She stands there, in the rain, her heart is pounding. She should be grieving. She should be crying, but she's not. She looks at the closed casket, as they lower it into the ground. She notes the crowd, all wearing black. Her eyes fall on a handsome man, it big, dark brown eyes. She doesn't notice what he's wearing, just that his suit accentuates his biceps. She finds herself undressing him with her eyes. The service is over, and she heads for the gate of the cemetery, as quickly as possible, not wanting to get herself into anymore trouble.
She's almost to the sidewalk, outside the cemetery. She's almost in the safety zone. At the funeral they had said not a single word to each other. It was better that way. He was a drug, that she just couldn't take. She feels a hand on her shoulder. Her conscious screams at her, telling her not to turn around. Her feet betray her, her body swivels in the opposite direction. She lays eyes on him.
"Jackie," he whispers softly.
"I'm sorry," is what she tries to leave it at. Simplicity, was better, in this situation.
"Can I give you a ride?"
"I can walk."
"You're soaked, let me give you a ride," he offers graciously.
"I can't," she shakes her head.
"Please?" he begs.
She simply nods. She follows him to his big, black SUV. She climbs into the passenger's seat. He closes the door behind her, and walks around the front of the vehicle. Sitting in the driver's seat, with the key in the ignition, and the engine off, he turns to her. She swallows hard.
"You probably don't want to be alone, do you?" she guesses, knowing him too well, already.
"Not really, but I don't want to cross any lines."
"It's a little bit late for that, don't you think?"
"I should just take you home," he advises.
"I don't want to go home," she admits.
He furrows his brow, "Ok."
"It's an empty house. It should be full of laughter, and two girls screaming at each other, and me, but it's not. They aren't there."
"Ok," he nods, in understanding.
With each block her pulse, and blood pressure rise. She stares at him, as he drives.
By the time he locks the door of the apartment, behind them, his jacket, and tie are on the floor. Her shoes lie on their sides, on the floor. The button of her blazer has popped off, and lays as a casualty, on the floor near the shoes. Her blazer falls to the floor. She eyes his button down shirt. He looks at hers questioningly. She shrugs.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and she lies, tangled in sheets, in her former boss's bed. She turns, and looks at him. He watches her breathe, saying nothing.
"Why do we keep doing this?" she asks him, curiously.
"We're in mourning. We're both grieving something we can't get back. It's bigger than the loss of a child, or a friend," he admits.
"I don't remember when I became this person," she admits.
"Neither do I. When did I become so cold?"
"Believe it or not, I used to be like Zoey."
"Young?" he scoffs.
"And naive, and on a mission to save the world, and heal all who came to me."
"You can't fix them all."
"At some point, I realized, I can't even fix me."
"We are two seriously screwed up individuals."
"Charlie would hate this."
"He would accuse you of climbing into bed with the devil."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
"We should stop doing this."
Hours later, she finds herself on Eleanor's doorstep. She doesn't knock, or ring the bell, knowing that her best friend's hands are full. She just opens the door, and goes in. She quietly tiptoes into the living room. She finds Eleanor on the couch, staring at her son, who is sound asleep in his bouncy seat. The living room looks as if it has exploded. Eleanor has dark circles under her eyes, her hair goes in about six different directions, and she is still in her pajamas.
"You look like Hell," Jackie admits.
Eleanor shakes her head. She notes that Jackie's blazer is sans buttons. Her blue button down is missing several buttons. One of her shirt tails is tucked in, while the other isn't. Half of the buttons on her shirt are mis-buttoned.
"We're you the one they were attempting to bury?" Eleanor shoots back.
"It was a very nice service," Jackie answers.
"So you are going to avoid the obvious question."
"He's sleeping," Jackie avoids eye contact.
"Coop got called in, so I had to do it myself."
"It's not as easy as it looks, is it?"
"I didn't know something in such a small package, could be such a terrorist."
"Welcome to motherhood."
"I don't know if I like it, at all."
"This is the easy part."
"The easy part? What do you mean?"
"Wait until he's old enough to scream at you, and tell you that he hates you."
"My sweet, precious, little, terrorist? He would never do that."
"You're right, he's a boy, he might not."
"So how long are you going to keep this up?"
"Keep what up?"
"Sleeping with Cruz."
"I..." she shrugs.
"Until one of you hurts the other so badly, that you want to kill the other one?"
"It's not like that?""Then what is it like?"
"I don't know," she shrugs.
"If this is an attempt to get your job back, I think that you've already done it."
"It's not."
"So, then, what is it?"
"Life."
Jackie's phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket, and puts it against her ear.
"Yeah? Sure. I'll be right there," she hangs up.
"Cruz?" Eleanor teases.
"The hospital. They're short staffed, and they want me to come back."
"Who called? Zoey?"
"The head of the board of directors."
"Oh. Then by all means, go."