Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Notes: Thank you again to everyone that's still reading, following and reviewing my story. You guys are what keeps me working on this story and I just want you all to know that I appreciate you all for sticking around! So here's the new chapter. Sorry if it doesn't move the story further ahead, but I promise that the next chapter will do that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, Palm Springs

Clark handed Miles a cold beer and nodded towards the living room. Miles took it and without a single word being exchanged between the two men they disappeared out of the kitchen where Kate, Claire and Cassidy currently hovered over some bridal magazines. Cassidy's wedding plans were in full swing, and truthfully a welcome distraction for Kate.

Miles plopped himself down on the couch as if he'd done it a million times before, but it was actually the first time that he'd accompanied Claire and Kate to Palm Springs. Clark sat down in the lazy boy a couple of feet away from him and turned on the game. The Lakers vs. Barcelona.

Clark looked over at Miles, "You're a Lakers fan?"

Miles nodded, "You could say that."

"Then we'll get along just fine." Clark replied dryly, but with a smile on his face.

This wasn't right … this was all wrong! He wasn't supposed to sit here and socialize with this son of a bitch. Drink beer and watch the Lakers whoop some Spanish ass on the court and have a good old time. With every word exchanged between Clark and him, he felt like he was somehow betraying his friend. He felt like he was betraying Jim. This was their thing. Jim and him watched the game together and even though they were both Lakers fan's – by now – still had plenty of things to bicker about during the games.

What was I thinking comin' here?

Clark commented on the game every now and then, but Miles – against the urge to argue – kept his mouth shut as much as he could. He didn't need another friend. He had no intentions of getting all chummy with this guy. Hell, chances were that good old Jimmy Ford would move back in with him once he got back … so no, he didn't need another friend, that was for sure.

All of this was just bullshit. All of it. He couldn't make any more sense of that damn security tape than anyone else, but he knew … he just fucking knew that this was all wrong. There was no way in hell Jim had betrayed Kate like that. He remembered – like it was yesterday – their long conversation on the drive back from Vegas, and how Jim just wouldn't shut up about 'his Freckles'.

Hell, maybe he was waaaaay off on this. Maybe all the talking about Kate was just his fucked up way of dealing with the regret of having cheated on her. But Miles just couldn't wrap his mind around that thought … it didn't add up. None of it made any god damn sense.

He knew he was being illogical. The tape had been played over and over and fucking over again on every damn channel. Grainy – shitty quality – stills from the tape plastered over every gossip rag in the country.

And if Jim's arm around the blonde wasn't damaging enough, the look over his shoulder and down the hall before he shut the door to the hotel room spoke volumes.

And still, Miles had found himself in a hell of an argument with Claire, because even she no longer backed James' anymore. Everyone had turned against him, no one willing to forgive him for this, for humiliating Kate in public like this … so Miles had found himself the odd one out.

Maybe that's why he'd tagged along tonight, to have someone here and ready to rebuttal whatever Cassidy would surely throw around about Jim. But several hours and a pretty darn good dinner later, he was stunned that the conversation had never turned to Jim at all.

Sitting on the comfy sofa, cold beer in hand, Miles wondered for a moment what pissed him off more, the way everyone was talking about Jim in the news and the media or that suddenly no one here was … as if his sorry ass wasn't even worth discussing anymore.

In all his pondering on things concerning James Ford, he had completely lost track of time and somehow hadn't even kept score of the game at all when, to his surprise, it was already halftime.

That's when Clark got up and looked over at him, "Want another one?" holding up his empty beer.

Miles handed him his bottle and nodded, "Sure, why not." Miles answered. After all, Kate had volunteered to be the designated driver tonight, so he could get full on plastered if he felt like it.

A moment later Clark reappeared, handed him two cold ones, before he sat back down in his chair, stretched out his legs and began flipping through the channels.

The audio-less video played out yet again on some damn celebrity news show and Miles grunted in disapproval at the images playing out across the screen.

"I just don't get it." Clark said in a lowered voice and Miles looked over at him.

"What don't you get?" He knew he was treading on thin ice here – his own thin ice – because he'd come here looking for a fight and he damn sure wouldn't idly sit by while this punk ass insulted his friend.

"I haven't known Kate all that long, but COME ON … she's ten times better looking than that skank right there." He waved the remote in the direction of the TV screen, the blonde bombshell in James' arms.

Miles frowned, because Clark was right, and then nodded, "Yeah, I agree."

Fuck this!

He wasn't supposed to agree with this guy.

"It just doesn't make sense." Clark added before he took another sip of his beer, "In fact the whole video doesn't add up."

Now Miles' attention was peaked, "What do you mean?"

Clark paused, and then shook his head, "Nothin'." He huffed, "Forget it."

"No, seriously, what are you talking about?" Miles just couldn't let up now, suddenly curious what this guy was thinking.

Clark craned his neck and tried to get a glance of the women in the kitchen. Satisfied that they seemed out of earshot and were still otherwise occupied, he sat up straight and turned his full attention to Miles, his voice lowered, "I mean, let's say you're a reporter and you somehow get your hands on this surveillance video, wouldn't you include the part of him leaving the room?"

Miles raised his eyebrows clearly intrigued, but before he could put in his own two cents Clark went on with his speech, "You know, him leaving, his clothes not all in place, maybe the girl kissing him good bye at the door … you catch my drift?" he eyed Miles to see if he was following him.

"Fuck, you're right." Miles spat back.

"There's gotta be a reason why they decided to leave that bit out." Clark added and took another sip.

Why didn't I think of that? Damn, … this guy was sharper then he'd let on.

They both sat back momentarily content and Clark turned the channel back to the game that should be starting up again soon, when Miles looked over at him.

"You've told Cass 'bout this?"

"Yup." Clark nodded, but didn't take his eyes off of the screen. "Didn't go over too well, if you know what I mean."

"I knew he didn't do it." Miles exclaimed, feeling strangely satisfied with this new found knowledge.

"Now hold on just a sec." Clark sat up again and turned towards Miles, "We don't really know what he did or didn't do."

"We know they didn't wanna show the footage of him leaving the hotel room. And the obvious reason would be that it would someway, somehow contradict their whole god damn story … so we do know that!"

Clark shook his head, "We don't know shit. We're speculating here … you out of loyalty to your pal and me," he paused, "Hell, call me a bit overly suspicious of those god damn reporters … camping out in front of Clem's school and shit … they're just pissin' me off."

Miles watched Clark take another long gulp from his bottle, emptying it without coming up for air, when an idea struck him.

"What better way to stick it to those bastards then expose this shit."

Clark chuckled for a moment, opened up the second beer he'd brought out for himself, but when his eyes met Miles he saw the seriousness behind him, "You're serious."

Miles nodded, "'Course I'm serious. Those sons of bitches ain't gonna get away with this shit. Ruining Jim's reputation –."

Clark interrupted him; his eyebrows raised in amusement "What reputation? He used to be a freaking con man, I think the reputation ship has long sailed my friend."

Miles frowned, "What about ruining a marriage?"

"He's dead. Kate's still young, she'll move on … eventually." Clark tried to reason with him.

That last bit brought Miles right back to reality, realizing that Clark wasn't in the inner circle just yet. This guy had no idea that Jim was still alive and would be showing up again, sooner or later, and therefore it would matter a great fucking deal what Kate thought.

He thought this over for a minute, a small smile creeping onto his face at the irony of it all as he tried to win over Cassidy's fiancé to help him prove Jim's innocence.

He wasn't above playing the 'poor daughter of the con man' card and began reeling in the bait, "Yeah, that might all be true, but Clem's gotta listen to this shit. You know how kids can be … they're mean little fuckers. I'm sure she'd already had to listen to some punk calling her dead daddy all kinds of shit." Miles leaned back, getting comfy on the couch again and sighed, "But I guess you're right, she'll move on, just like Kate, she'll get over it … eventually."

Miles waited, glancing over at Clark, practically seeing the little wheels in his head turning.

A very long beat later he turned to Miles, "How?"

"How what?"

"You wanna stick it to those guys. How? How the hell would we get our hands on a copy of that tape?" Clark explained his doubt.

"I know a guy." Miles assured him.

"Of course you do." Clark replied sarcastically.

"So you're in." Miles asked with just a bit too much hope in his voice.

Clark thought it over for a moment. "Fuck it. Why the hell not." He stretched out his beer bottle out to Miles, "I'm in."

He raised his bottle too and clanked the two bottles together as a sign of agreement, before they turned their attention back to the game that had already started again, that's when Clark added, "But unlike you, I've got a day job, pal."

Miles nodded, "Also, the chicks can't know about this 'till we got actual proof."

"That goes without saying. Cass would have me by the balls if she knew I'm helping you with this shit."

Miles laughed, "Doesn't she already."

Clark chuckled; "Touché!" then raised his bottle in salute and took a hefty drink.

Fuck! I like this son of a bitch!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A couple of days later, somewhere in Mexico

James stepped into the dingy looking store, grabbed a few packs of smokes, a new lighter and threw them on the counter by the register.

The lady rung him up, he paid, grabbed his things, turned towards the door and muttered a 'Gracias' over his shoulder, which she replied with something in Spanish … he had no clue what she'd said. For all he knew she could be calling him a dumbass and he would be none the wiser.

But just as he was about to step outside, the magazine rack that was placed strategically by the door fulfilled its intended purpose and caught his attention.

He violently ripped the first magazine from the little stand and glared at the black and white image with an evil glint in his eyes, then reached for another one that was displaying the same pictures on the front cover.

What the fuck is this?

He pushed the guy who was about to pay for his things out of the way and practically shoved the magazines in the cashier's face, "What does it say?"

The woman stared at him dumbfounded, "¿Habla usted español?"

He didn't know what she was saying, but he wanted fucking answers.

"WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT SAY?" he roared through the small store and startled not only the woman, but everyone else turned and looked at him as well.

Reluctantly and with fear in her eyes she took the magazines from him and looked over the covers for a long moment. The guy he'd shoved out of the way eyed him up and down, and James glared at him for a second, but the man didn't dare say anything, after all James had a good fifty pounds on the scrawny looking twenty-something.

Impatiently James turned his attention back to the woman, who lowered the magazines onto the counter between them, a fat pointy finger on the picture of him, "James Ford."

"Yeah, yeah … I fuckin' know that." He huffed annoyed at her, "What the hell does it say?"

"No entiendo …" she said and shrugged her shoulders at him apologetically.

"God damn it." He cussed in frustration before he snatched the gossip rags out of her grasp, startling her all over again with his aggressive behavior. He reached in his pocket and threw some cash on the counter for the magazines, but before he could stalk out of the store, the younger man chimed in – with a thick and heavy accent – "It says he cheated on his wife with that woman."

"Son of a bitch." James cursed and just then his eyes connected with the man who'd just done him a favor by translating. But he suddenly realized he might've just fucked up real bad when he recognized the look of recognition in the man's eyes as his eyes went to the magazine and then back up at James.

Without giving the man another chance to compare for any resemblance he turned on his heel and left the store in a hurry, jumped in his jeep and sped out of town.

When he glanced in the rearview mirror, through the cloud of dust he saw the man along with the cashier stumble out of the store and looking after him. "Son of a Bitch." He swore under his breath when he realized he'd been made.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He paced around his trailer like a caged lion with his phone pressed to his ear. Claire wasn't picking up her phone. Miles' had a fucking busy signal for the last couple hours.

Who the fuck doesn't have call-waiting or at least a fucking voicemail set up? Dip-shit Miles – that's who!

Carole, Frank, Penny, Desmond – he couldn't remember their numbers and of course they were unlisted.

At his wits end he'd even tried to call Cassidy – home phone and cell phone – but just like Kate's, both numbers were no longer in service.

When he'd gotten yet another busy signal from Miles', he stared at the cell phone in his hand with anger and had to fight the urge to throw the thing across the room, but he knew that he'd be really fucked then.

Defeated he hung his head, opened the door to his trailer and sat on the metal stoop, his elbows propped up on his knees and his face buried in his hands he sat still for a long moment contemplating his options – or rather the lack thereof.

What the fuck am I gonna do?

If he couldn't reach her, then he couldn't tell her that it was all a lie. If he couldn't get in touch with her or anyone for that matter, then he couldn't tell her that nothing happened, couldn't tell her that he'd never do that to her … ever!

He dialed Claire's number again and after only two rings her voicemail clicked on … again. He knew enough to realize that meant she was screening his calls and was intentionally not answering, "Hey. It's me again." He huffed. "I really need to talk to Kate. This stuff … this stuff they're writing about me, it ain't true. So … so I need to get a hold of Kate somehow, I need to explain to her what happened. Call me back. Please!"

He tried Miles again and got the same damn busy signal that he'd gotten all day long.

Frustrated he hung up and ran a hand through his hair again, only hesitating for a moment before he called Richard – again – hoping that he'd gotten somewhere with their plan of bringing him back to the land of the living.

Richard answered on the third ring but immediately James could hear the frustration in his voice, "Nothing has changed, James, since the last time you called. I will not be able to get in touch with Hugo or Ben for weeks, and no, I have not been able to get a hold of Kate or any of your friends either."

"She's probably pissed. Hell, they're all probably pissed." He huffed into the phone, as he lit a cigarette, and added with newfound anger and disbelieve in his voice, "All that island-fucking-voodoo at your fingertips, but you can't get someone to L.A. to track down my wife, are you fucking shitting me right now?"

Richard sighed on the other end of the line, "I've been trying, but …"

Richard's pause just rattled James enough to get his heart rate spiking again, "But what?"

"She's disappeared." Richard confessed and the reality of what that could possibly mean hit him like a freight train.

"What do you mean she disappeared?"

"I've got people looking for her since you called this morning, she's not at home and she's not at Claire's house either."

"Maybe she's just not answering the door." James offered for an explanation, unsure if he was trying to convince himself or Richard, but before Richard could reply he quickly added, "What about Cassidy? Have you talked to her?"

"Yes, James. I've sent someone to her house as well, but …"

"She's pregnant." James announced, knowing all the while that this wasn't news to Richard. "She's just hiding out from the paparazzo, that's all."

Richard agreed but James heard the lie in the tone of his voice, Richard wasn't convinced either, "Probably." Richard cleared his throat and paused just for a moment, "She knows what Hugo and Ben have set in motion …. about her probation getting cut short?"

James swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and he threw the half smoked and still fuming stump in the sandy dir, before the heel of his boot grinded the smoke into the ground, "Was suppose to be a surprise." He reluctantly admitted, feeling like an ass now.

I should've told her!

The moment of silence that passed send chills down James' spine, but when Richard didn't say anything he couldn't hold back anymore, "She ain't riskin' getting' caught an' getting' locked back up again to have that kid end up being born while inside. She ain't stupid. She didn't run, Hoss." Again, he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, the doubt gnawing at him with every passing second.

Finally Richard replied, "I'll speed things up. Have the papers send to her lawyer this week."

Somehow the thought that Kate would know that she's free and clear to go as she pleases didn't sit too well with him either, at least not under the current circumstances, and if she was already on the run, her lawyer would be the last guy she'd be calling or answering calls from.

No matter which way he looked at this, none of it seemed right and he couldn't shake that feeling of threat that had begun to loom over him since he'd sped away from that little convenient store this morning. People were recognizing him here, people all over the world thought he'd cheated and Kate was nowhere to be found. Their plan of reuniting to live happily ever after was falling apart before his eyes!

"What about Sam?" He couldn't hide the hope from his voice.

"Excuse me?" Richard replied.

"Sam Austen." James offered in explanation. "Have you checked if she's hiding out with her dad for a change?"

"No." Richard replied, "I'll look into that right away."

"Sounds like a plan, amigo." James replied with more enthusiasm then he actually felt. "Call me when you got something."

"Okay." Richard replied and the phone call was ended rather hastily after that.

James lit another smoke and inhaled deeply to let the nicotine fill his lungs to the max before he exhaled slowly while his thoughts remained on his wife.

Where are you hiding out, Freckles?

He chewed on that thought for a long moment. What if she'd run? What if in one of her newly established hormone-induced-bat-shit-crazy-crying-fits she'd lost her cool, packed a bag and hit the road? What if she actually left California? And what if some zit-faced teen working at a gas station along some highway recognized her? What if she got caught and … and if it was all his fault? But what if she didn't run but will once she'd get the green light from her lawyer? What if she wouldn't believe him and he'd lost her for good this time?

He finished the smoke and lit another before he began harassing his friends with phone calls again and again, until he eventually fell asleep in his chair with the phone still in his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He awoke in the chair the next morning with pain shooting through him. He groaned, with the back of his hand he wiped the drool from the side of his mouth and reached back trying to rub away some of the pain and stiffness from his shoulders and neck. Glancing at the alarm clock on the microwave sitting atop the counter, he realized that it was already past 8 am.

Fuck! Have I really slept that long?

With a sudden rush of panic of having missed a call from his friends, his eyes searched the room for the phone, when he spotted the dead device near his feet.

Realizing that he must've dropped it last night after he'd passed out and now the thing was dead since he'd forgotten to charge it. Still in pain he stumbled towards the counter where the charger was permanently plugged in right next to the coffeemaker, he quickly connected it. Impatiently tapping his fingers like drum sticks on the counter; he waited until the phone had gained enough juice to be powered on again. With equal parts relief and thread he realized he had several missed calls and voicemail … none from his friends, but all from Richard.

He remained by the counter so the phone could continue to charge while he listened to his voicemail, hoping for good news but bracing himself for the worst.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His friends had abandoned him, unwilling to take his calls, unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt … and truth be told, he wasn't all that shocked or surprised by any of it. Disappointed? Hurt? Yeah. Sure. But not really surprised.

Wasn't this the story of his life? Wasn't he the one – the con man – that always ended up hurting and disappointing people that cared about him?

I'm not a good person, Charlie. I never did a good thing in my life.

And even when he was a young kid in a home full of strangers, it always came easier to take the blame for a crime he hadn't actually committed then to let those people see just how badly the untrue accusations hurt him. So after a while he stopped feeling sorry for himself and turned that stubborn and cocky front that he'd presented to his accusers into reality and turned into the troubled teen everyone saw in him anyways. After all, he was the kid whose parents killed each other … the kid that no one wanted. The kid with his momma's good looks, but his daddy's bad temper. The kid that would never be good, that could never do good.

So like the troubled child from all those years ago he let that hurt and pain sink in as he pondered his options.

Surely, when this entire nightmare was finally over they'd have to believe him. When the news spread that he was still alive they'd have to hear him out and he'd be able to convince them of his innocence.

Ha, and then they'd all feel shitty for treating him this way, for doubting him and avoiding his calls. Trying to see the bright side in his current misery he pictured Claire serving on him hand and foot and apologizing over and over to him for having treated him this way … especially after all they'd been through!

But none of it really mattered in the long run … absolute none of it! He could go on never speaking to Claire again. And Miles can disappear alongside with her … he didn't care. Or at least he told himself so!

But Kate? He didn't know if he could let that happen.

He didn't know why Juliet's words came back to him again in this very moment and suddenly managed to strike a nerve within him now more than ever before.

What we had, it was just for a little while, and just because we love each other, it doesn't mean we're meant to be together. I mean, maybe we were never supposed to be together.

The thought that Juliet's words actually applied to his relationship with Kate made him feel physically ill. He just refused to believe that everything they've been through together had all been for nothing.

This couldn't be it.

This just can't fucking be it! I've already lost her one too many times; I just can't lose her again!

And with that thought in mind he pretty much decided that he couldn't – wouldn't – wait any longer hoping for Richard to straighten everything out, and decided to listen to Jack's words of wisdom instead.

If it's meant to be, it's meant to be!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End Notes: Please leave a quick review or a comment to let me know what you think! Who thinks that Kate went on the run again? Thank you so much for reading! xoxo