Chapter Seven: Lie Without a Liar

The pain came in waves, emotional currents pushing me toward an unknown shore. With each lull I tried to convince myself that it was the last, for I had nothing left to give. And then a thought, a simple memory, would trigger the next onslaught of tears. I cried until I was left with hiccups and a runny nose. I pulled myself together until it started again. It was the past and the future come together in the present. My past ruined my present and forever changed my future. As I leaned back against my bed I felt so melodramatic. What did I expect? My present circumstances were entirely my own doing. I ran when I should have stayed. And now I would make things right. I felt like staying, yet I would run.

With that resolve, I began the task of cleaning up this life. But as I scurried around my room, tossing articles of clothing into boxes and bags, sticking on labels for their final destination, something would remind me of Dermot. I hadn't thought of him in so long. I purposefully banished him from my thoughts. My feelings for Flint were undeniable. Those feelings didn't blunt the pain of Dermot's death. Dermot was my first love, my first real love. He made up a part of me. I couldn't deny it. I couldn't share it because no one here knew. There was no one with whom I could share my sorrow. I grieved alone.

I stroked loving fingers across a stained and faded jersey from the annual Army vs. Navy Joe flag football game. It wasn't the games that came to mind, it was Dermot. He liked American football. He didn't understand it all that much but the flash and pageantry of the Sunday games appealed to him. He'd stay up until the wee hours of the morning to catch a glimpse of his adopted team, the Chicago Bears. Some of his cousins lived in Chicago and mailed him t-shirts when the thought crossed their mind. Dermot wore those t-shirts into the ground. I pressed the flag football jersey against my closed eyes, willing the pain below, trying to wrestle control back from my wandering mind. Stay on task! I chided myself.

I tossed the jersey into a box marked for Whitinsville, MA. The majority of my stuff was headed for a storage locker there –plentiful space and no one cared. I'd done what I could to keep my current life secret. I wasn't like most Harts. With the exception of a few pictures taken at obligatory society events, I lived my life on the periphery. I had too. Your life as a covert operative is pretty much over the day someone recognizes you. That's why Dermot's note scared me. Dermot's death wasn't an accident, not with that message. They knew. They found him and they made the connection to me. As careful as I've been, you can never be careful enough. Although Dermot lived his life in the open, he did so with the knowledge he was safe. I was under no such assumption. I wasn't safe. No one close to me was safe. Still, I wasn't ready to face it. I wasn't ready to give it a name. I needed to regroup and figure out my next move. I couldn't do that here. So I did what I needed to do.

Or did I? As I came to grips with the realization of what I'd done, the panic set in. Where would I find the strength to pull it off? For I wanted nothing more at that moment then to give in and be vulnerable. When I'm sick, sometimes I like a little pity. Flint humors me and rather than say, buck up soldier, you'll be fine in no time, he'll comment on how awful I look or baby me a bit by sneaking me some of Roadblock's special chicken soup. Scarlett shakes her head. She's completely of the Buck Up Soldier School and doesn't understand the comfort derived from a good dose of overdone sympathy. Yes, my world's not falling around my feet. That fact is not lost on me. I think I simply crave the coddling I didn't get. As a Hart, we show the world only our best side. Grandmother Hart always said that no matter how awful you feel on the inside, no one wants to see that. Pinch your cheeks and put on some lipstick. Never show your weakness.

That philosophy serves me well in my profession but it can put me at a distance with my friends. It makes it hard to have friends, truly deep, real friends. I think friends need to know you're vulnerable. No one wants to friend a robot. I've let some people in over the years, which makes my plans all the more difficult. Because it wasn't just Dermot's passing I mourned, it was the passing of all of this, the Joes, and Flint. He comes. He was coming for me. And there was no one I could tell because I lived a lie. I never let anyone in. I even kept Flint at a distance, for his protection, for my fear of rejection. And now I was alone.

I had to go. My time had run. I wiped at my eyes, trying to think positive. It was hard looking around my boxed-in world. In a few hours I transformed my room into a seven-year-old's dream fort. Boxes stacked five feet high created precarious tunnels ready for imminent collapse. The sum of my life as a Joe boxed away. That thought lead to another round of tears. Time boxed and forgotten. Sinking to the ground I rode the feelings out. Fighting it didn't help. It made it worse in a way. I worked on breathing and being. The clock ticked. My hands shook with nervous agitation.

Getting back on my feet, I taped up the next box, keeping my hands busy. The crunch of the ripping packing tape masked his footsteps. I glanced up, screaming at the stranger in my room.

"Hey, it's me." Flint held his hands out turning them palms up, reassuring me it was just him.

I think he wanted me to take his hands, to offer reassurance in return. I didn't have the ability. I planned on being gone before he found me. Plan being the operative word. I knew if Flint found me before I left, he would talk. If he talked – if he said the right words – I might lose my resolve. I couldn't. I needed to push those feelings aside. He couldn't know. I needed him safe. And, I needed to be what he saw. I needed to be that person. If I stayed, she would be lost.

We stood in silence until he broke first. "You're leaving." He looked around the room, taking it in. While I may have written my intentions, I don't think it sunk in until he stood in my room and saw firsthand. "You're really leaving."

"We have to leave sometime."

"You weren't going to tell me?"

"I did."

"The letter?" His face crinkled up in disgust. He shifted his feet. "The letter. That was it?"

I shrugged, picking at some tape stuck on the edge of a box. The air felt heavy and uncomfortable. I wanted to be anywhere but there, facing him. Didn't he understand I tried to avoid this? There were questions he would ask that I couldn't answer. I wrote it down so he'd have that. He would know I loved him. The tape wouldn't budge.

"Stop that." He grabbed my hand, forcing me to look up into his eyes. "So I have this clear," he fished my letter out of his pocket, "this was your good-bye."

"No. No it wasn't."

"Then what was it?"

I wrestled my hand away. "It was . . . it's just . . . there's something that happened. Something I can't share—"

"What do you mean you can't share?"

"I can't tell you. It's for your own good, your protection. I . . ."

"My protection? Wait, what kind of excuse is that? Ali, you've got me really worried here. You need to tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't and I won't. Flint, I'm not the person you thought. I did some things that I'm not proud of. Some bad things. I have to make it right. But it's not safe for you. You have to stay here." Already I was telling him too much. I could see it on his face. He wanted to protect me.

"Do you think I'm going to stand aside and let you go now? Ali, it doesn't work that way. Let me help you. I don't care what you've done on your missions. You know my hands aren't exactly clean. If someone's after you, we need to tell Hawk. We need to—"

"It's not like that. It's not a mission. It was before. It's my past. And you can't be a part of this, you just can't. I need to go away for a little while. Not forever. Just for a while. There's nothing you can do. Please, you just need to understand. You just need to—"

"What, let you walk off? Is that what I'm supposed to do?"

"Flint, please. You're making this hard."

His face exploded with rage. "I'm making this hard? Alison, you broke up with me in a freaking letter."

"Flint, it's not like that." I sensed his skin crawling. He wanted to pace but there was no room. He was a caged animal brought to frenzy. And it was all because of me. I rubbed my hands down my face. This isn't what I wanted. I just wanted to go and for him to accept. It was wrong but I was counting on his understanding of our work to let me go. I purposely lead him to that conclusion. By the time he figured it out, I'd have a huge head start on him. And when he couldn't find me, I wanted him to accept it and be fine because then I would be fine. Because then, in the end, I would still have this, what we were. No awkward confrontation to mar the memories of our time together. I would keep him safe in my head. There were so many dangers in the world. Flint and I saw so much together. But Flint wasn't prepared for this. He was a boy scout; I don't care what Tomax said. Flint could never forgive me. I wasn't sticking around for that.

"Trust me. This is for the best." That was the biggest lie. It wasn't for the best. Things weren't fine. They could never be. Not with how far we had come. He was right. I trivialized our relationship by writing that stupid letter. I may not have meant it that way, but how else could he take it? When you tell someone you need to go and he has to stay, that's a pretty big signal you don't care. I did care and I didn't want it to be over. I only wanted what was best. And I told him in a letter. I bit at my lower lip as it started to tremble. I thought I had no more left to cry. I was wrong.

"Oh Alison." His face softened. I saw the depth of his compassion as he reached out to me. "Ali, what's going on? If there's something bad I'm not staying on the sidelines. I can handle myself. We'll deal with it. I don't care about your past."

I backed away from him. "No!"

"Ali, come on. Don't do this."

"Dash, please. You have to go. Just . . . just go." The tears flowed down my cheeks.

"No. I'm not."

"God Dash, please . . ." Somehow his understanding made things worse. I needed him to be upset, angry, furious even.

Flint tried to take me into his arms. I pushed him away, feeling guilty, dirty. What a mess I created. "I just need some time."

"Time?" His confusion returned.

For a brief moment, I thought of telling him. Everything I withheld he deserved to know. As I looked at him, I faltered. I loved him. I would protect him even if he didn't want it. And god help me, I would protect myself. "Time. Just some time. Alone. Once I take care of things, then I'll be back. It's not forever."

"No."

"No?"

"No. You don't tell me like this in a letter. We talk. We figure this out, together."

"But Flint—"

"You have to understand Alison. When the world is headed south, all I want is it to be you and me. As long as I have that, the rest doesn't matter. Whatever happens, I know I have you. I thought we were honest with each other. I know there are some things you've done you can't tell me. I don't ask. But we were still a team. So when you do this," he held out the letter, his hand shaking under the weight of his anger, "how am I supposed to take it? We were going to be married Alison. I asked you and you said yes. That means something. And now all I get is a piece of paper? Not even the courtesy of a 'Hey Dash, something's bothering me. Can we talk?' It doesn't work that way. Either it's us together or nothing at all."

"It's not like that." A new fear grew in my chest.

"Oh, it is like that."

"Dash. I . . ." And I couldn't complete the sentence. I couldn't say what needed to be said, what he needed to hear to save us.

He exhaled and his shoulders slumped. Resignation. I could see it in the way he set his jaw and regulated his breathing. His hand settled at his side. "I know you're going to do what you're going to do. You don't care about—"

"Dash, please—"

He shook his head, silencing me. "No. It's like that. We all have choices. You have a choice. When you decide, let me know. Until then," he paused, crumbling my letter in his fist, dropping it at my feet, "it won't be like this."

Suddenly I was alone in a way I never imagined. This went beyond how I felt after I lost my mom and dad. Even Jimmy. Jimmy, my best friend and big brother, the person who loved me when I felt slighted by some punishment my parents doled out, the kid who taught me how to dribble a basketball. When I lost them, my little world grew so much smaller. Those were the emotions of a child trying to navigate a reality most children never face. The years spent with Grandmother Hart – they prepared me for nothing. This overwhelming sense of finality had no companion. Flint's presence, there even when he physically was not, was ripped away. I felt cold and sick.

Choices. My whole life has been plagued by choices. The ones I made, the ones others made for me. The choices in life keep stacking up and I will never catch up. The choices that led me here, to the one choice I wanted to make – to fall straight into his arms and allow his spirit to engulf me. The world was better when it was us. Sure we disagreed. He could be a dolt but I could be so stubborn and proud. And my pride won't let me make that one choice. I don't have a choice at all. All my choices were made the moment I gave him a letter telling him I loved him but had to go. It was like that. There was only one choice I could make. There was only one thing left I could do to make him safe. It killed me, but he would be safe.

I grabbed the ring finger of my left hand, twisting at the ring encircling it. The ring wouldn't budge. I pulled until it popped free, my hand recoiling against the sudden loss. I didn't want to do this. I had to do it. I held it out to him. Not as a peace offering, but as a conclusion. It was the end.

He stood, arms wrapped around his chest, making no move to accept it from me. His eyes were cold and hard. I could feel his anger, his disgust. In that moment, he hated me. How could he not? I hated me. It was a coward move. I still loved him. I still needed him . . . I couldn't face him.

My head fell as I set the ring down on the box closest to him. The diamond twinkled for a moment catching the overhead light. The sparkle teased and taunted me, almost as if it was laughing at me and my stupid choices. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at Flint's anymore.

I left the room, afraid to look back. I imagined him standing there, a stoic sentry guarding what used to be. Guarding what I had left. Our love, the one thing I treasured above all else, more than my pride, more than myself, was gone.

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