The most delayed of all the delayed things...this shall be tag/wrap up to the season. I figured it would be okay to hold off, so all post-eps would be spread out. That, and well, procrastinating is kinda my thing.

This shall be in three parts, with more of Auggie point of view later on, as the poor guy as gone through as much (if not more?) as she has.

Also, this is based on how the season would have originally ended, had they not cut it.

Cheers!:)

Auggie? Thanks for staying.
You can thank me in person later. Almost there.

What if I went and lost myself,
Would you know where to find me?

If I forgot who I am,
Would you please remind me? ❤

She walks out of the office, and it's all still a little dizzying – surreal, and it feels like some sort of weird out of body experience.

Like she's just watching herself from above, walking though the halls––

And she's home, but she still feels like a ghost.

He's there, still standing where she left him, waiting for her (always waiting), and she lets out a ragged breath.

"How'd it go?" he asks, blinking up at her presence.

Managing a small smile, she sticks her hands in her jacket pockets and tilts her head down before meeting his concerned gaze again. "Talk over drinks?"

He lets out a short breath of his own, offering her a smile back. "That your solution?"

It takes her a second before she gets it.

It's Miller Time. Happy Hour at the Tavern.

One drink.

Instinctively, she curls her arm around his. "Oh, absolutely," she whispers.

Drinks and talking; It's a start, at least.

"So, you finally got to see the wizard. What was it like behind the curtain?" he tries to joke, but the weight of this evening doesn't leave much room for levity, the air still thick between them.

She find her lips curving slightly anyway.

"Not exactly what I'd expected."

He's smirking now. "Wasn't for Dorothy either."

"I was offered a position," she says finally, the words rushing out in quick breath.

He takes a swig from his mug. "Doesn't surprise me after everything you managed to accomplish."

"I killed a man, Auggie."

"Annie––"

"And you can say that I did what I needed to do–"

"––You did."

"Or that I did it for the right reasons –"

"You did," he presses harder, inching his hand forwards to search for hers.

"It doesn't make it any easier," she persists. "It's like the more I step outside the lines, the more I'm rewarded as long as the end result is deemed just. That is this world. This life. But do I want it to be my life?"

He squints at her, tilting his head as he reaches a conclusion: "You turned it down," he says, no question in his voice.

"I did."

"But there's something else."

"I resigned," she answers, nodding, sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes widen. "Completely."

"As of about a half ago – I no longer work for the CIA."

"One of the first things Henry ever told me when met years ago ––was that we're all in the mud," she explains. "All of us. Whether we admit it to ourselves or not."

She blinks up at him. "That was the first time that I ever questioned this job."

"I remember," he tells her.

"Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you if it's worth it," she quotes his words back to him.

"That is never something I could answer for you."

"Mmm," she hums in agreement, before taking a drink.

"I wanted to know how dirty I would get."

Letting out a hollow laugh, she runs her hands through her hair.

"Looks like thanks to him, I finally got my answer."

"Annie––," he exhales, moving his beer aside, and she can tell he's choosing his next words carefully.

"You know I'm with you. Whatever it is you that you want."

She links their fingers, a smile gracing her features.

"Right now," she speaks softly, meeting his eyes, "I just want to click my heels three times."

She adjusts herself on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, tugging at the sleeves of the sweatshirt he's lent her.

"I don't know who I am outside of this job, anymore, Auggie. Or if the line separating the two even exists."

"Annie," he pats her thigh, "tell me something. Why did you open that file in the first place?"

Turning towards him, she rests her hands over his. "You know why."

"Because you were protecting the people that you care about – the people that you love," he answers for her. "That is who you are, Annie. Despite anything and everything that's happened since."

Despite leaving, leaving him – despite the people she's hurt and the lives she's taken.

"And what if, I don't feel like that person anymore?"

He kisses the crown of her head slowly, a hand coming to wrap around her waist.

"Then I'll be around to remind you until you do," he whispers.

"Thank you." She doesn't deserve it – doesn't feel like she'll ever truly deserve him or his unwavering faith in her, but the selfish part of her doesn't want to let any of it (him) go ever again.

"And thank you," she murmurs, "for everything else too––"

She lifts a hand to cup his cheek, running her thumb along the line of his jaw.

"For bringing me home."

(To him.)

Cause without you things go hazy. ❤