He lays his sander down on his work bench, brushing off the layer of sawdust that coated his skin as he did. There's a bottle of bourbon - a cheap one, to be fair - stashed on a shelf with his tools, and he pulls that down for the two of them. Cliché as it may be, he could use a bit of liquid courage.
When he turns around, bottle in hand, he finds her holding two empty mason jars. Muscle memory, he supposes. This wasn't even close to the first time they found themselves in this position; drinking in around the skeleton of a half built boat.
He pours her a drink, filling the jar up just a bit more than strictly necessary, but he knows she won't comment on it. She snatches it off the table top and raises it to her lips, taking a generous sip before leaning against the frame of his boat. It turned out she needed the liquid courage as much as he did.
He follows suit, taking in a mouthful of his own drink.
"You wanted to talk, so talk."
She stares straight ahead, a blank expression he doesn't quite recognize etched across her features. For as long as he had known her, even dating back to her probie days, she never shied away from eye contact. It's one of the things that made her such a good politician; she could stare down anyone into submission.
"I do love you," she says bluntly. He had expected her to dance into the topic, but he also knows that they were nearing the end days and had no more time left for running circles around topics.
"But?" He prompts.
She shrugs her shoulders, "But nothing. It's just a fact. And I love my job, that's a fact too. I love everything I've accomplished, and I'm proud of myself, and an offer like that is a once in a lifetime thing. And this...whatever this is between us, this I think is once in a lifetime too."
He takes another sip, "You don't get it Jen, it always comes down to the job for you. You left then, you're leaving now. Is that what you're here to tell me? That you took and it and you're leaving?"
There's a momentary period of silence that sweeps through the room. He knows it should feel heavy, that there should be some sort of suffocating weight looming over them, but it never appears. Its only then that he understands what all of this is turning into: an admission of defeat in the fight to be together.
He was bearing witness to her leaving again.
"I haven't told them anything," she says, eyes closed as she does. "I have another three days to give them my decision."
"But you're taking it." It was as much of a statement as it was a question.
"I think so."
They both take another long and drawn out sip of their drinks. The cheapness of the liquor burns the back of his throat and he wonders if it's doing the same to hers. Her taste in booze had certainly gotten more expensive since she became director.
"I didn't think about how long distance would affect you," she admits, tilting her head just enough to look at him, "The things that happened in your past, your family, I didn't consider that and I'm sorry. Trying to get you to make that work wouldn't be fair to you."
She sniffles, and he realizes her eyes are just a bit too glassy for it to be all from the alcohol.
"I can't leave and have you hate me, Jethro. I won't do it, and I needed to come here and have us clear some of the air between us. I don't want it to be like last time. I love you, but I love my work to, and I can't sacrifice that part of myself. It's not fair to you or me, and I can't expect you to try and make something work long distance when you don't want to."
It takes him a bit longer than he would have liked to formulate any type of thought, but she's always had a knack for rendering him speechless.
The only thing he could come up with was, "I don't hate you."
He watches as she downs the last half of her drink in a single go, discarding the glass on top of the boat frame. It sits dangerously close to the edge of the wood, but he couldn't care less in that moment, enough things were shattering around him to be concerned about something so small.
"You probably should."
"Wish I could," he answers truthfully, finally taking a few steps towards her, "Somedays I could strangle you, you're so damn infuriating, but you've been like that since the first day you were assigned to my team."
She snorts, nodding her head towards the skeleton of his boat, "So now what, you name this boat after me and set it aflame?"
"That what you want?" He probes.
"I want it both ways," she tells him.
"Doesn't work like that."
"Maybe we were kidding ourselves to think this could work. We've always been star crossed."
He gives her a puzzled look, "Star Crossed, Jen?"
She rolls her eyes at him, "Honestly Jethro, you need some cultural exposure. Star crossed lovers? You're not that old, I know you remember reading Romeo and Juliet in school. Somethings just aren't meant to be. You were my boss, now I'm yours."
He decides to minimize as much space between them as he can by coming to stand in front of her, positioning himself just right so she has no other choice than to look him in the eye. It's a clear breech of personal space, but they're never had much regard for that anyway.
"So that's is, huh?"
She shrugs, "You don't want to do long distance, and I want that job. We're at a stalemate."
There's an alcohol induced haze in her eyes; a shade of green he hasn't seen since their days in Europe. It had made itself known in the weeks leading up to her letter. He hadn't recognized what it was then, but he does now. The bleary eyed look of defeat.
"You told me you couldn't handle having this and then not having this," he reminds her, brushing the back of his fingers down her arm, "What happened to that, huh?"
Despite his best efforts, she still averts his gaze, "I had a revelation earlier, when Abby came into my office. You are the amazing person I know, and I think that perhaps you deserve better than someone who values their job more than almost anything."
The hand that had been brushing her arm lifted to tuck itself under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head just enough so she had no choice but to look him in the eyes, "Didn't realize that was your call to make."
"We're nothing if not brutally honest with one another, Jethro. I'm just telling it like it is."
This time it's him who drops his gaze to the floor, the weight of it all that had been absent before suddenly filling the room and pressing hard on his chest.
"So we're right back here again, huh? You leaving."
She gives him a sad smile, "Meant to be maybe."
He wants to argue with her, but he knows it would be a futile effort. She had set her mind on leaving, and noting he said was going to stop her.
"I love you," she whispers, though he thinks it may be more to herself than to him, "I'm sorry we're here again."
He goes to reach for her, a tangible attempt at making her stay, but she grasps his wrists between her own hands before he can make to far of a move, "Don't."
There's a protest bubbling at the back of his throat, a desperate plea threatening to crawl its way out, but she renders him motionless by pressing her lips softly against his. In an instant, all vocalizations drowned back into his lungs.
She's almost to the top of the steps when he manages to speak again.
"Jen?"
The hair she has pulled over her shoulder slithers off it and down her back when she turns to face him; a vision of red in the glow of the basement lights and it breaks his heart all the more.
"Don't think I really know what my Locus Amoenus would be, but you're there for sure."
When the front door closes, the house feels cold again.
A/n: I do have a sick appreciation for posting such an angst-ridden chapter on Valentines day, the irony to me is just too much to pass up. Which, by the way, this is my first time trying to write something angsty. I don't like the way it turned out per say, but it was my first attempt. Who knows, I may revisit this in a few days and edit some things, but I don't think I'm able to do anything else with this right now. I need some time away from the chapter in order to reflect, so that's that.
Anyway, I doubt that there will be more than a few chapters left to this. The story started off in one way and went an entirely different direction, so who knows what the ending will truly hold (not me, that's who). I hope you all have a lovely holiday, and I will see you in a few days.
- Ali