"Yup, long gone."
His fears were confirmed. All the work was for nothing.
"This was pointless…" Pirouettes of smoke hang in the air. He hands the cigarette back to Jane, nicotine buzz coming on thick.
"Well I wouldn't say that," a sly smile lingers on her lips. The sex was good, that much is undeniable, but it was a complete waste of time. She should have told him earlier. Valde…
Anato wordlessly lies in bed with the covers part on, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. Air damp with spent lust, the right mix of sin dulls the disappointment enough not to get up and leave.
"Do you know where she's going?"
"Nope, no one does, otherwise I'd tell you," she breathes down another drag and lets it out her mouth and nose, offering it with her free hand, "She left the city yesterday afternoon."
And that was the end of the trail. He wouldn't find a lead until after his work shift.
Methodically sucking down the cigarette to a burning stump he let his mind run rampant, tired eyes fixed on the broken ceiling fan. Cornering her at a Vault was too easy to be likely to have happened anyway, and so was finding her in Westside on a hunch. In the event she's headed out east packing heavy like Sweetie had said.. her business here is finished and she's moved on. That's clearly what she did.
If there's anything Anatolius found truly difficult over the past six months; it's tracking her.
Jane brushes the covers aside and gets out of bed. Shivering for a moment she walks over to the dusty window and parts a drape torpidly hiding a cracked pane of glass. She stretches with arms behind her head; the sunrise's warmth silhouettes her naked body with reddish pink and endearment completely foreign to him. Where others would simply say 'beautiful' no words can come to mind; there is no beauty in a life of violence, there are no words for these things. Those words of sensitivity were forgotten decades ago, hung up like pictures only to fade into obscurity and dust.
The spent cigarette's ember grazed his finger and burns him. It forcefully pries himself from the confusion he felt inward; pain binds to reality. Upon tossing the smoking butt into an ashtray he mentally starts over.
Planning ahead always kept him alive and in control. He would check the Strip that night, ask around the hotels disguised as a well-to-do gambler and consult his contacts in each. The Contubernia of soldiers sent to the vaults would arrive too late, so if no lead is found, he'd have to consider cutting chase until a later operation. Caesar would want him back at the Fort soon.
That gives him less than three days to find her- it wasn't impossible, just improbable.
"So where are you going now?" Another cigarette dangles from Jane's lip as she turns around, joining Anatolius on the lifeless bed in a bathrobe.
"Freeside. I have work to do."
"Are you still gonna try and find her?" She already knew the answer, but had to ask out of pain of not knowing.
"I have to."
"Why? You never did tell me."
"Because…" he looks over to the tacky nightstand, to the silver pendant resting on it,
"I wouldn't know where to begin."
"What did she do to you?" She asks worriedly,
No response- the question brought it all back without warning. Images he successfully forced down for months had surfaced like they always did. Thoughts of a simpler time turning to unuttered chaos, chaos that outweighed the calamity of all else to be experienced, washing it away with an ashen sea of innumerable cultures. He'd been proud once, in that time before the change. It is because of her he'll never feel that way again, the way he did ten years ago where vitality replaced age and the stress that now showed in everything said or done.
All he can do is lean back on his elbows, close his eyes, and heave a sigh at events come and gone.
"She betrayed me."
Jane hung her head, "I'm sorry," the inflection in her voice told him she genuinely cared.
"It's not your fault."
He already knew she did, though. Part of him wanted her to care but he knew where his life was going- and that she had no place in it. Then again, she didn't belong prostituting herself in a Vegas brothel; she was easily better than that.. but it was a repetition he saw everywhere he went. Anato pondered for a while, getting up and moving toward the wash basin, morning air crisp on his skin. The water was colder and sobering.
"I see now why you've been acting different…" He looked at himself in the mirror; she was right.
When the Legionary arrived here from Flagstaff, he was much more himself than he'd been lately. His life up until this point was a long ebb and flow of change, but he still had the spark of willpower in his eye, the eagerness of adventure. Everything about his life changed when he realized Angel was here in the Mojave. Of all places on this damned earth, it was here.
Why? The familiar question hounded his thoughts while he stares into the dim reflection of blue eyes.
"I don't like this, Anato. I feel like I'm never going to see you again…"
She stirs him from his introspection. Jane was perceptive, impressively so, and probably right. If he isn't dead within a week the war could kill either of them. Almost fully dressed now, he quietly slips on his necklace and then his armor.
"Just promise me you won't kill her."
"I can't promise anything."
"Please…" she pleads, standing up from a desk chair to meet his stare and slipping her arms through his,
"Don't hurt anyone."
They stood there embraced in each other's company, and in that moment Anatolius got that feeling again, the feeling he'd been waiting for that made him… peaceful. He never knew what it was- complex emotions had become too hard to distinguish over time, but…
It felt like hope.
"I'll try not to," a tear of Sweetie's rippled down his armor as she let go and looked him in the eye. Was it that obvious he was lying?
"Shall I walk you out?"
"I'm in a hurry."
"Okay," her voice is shaky. "Be careful Anato, I…" she trails off teary-eyed, now in the doorway with him,
"Goodbye."
His eyes said farewell, but nothing escapes his mouth except silence. Hesitantly breaking eye contact he moves down the hall, the stairs, out the door-
And into the red glare of the rising sun.