energy has completely drained from him, until it feels exhausting even to lay there and pretend that she's beside him.

His phone rings endlessly from where he has left it somewhere on the floor, but he can't bring himself to care, can barely bring himself to keep sucking in air and exhaling at any kind of a regular interval.

"She's going to come back," he promises himself, the words sounding wrong even as he says them.

Isadora Smackle hadn't entered the house since that night and there is a part of her that hoped she would never have to enter it again. She is afraid of the memories that will stir up, afraid of what Lucas will read from her face.

She remembers the argument with Riley and the way that they'd thrown words at each other that were meant to tear each other apart. They were unforgiveable words and, then, Riley had been threatening her and Smackle had felt the way the control was slipping away.

All that control that she had so desperately trying to hold onto.

She could have stopped Riley from driving that night, but she hadn't. There had been a part of her that had realized how much easier it would be if Riley was no longer standing in her way and, so, in a single instant she had made a decision fully knowing that Riley probably wouldn't make it back.

And she hadn't cared.

"You have to go and talk to him," Alexis was pacing the length of the office and the only thing keeping Smackle from snapping was the steady hand that Ozzy had on her wrist.

"He fired me," Smackle countered, "He quit and then he fired me."

"I'm sure that's going to go over really well with the people that we sold our souls too," Alexis snorted, stopping abruptly and turning to face them, "We have to mitigate the damage."

"There are other people that you could run with," Ozzy sighed, leaning forward and removing his hand from Smackle's wrist, "Lucas doesn't know enough to do any real damage."

"But his wife does," Alexis cut him off, "And the expectation is that I fall on my sword before I admit anything. My career could be over."

"There's a spin for it," Ozzy disagreed, "You know too much for them to cut you as an asset."

"I know too much for them to just let me go," Alexis disagreed.

"We don't know that Riley even remembers enough to be a threat," Smackle added, trying to get off the carousal of thought that they kept following.

"We don't know where Riley is."

"Do you know why I hired you?" he questioned, his back facing her as he stared out at the city below them.

"I've wondered," Smackle admitted, crossing the room until she stood beside him, "I didn't want this job."

"Of course, you didn't," his face twitched in amusement, "I don't expect that history will remember me kindly, but that doesn't make my objectives any less necessary. We live in a country set in traditions, puffed up by its own self-importance. A country that believes itself directly chosen by God. And, yet, it's also bitterly divided and how can anything get done when we're constantly busy fighting each other?"

"I don't think I understand," Smackle admitted, the tinge of fear welling up in her chest.

"Do you know how you unite a country divided, Isadora?" he questioned, his eyes glowing, "You give them a common enemy."

Her heels clicked against the cement and her shadow stretched long cast by the streetlight that stood directly in front of the yard. She tried not to remember watching Riley frantically running across the driveway, her hands shaking as she tried to insert the keys in the ignition.

She'd had that folder in her hands and Smackle had known that it would be easy to follow her across the driveway and take it back, but there had, also, been a part of her that had known that one way or another it could all just be over if she let Riley go.

She has a key to the house, but it proves unnecessary as she turns the doorknob and the door immediately swings back, opening up to the front entryway.

"Lucas?" She calls out, her voice echoing through the house and bouncing off the walls.

He doesn't answer and she lets out a sigh, as she enters and lets the door close behind her.

"I need you to look into something for me," Lucas informed her, setting a manila file on her desk.

She flipped it open, feeling her breath catch as she took in the environmental impact report that was enclosed.

"You're not even on the committee," she reminded him, immediately letting the file close behind her.

"No, but Riley asked me to dig a little deeper and I don't think she would bring it up if she didn't believe there was something there," Lucas set his briefcase on his own desk and turned to slip out of his coat.

"Alexis chaired the committee. You know that she does everything by the book."

"It's just a little thing. It shouldn't take too long, should it?" his voice took on the tone of someone asking for a favor and she leaned against her hand as she contemplated the many ways this favor could be detrimental to them.

"I'll look into it, but don't expect me to find anything."

Riley had a rule about shoes in the house and Smackle can't help thinking how funny it is that that's the rule she chooses to adhere to as she starts her barefooted ascent up the stairs. She's not sure what she is going to find and her heart races rapidly in her chest, as she tries not to let her fear take complete control.

"Lucas?" she tries again, unable to make out anything from the end of the hallway, despite his bedroom door being wide open.

"You're not here looking for investment advice," Lucas commented as Smackle hesitated in the entryway of his office. She hasn't seen him since the summer after they graduated, and she can't help thinking that he might be even more handsome than he was then.

"Not exactly," she agreed, letting herself in and taking a seat across from him, "I'm here for you actually."

Lucas let out a startled laugh and Smackle struggled against the discomfort that she suddenly felt, "What could you possible want from me?"

"I'm working as a political consultant and there are some people that are hoping for new blood in the arena. Your name's come up in some pretty high circles and they asked me if I would plead their case."

"Riley's the one with the interest in politics," Lucas pointed out, looking at her incredulously.

"But you're the one that people follow. Call it charisma, or leadership, or some innate ability to speak and have people actually listen, but there are people that want to back you and I'm here to offer you a chance to make a difference."

His shape is mostly shadow in the bed and for one petrifying moment she thinks he might be dead and, then, she hears his breathing and it's like something inside of her can finally relax.

"I'm not coming back," Lucas informs her, his voice scratchy from disuse.

"Zay called me," Smackle admits, moving further into the room, "He told me that Riley left and that he isn't sure exactly where she went."

"Not that he would tell you," Lucas's voice comes out bitter and Smackle can't bring herself to blame him.

"At least you've ruled out this bedroom," Smackle's voice is pointed and, for a second, she fears that she's miscalculated and he's going to snap, but he only exhales loudly.

"She's not coming back, is she?" his voice is lost and Smackle feels a twinge in the space where her heart used to be.

"I'll help you find her," she almost believes the lie herself.

"James Crista," Ozzy informed her, setting a picture onto the table in front of her and sliding across from her in the booth.

"Is that name supposed to mean something to me?" Smackle questioned, barely looking up from the coffee that she had been sipping for most of the afternoon.

"He's the Prince of Froacia," Ozzy elaborated and Smackle finally looked up with interest.

"The spare?" she clarified, flipping through the photos and pausing at one of Riley laughing as James watched her intently from across the table, "He's been trying to make an appointment with Lucas, but we could never figure out what he wanted exactly."

"So, he went through Lucas's wife," Ozzy offered and Smackle set her coffee aside.

"That's inconvenient."

"Only if they know something," Ozzy pointed out, "And only if Riley's considered a reliable source."

"You want to slander the word of one of the most liked women in the country?" Smackle looked at him incredulously.

"I've been told that our options are to discredit her or to remove her permanently."

It's three days after Riley's left that the pictures hit the stand and Lucas's phone, once again, starts to erupt with calls. He hasn't left the house in any of those three days, but that morning he showers, dresses in his nicest suit and walks out to his car like it's any other morning.

Zay has a set of offices in New York that he's been talking about using as his main headquarters for years, although never quite gotten around to. His Washington D.C. office are convenient only in that they're close to friends and fortunately for Lucas he happens to be in them that very morning.

"Lucas," Zay's eyes widen and the entire office seems to freeze as Lucas walks across it to where Zay had been looking through pictures with one of the photographers in the center of the room.

Lucas hasn't used violence to solve his problems in over twenty years. Unfortunately, that isn't what he's thinking about when he winds up and punches Zay directly in the face barely noticing the pain as he shakes his fingers out and Zay looks up at him from the floor.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know," Zay spits out a trail of blood, but doesn't rise from where he has landed.

"For your sake that had better be the truth," Lucas informs him, turning around and leaving the chaos behind him.

6 Months Later

"Is she happy?" Lucas listens to the steady sound of Maya's breathing from the other end of the line.

"I think she is," Maya admits, and he can hear how he's caught her off guard and he wonders at how that can happen after so many years of knowing each other, "It's not what she had with you, but she doesn't seem quite so heavy anymore."

"She sent divorce papers," Lucas can't keep the words from coming out of his mouth, "I could contest them, and she would have to come if it went to court."

"How would it look for the Vice President to be in the middle of volatile and ugly divorce?" she points out, "Isadora Smackle must have advised you against it."

"None of it means anything without here. I'd give it all up if I thought she might come back."

"I don't think she would," Maya pauses and he can hear something of his own emptiness in Maya's voice, "I think the only way that she comes back, is if you let her go."

"And what if I don't know how to?" Lucas questions surprised to reach up and find that a tear has fallen from his eye.

"Someday she's going to realize that easy isn't a substitute for something real and that a piece of paper can't end a relationship, anymore then a piece of paper can create one. She just needs time, Lucas."

"And what about what I need?" Lucas questions, struggling against the emotions that are trying to spill over into his voice.

"I think you need time, too."

Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter!