IV.
Anchor
…
There's a nagging in her head - an annoying, persistent feeling of unease and uncertainty. She swats it away but it just comes back, louder, stronger, until it engulfs her mind and threatens to drown her.
Something's wrong, it whispers. Something's wrong.
She sweeps her gaze around the broken remains of the plane. There is so much that's wrong here - the bullet holes in the windows, the shattered glass on the floor, the emptiness in her pocket where her badge would have been - but that's not what bothers her.
What bothers her is the absence at her side, the man who isn't there.
It's not the first time he's been gone – he's had plenty of missions without her – but in the aftermath of all that has happened, all that they've lost, it's the first time she's afraid he won't return. It's the first time she's worried about who he'll be when he does.
She can't stop thinking about the man that he killed. That look in his eyes is burned into her memory – the devastation when he found out it was the wrong man, like it destroyed a little piece of him too. She wonders what he will do to the right man, to the real Clairvoyant, to John Garrett. She wonders what it would do to him, if he killed another man, one he used to trust.
She doesn't want that blood on his hands. She doesn't want to be the reason for it.
But it's too late for that now. There is blood on his hands and it is because of her, because he was protecting her. Even now, he's out there for that very reason and she only hopes that he doesn't lose himself in the process. If he does, she hopes she can bring him back.
The man who taught her how to be an agent, who asked her out for a drink, who kissed her before a fight – that's who he is. That's who she wants him to be, who she wants him to stay.
She remembers that kiss.
She hopes he does too.
…
The next time she sees him, he's pointing a gun at her chest.
But it's not just the weapon in his hand that scares her, it's the look in his eyes. Blank. Emotionless. Cold.
She freezes instantly as the fear grips her. She's been in this situation before, she knows how it feels, how much it hurts, but even being shot twice in the stomach would be preferable to standing here, helpless, as this man kills her.
This man.
She doesn't recognize him like this. This isn't the man that she knows. Frantic, she tries to come up with something to say, anything to bring him back, but then she sees his finger move on the trigger and the only thought she has is his name.
Grant.
For a moment, she's sure she's too late. She's sure the bullet is already making it way towards her, and as she braces for the impact, she realizes that she wouldn't mind dying, not with his name as the last breath on her lips.
But the bullet never comes.
He's just standing there in front of her, gun in hand, unmoving, so still she wonders if he's even breathing. She takes a small step forward, waiting for his reaction, and then another, and another until she's close enough to see something stirring behind his eyes. Confusion flashes across his face, then a brief hint of recognition.
She exhales a sigh of relief.
There he is. He's been here the whole time, just lost beneath the surface.
Grant, she takes a step closer and offers his name as a lifeline.
This isn't you, she reminds him. This isn't you.
She runs her hand along the side of his face and places it carefully against his cheek. He blinks, startled, and she sees the darkness dissolving from his gaze.
Come back to me, she urges, and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. When he presses his lips, soft and warm, against her palm, that's when she knows he's back. That's when she knows she's found him again.
Come back to me, she murmurs.
And finally, he does.