Sleeping with Ghosts (2/2)

[msgenevieve]

Title: Sleeping with Ghosts (2/2)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Lincoln Burrows, Jane Phillips, LJ Burrows, Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Lincoln/Jane, Michael/Sara, Lincoln/Veronica
Length: 10,848 words
Rating: PG-15 for language
Summary: Punte Chame should feel like paradise on earth.There are days - usually when the sky is cloudless and the water is clear and the air is scented with salt and flowers - when it almost does. Most of the time, though, it doesn’t, and Lincoln doesn’t need to pay a shrink a huge wad of cash to tell him why.
Author's Note:This story is part of the Full Circle series. It takes place between the 'end' and the 'epilogue' of Safe House, and will make much more sense if you've already read that story. Many thanks to sarah_scribbles for the cheerleading. For domfangirl, just because. *g* The poem quoted is Part Four: Time and Eternity - Exultation is the Going by Emily Dickinson.



~*~

“They think they’ve found her body.”

Shock pushes at the edges of Lincoln's vision, making his brother’s pale face swim in front of his eyes. Body. The word echoes in his head and Lincoln realises too late that part of him never truly believed Veronica was really dead. Turning slowly to look at LJ, he sees the same disbelief in his son’s face and wants to rail at the universe. “Cooper’s still on the phone?” he hears himself say, and Michael nods.

Afterwards, Lincoln doesn’t remember walking inside and picking up the receiver from where Michael had left it on the kitchen bench. All he can remember is Cooper Green’s voice calmly confirming that yes, an anonymous tip-off had come directly to his office, telling them where they would find Veronica Donovan’s remains. Each word stabs at Lincoln’s insides. “This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

“I wish it was, believe me.” Lincoln hears paper rustling in the background. “But the information was extremely detailed, more than enough to warrant the FBI sending a forensic team to check it out.”

Lincoln frowns as he walks aimlessly into the dining room, unable to keep still. “Who the hell would send a tip-off to your office rather the FBI?”

Cooper sighs. “Given the nature of the information, it’s obviously someone with ties to the Company.”

“What did the FBI find?”

He hears the other man takes a deep breath. “They found human remains in three separate locations.”

Lincoln’s stomach lurches, his vision blurring around the edges once more. He gropes for the back of the nearest chair, sinking into it. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters thickly. But it is, oh God, it is and there’s nothing he can do to make it stop.

“I’m sorry, Lincoln.” The other man hesitates. “Perhaps you’d rather I discussed this with Michael?”

“No.” Lincoln puts one hand over his eyes, pressing the phone a little closer to his ear as he takes several deep breaths. “What do you need us to do? Should we come back to the States?”

“That’s up to you,” Cooper Green replies gently. “It may take the ME several days to either confirm or discount the possibility that the body is that of Ms Donovan.”

The body, Lincoln thinks again numbly. At least Cooper hadn’t referred to her as the remains a second time. He scrambles for something to say, anything to break the silence that’s filling up the phone line, and latches onto the first mundane thought that comes into his head. “Does her father know?”

“The FBI contacted him this morning.” Cooper’s voice has become studiedly professional, almost impersonal. “He wasn’t able to help them very much with their enquiries regarding her last movements before she disappeared. Apparently he and his daughter were estranged.”

“And with good cause.” Anger streaks through him, and he embraces it with open arms. The last time he’d seen Thomas Donovan had been at Veronica’s graduation ceremony. The old bastard had looked him and Michael up and down, his upper lip curled, his nose wrinkled as though suddenly confronted with the stink of rotten garbage. Not that Lincoln had cared - Veronica’s dad had been looking at him that way ever since he was fourteen. “We already know her last movements, don’t we?”

“That’s one thing, Lincoln, but making a positive identification is another. Mr Donovan has offered to give a DNA sample, which will help speed up the process.”

Lincoln scowls. “That’s mighty big of him.”

He hears Cooper clear his throat, then the sound of more paper being shuffled. “Okay, now, Michael mentioned that Ms Phillips is there with you at the moment?”

Lincoln blinks, his thoughts slow to shift gears. “Yeah, why?”

“May I speak to her?” His tone is apologetic. “I’d appreciate her input on a few things.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to study him when he steps onto the balcony. Sara is standing behind Michael’s chair, her hands on his shoulders. Jane is also on her feet, leaning against the railing, her arms folded across her chest. There’s no sign of LJ, and Lincoln’s heart sinks.

He looks at Jane, holds out the phone to her. “Cooper wants to talk to you,” he says gruffly. She quickly moves to his side, her hand catching his as he drops the phone into her palm. His eyes start to burn at her touch, and he glances away, not trusting himself to look at her. Not here, not now. As Jane begins to speak to Cooper Green in a low voice, he turns to his brother. “Where’s LJ?”

Michael gestures towards the beach. “He went for a walk,” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Lincoln frowns. “He shouldn’t be by himself right now.”

Sara puts a gentle hand on his arm, her tone soothing. “He was very upset, Lincoln. I think he just wanted some privacy.”

Lincoln closes his eyes, remembering Kingman, Arizona. He’d liberated LJ from the shadowy suits following him, then five minutes later he’d had to look his son in the eye and tell him that Veronica had been murdered by the Company. He remembers the way LJ’s face had crumpled, angry tears streaming down his face as he’d pushed his father away. She’s dead because of you, LJ had shouted at him, and for a moment Lincoln had almost wished to be back in Fox River. “Shit.” He looks at Sara. “Which way did he go?”

She points in the direction away from his own house, and Lincoln grunts a thank you. Casting a glance at Jane - she’s still deep in conversation with Cooper Green - he takes the steps down from the balcony two at a time and strides down to the beach, the hot sand slipping beneath his bare feet.

To his relief, LJ hasn’t gone far. Lincoln finds him sitting near the rocks a few hundred yards from Michael’s place, his legs pulled up in front of him, his arms wrapped around his knees. He’s staring out at the water, and even at a distance Lincoln can see he’s been crying.

“LJ.”

His son looks up at him, and his face is soft with anguish. “This is never going to be over.”

“It will, and soon.” He trudges to LJ’s side, suddenly feeling tired and old, and eases himself down beside him. “I promise you that.” Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to promise something he’s not sure he can deliver, but at this moment, looking at his son’s miserable expression, he’s prepared to do whatever it takes.

They sit in silence for a moment, then LJ sniffs loudly. “Veronica saved my life.”

“Mine too.” He closes his eyes, remembering late night telephone calls when he thought he was going to go off the rails, the soft conversations that always ended with the words I believe in you. He remembers her appearing in the interview room at Fox River, dressed in her best suit and clutching her briefcase like a nervous child clutching a lunchbox on the first day of school, her pretty face pinched with determination. “More times than I ever told her.”

LJ looks past him, over his shoulder, and Lincoln turns his head to see Michael walking towards them. “Cooper’s going to call back in a few hours,” he says quietly as he drops down to sit cross-legged on the sand on the other side of LJ. “He told Jane he should know more by then.”

Lincoln presses his palm against his hot forehead. “What else did he tell her?”

Michael hesitates, glancing at LJ, and Lincoln shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’d rather LJ heard it from you rather than some random idiot with a microphone.”

His brother aimlessly digs one hand into the sand beside him. “Whoever did it knew what they were doing.” He stares at the sand as it slips through his fingers. “Deep graves in three different locations scattered through Montana.”

Lincoln’s stomach flips over. “Cooper really thinks it’s her, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” Michael presses his lips together into a tight line, his eyes glittering with tears. “But he wants us to wait until they’ve made a positive ID one way or the other before we do anything,” he adds, darting a glance at his brother as he says the last word, and Lincoln knows the gentle rebuke is aimed directly at him.

He stares at the horizon. “I hate just waiting, man. Feel so fucking useless.”

“I know.”

The sudden weight of Michael’s hand on his shoulder is both reassuring and oddly claustrophobic. He turns to study LJ’s tear-stained face, reaching out to gently cuff his son’s tousled head. “Let’s go back to the house.”

~*~

When they return to the house, Sara is alone on the balcony. She looks at them all in turn, her gaze lingering on LJ. “You okay?”

His expression is morose as he shrugs, but he doesn’t pull away when she brushes her hand over his shoulder. “It just sucks, you know?” he mumbles thickly, and she nods.

“Yeah, I do know,” she tells him, then looks up at Lincoln. “Jane’s inside. She’s talking to your father on the phone.”

Lincoln nods slowly, then makes his way into the house, LJ trailing behind him. As he steps through the doors, he sees Michael move to Sara’s side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. Their murmured conversation is too low for Lincoln to hear, but it’s easy to see the tension in his brother’s shoulders relaxing, the way his eyes close as soon as Sara puts her arms around him. Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Lincoln looks away, but not before a sudden flicker of envy twists through him.

Jane’s eyes meet his as soon as he walks into the living room. “They’re back. Did you want to speak to him?” She listens for a few seconds, then holds the phone out to Lincoln. “It’s Aldo.”

“Thanks.” He takes the phone from her, then watches as she walks to LJ’s side, waiting until they both make their way into the kitchen before he starts to speak. “Dad?”

“How are you doing, son?”

Lincoln feels his back teeth meet as his jaw clenches. “How do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you might be planning on doing something rash, like jumping on the next plane to the States.”

First Michael, now his father, he thinks sourly. “If it’s Veronica -”

“We don’t know that for sure yet.”

Lincoln wants to pound his fists against the wooden balustrade in frustration. “How long before we do know?”

“It could take a week, it could take a couple of months.” His father’s tone is both gruff and gentle. “All I know is that it would be best if you wait until we know for sure before you come rushing back.”

Lincoln thinks of telling Jane on her first day in Panama that he’d learned a whole lot about patience while sitting on Death Row. Maybe he should have stayed in Fox River a little longer, because right now he’s feeling anything but patient. He feels worse than useless sitting on this fucking beach right now, but Michael and his father are right - there’s nothing else he can do. “You’ll let me know the second you hear anything,” he tells Aldo, and his father is quick to reassure him.

“I will, I promise.”

The call ended, he takes a moment to pull himself together. His head is spinning, the urge to dive deep into the closest bottle of booze almost overwhelming, but he thinks of LJ’s shattered expression and reminds himself that he’s not the only one hurting here.

One glance over his shoulder tells him that LJ’s in good hands - he and Jane are in the kitchen, pulling sandwich ingredients out of the refrigerator - he walks back out onto the balcony. His brother and Sara are now sitting next to each other, talking quietly. He drops into the seat across the table from them, and looks at the woman he’s just realised is more than qualified to answer his most pressing question. “Tell me about DNA testing.”

Sara looks startled, but recovers quickly. She exchanges a glance with Michael, then gives Lincoln a sad smile. “It’s nothing in which I’ve ever been directly involved, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Thanks.” He lets out a shaky breath, casting a longing look at the empty bottle of beer in front of him. Michael clears his throat, then pushes back his chair.

“I’m going to grab another beer.” His eyes meet Lincoln’s. “Want one?”

“Thanks, man.”

Michael slips into the house, and Sara studies Lincoln with dark, serious eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Everything, he wants to say, but forces himself to stick to the question he wants answered the most. “Cooper said that Vee’s father is willing to give a DNA sample to help identify-“ he hesitates, unable to bring himself to say the word remains.”How long do these things normally take?”

She sighs. “It varies from case to case. The better sample the coroner can obtain from the, uh, body, the easier it is to match to the sample given by the donor.” She gives him an apologetic look. “Sometimes it’s simply not possible to make a positive ID.”

He frowns. “But if her father is the donor-”

“A blood relative is always a good place to start.” She glances up at Michael as he reappears, carrying two beers and a can of diet soda, flashing him a quick smile of thanks as he puts the can in front of her. “But if Veronica had recently donated blood or had undergone a surgical procedure, it would be even better.” She watches Lincoln as he twists the cap off his beer. “Even something like a toothbrush or a hairbrush would be helpful.”

“Her apartment was bombed by the Company,” he mutters, lifting the beer to his lips for a long swig, and Sara’s face pales.

“Right,” she says hastily, looking faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, I’d forgotten about that.”

Sitting beside her, Michael slides his arm across the back of her chair, his hand curling around the back of her neck as though to reassure her. Looking at them both in turn, Lincoln has the sudden feeling that he’s infecting everyone in this house with his unhappiness. “That’s okay, Doc. Thanks for the info.” Abandoning his beer, he rises to his feet, needing to get away from their sympathetic faces. “We might leave you guys in peace.”

Michael hesitates, looking as though he wants to protest, then he nods. “I’ll call you as soon as we hear anything.”

Lincoln looks at his brother. “I know you will.”

With LJ choosing to stay at his uncle’s for the night - Sara reassures Lincoln that it’s fine, saying that both of them need time to process what’s happening - he and Jane walk along the beach in silence. When he unlocks the back door of his place, she sighs. “I know this will be of little comfort to you now, but knowing is always better than not knowing.”

Lincoln follows her into the house, then shuts the door behind him. “I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

“Sorry.” She drops her sandals onto the floor, then smooths a hand over her hair, shooting him a concerned glance as she crosses the room. “I do know something of how you’re feeling, Lincoln-”

His control slips, his temper sparking. “What part of I don’t want to talk about it don’t you understand?”

They stare at each other, and he sees the flicker of hurt in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, he scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her expression is calm now, understanding, and it only serves to make him feel worse. He opens his mouth to tell her again that he’s sorry, but she’s already moving away towards the small kitchen. “I have to make a few calls.” She stops, looking back at him over her shoulder, her gaze searching his face. “Will you be all right?”

He hesitates, at war with himself, wanting to be left alone with his miserable thoughts, wanting to lose himself in the warm sanctuary of her body. Finally, he nods. “I’ll be fine.” He gestures towards the television in the corner of the living room. “Might watch some TV.”

She looks unconvinced but, to his relief, she lets it go. Grabbing her cell phone and laptop and a soda from the fridge, she makes her way to the small dining room. He knows she’s going to spend the next couple of hours trying to connect the dots of Veronica’s death, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to feel about that.

Turning on the television, he drinks beer that does nothing to numb the pain and disconsolately flips through programmes he has no interest in watching. After a couple of hours, his eyes are gritty, his whole body stiff, as though he’s been lying on the couch for a week. Jane is still on the telephone - he can hear the faint murmur of her voice - but he’s more than ready to put this day behind him. He gets slowly to his feet, suspecting he’s very drunk but feeling painfully sober. In the bathroom, he clumsily brushes his teeth, then splashes cold water on his face. It’s only ten o’clock when he strips off his clothes and crawls into bed, but it feels much later.

He has no idea what time it is when Jane finally comes to bed. He wakes up in the darkness to find her stretched out beside him, her breathing steady and deep. Slipping his hand beneath the sheet, he touches the curve of her hip, then trails his fingers down the smooth length of her thigh. Jane murmurs in her sleep, then rolls onto her side, turning her back on him.

Lincoln lets his hand fall away, telling himself it means nothing, but for the first time in days, he suddenly feels very alone.

~*~

The next week is one Lincoln plans to forget as soon as humanly possible. His mood grows more sullen with every passing hour that doesn’t produce a phone call telling him that it was all a mistake and Veronica is alive and well, and he’s not surprised when Jane starts doing her best to stay out of his way. She goes to the market with Sara, asks LJ to show her his favourite fishing spots, spends time talking to Michael about everything from his father’s bad dress sense to the architecture in Panama City. In other words, he thinks darkly, everything she could be doing with him, if only he wasn’t such being a miserable asshole.

They both know what he’s doing, that he’s pushing her away, punishing them both for reasons he can’t bring himself to voice. He’d feel better if she yelled at him, pushed him until he paid her the attention he knows damned well she deserves, but she doesn’t. She seems content to wait him out, calmly going about her daily activities, treating him as warmly as she ever did. She doesn’t mention Veronica to him again, seemingly happy to talk about harmless topics like the sightseeing she’s been doing with LJ and Sara’s new part-time job at the clinic, and that only makes him ever more miserable.

She still sleeps in his bed every night and the sex is still staggeringly good, but she only makes love to him if he initiates it, never once making the first move. It’s a stark contrast to the first few days of her visit, and Lincoln knows it’s not just their sexual relationship that’s changed for the worse. He wants to make it stop but he doesn’t know how. It feels as though he’s standing outside himself, watching as he makes one bad decision after the other, and as loudly as he yells in protest, he can’t make himself heard.

On her tenth day in Punta Chame, he wakes up to find Jane already up and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, her suitcase open at the foot of the bed. His eyes puffy with sleep, he squints at her, then at the watch lying on the table beside him. It’s six o’clock in the morning. “Where are you going?”

She puts several folded items of clothing into the suitcase, then gives him an apologetic smile that doesn’t seem to sit right on her mouth. “Washington.”

He must be still asleep, because her answer doesn’t make any sense. “Why?”

“Your father called. He’s convinced the anonymous tip off came from Kellerman.”

Anger sparks at the sound of Caroline Reynolds’ former right-hand man’s name, but he pushes it away. Right now, he doesn’t give a damn about Paul Kellerman. “So?”

Zipping up her suitcase, she swings it off the bed and crosses the room to stand it next to the door. “So, Kellerman’s a loose end.”

He stares at her. “And you hate loose ends, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He tries to swallow them, but the words are out of his mouth before he can’t stop them. “Is that what I was? Just another loose end?”

“No.” She looks at him, her blue eyes suddenly glowing in the early morning light. “You’re much more than that.” He’s wide awake now, his pulse racing, but before he can speak, she continues, her voice tinged with regret. “That said, I don’t think this is the best place for me to be right now.”

Confusion slides through his thoughts. He’s treated her as though she’s part of the furniture for the best part of a week because he’s a coward and somewhere inside his head is the idiotic thought that if he doesn’t let himself admit how he feels about Jane, that might somehow stop the body in Montana from being Veronica. He should be relieved that Jane’s about to give him some space, but now that she’s poised to walk out the door, he’s fighting the urge to pull her down and tie her to the damned bed to stop her from leaving. “I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the apology,” she answers briskly, her long fingers tugging at the cuffs of her sleeves, her eyes locking with his. “But as I told you days ago, Lincoln, I do understand how you’re feeling.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs his hands over his head. He literally has no idea what to say to her, but he knows he has to say something. “What do you want me to tell the others?” he hears himself ask, and wants to cringe at the neediness in his voice.

“I’ve left a message on both Sara’s and LJ’s voicemail.”

He nods, still struggling to come to grips with this abrupt turn of events. “What time’s your flight?”

“Ten o’clock.”

He buries his face in his hands, trying to make sense of the mess in his head. He hears the sound of her footsteps crossing the room to the bed, then feels the cool touch of her hand on his bare shoulder. “Do you want me to stay?” Her voice is gentle, but it hits him like a blow to the gut.

“Would that make a difference?”

“It would to me.”

He lifts his head to look at her. When his eyes meet hers, it’s suddenly easy to tell the truth. “Right now, I don’t know what the hell I want.”

She gives him a sad smile, apparently unsurprised by his answer. “I’ve booked a taxi - it should be here in a few minutes,” she murmurs, and he briefly considers asking if she would have called to cancel her ride if he’d asked her to stay. But he says nothing, resigned to the point of feeling numb, and she bends to kiss him, her mouth warm and soft against his. It’s over in seconds, and she’s picking up her suitcase, getting ready to leave him. “I’ll be in touch.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He can’t. It’s all too hard, too much. He simply sits alone in his bed, the sheet tangled around his waist, and listens to the sound of her footsteps fade as she walks out of his house.

~*~

Michael is in the carport when Lincoln finally finds the energy to get dressed and walk along the beach to the big house. His brother waves him over, seemingly glad for the excuse to stop working on the battered car he’d had lugged from Gila a few months earlier. “Want to give me a hand?”

Lincoln eyes the Rambler warily. The front end might look like a million bucks these days, but he’s not falling for this again. He’s still picking paint dust out from beneath his fingernails from the last time he helped Michael. ”I’ll pass.”

Michael grins, and screws the lid back on a tin of chrome polish. “I hear Dad and Jane are looking into the Kellerman thing.”

Lincoln shrugs. “I guess she’s still on the payroll,” he returns shortly, not bothering to elaborate. Michael opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Lincoln gives him a look. “What?”

His brother shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Lincoln narrows his eyes. “You want to give me another lecture about Jane?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, trust me,” his brother drawls, wiping his hands on a rag, and Lincoln feels a reluctant smile tug at his mouth.

“She was needed elsewhere, so she went.” Michael says nothing, and Lincoln quickly changes the subject. “LJ around?”

His brother nods. “He’s inside,” he says with a rueful smile. “He didn’t feel like helping with the car either.”

“Smart kid.”

Michael flicks him an amused glance. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” He nods towards the house. “You might want to go rescue him.”

Inside the house, Lincoln is greeted by the sight of LJ vacuuming the rug in the living room. “This is unexpected.”

LJ turns off the vacuum cleaner with obvious relief. “Just helping clean up the mess I helped make,” he mumbles, and Lincoln grins.

“Is that the line your uncle fed you?”

“Actually, it was me,” Sara says as she strolls in from the direction of the kitchen. “I thought I’d try out one of my father’s favourite sayings.” She smiles at both of them, then looks at LJ. “I can’t believe you bought it.”

LJ looks sheepish. “I’ve been hanging out here a lot, though,” he says, darting a glance at his father, “I don’t mind pitching in.”

Lincoln blinks. He can’t remember ever hearing LJ use the term pitching in, but obviously there was a first time for everything. He suddenly feels as he’s stepped back in time and his son is once again growing up without him there to see it. “Did you hear from the dive shop?”

LJ grins as he bends to unplug the vacuum cleaner from the wall. “Yep, Robbie called this morning, said I could start on Saturday.”

Lincoln’s dark mood lightens at the obvious excitement in his son’s face. “That’s great. Maybe you’ll need those driving lessons after all.”

“Too bad Jane’s not here to give them to me,” LJ says with studied casualness, and Lincoln feels the smile freeze on his face.

“LJ, why don’t you go see if your uncle’s ready to take a break,” Sara interjects gently, and LJ is quick to take her up on her suggestion. As soon as he’s gone, she gives Lincoln an apologetic look. “He’s unhappy about Jane leaving.”

Lincoln raises his eyebrows at her. “And I’m not?”

She looks at him steadily. “You tell me.”

He stares at her, torn between irritation and amusement. “You don’t believe in beating around the bush, do you?”

She smiles. “Diplomacy is overrated.” The soft peal of Michael’s cell phone drifts through the room, and she quickly picks it up from the coffee table and checks the caller ID. Her gaze snags Lincoln’s, then she flips open the phone.

“Cooper? It’s Sara.”

Lincoln stands unmoving in the middle of the living room, his gut churning, his throat suddenly feeling hot and tight. The call takes less than two minutes - Cooper Green does most of the talking - then Sara murmurs a thank you and flips the phone shut.

“Lincoln-” Her eyes are swimming with tears, and he knows.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

She nods, and Lincoln feels something inside him crumble into a thousand pieces. He sinks onto the couch, and she’s suddenly beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she tells him, but her voice is coming from a long way away. Then Michael and LJ are there, bringing the smell of polish and paint with them, and it’s too crowded, too many faces looking at him.

“I need some air,” he manages to say as he gets to his feet, then he’s outside, leaning over the railing of the balcony, feeling as though he’s going to be sick, his whole body clenching with grief and rage. He wants to scream at the sky, pummel his fists into the faces of the people who did this to him, to them. He wants to wake up and have this all be a dream.

By the time Michael comes to stand beside him, he’s almost glad of the company. His brother says nothing for a long moment, then he sighs heavily. “This isn’t how it was supposed to end.”

The guilt weighing down his brother’s voice finds an echo in his own thoughts, and Lincoln swallows hard. “This is Veronica we’re talking about, man,” he whispers harshly, fumbling over her name. “She shouldn’t be lying in pieces in some fucking morgue in Washington. She should be here.” The words rise up in his throat, almost choking him. “With us.”

Michael stares at the horizon for a long moment, his gaze narrowed against the glare of the sun. Finally he turns to Lincoln, his determined expression one his brother remembers all too well from their first meeting in the chapel at Fox River. “Then let’s go get her.”

~*~

Sara and LJ drive them to the airport late that night. His son sits beside him in the backseat of Michael’s 4WD, his mouth set in a grim line Lincoln recognises from the bathroom mirror that very morning. When Michael pulls into the passenger drop-off area, Lincoln climbs out of the car and motions to LJ to help him with the suitcases. Dragging his feet, his son joins him at the back of the car, and Lincoln does his best to catch his eye.

“I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on.”

LJ shrugs. “Sure.”

Ignoring his son’s petulant expression, Lincoln pulls him into a tight hug. “We’re not leaving you out, LJ. Your uncle and I need to organise a few things first, okay?”

Sniffing, LJ nods, then he feels his son’s arms tighten around his waist. “Okay.”

They sling the two suitcases out of the back of the car, then slam the hatch door shut. As they make their way to the pavement, Sara slides out of the passenger seat, walking around the front of the car to take the keys from Michael. “Call me when you can?” she asks quietly, and Lincoln sees his brother’s head bob in a nod.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

She smiles. “Definitely. I have LJ, not to mention your state of the art security system,” she tells him, then starts to rummage in her purse, eventually producing a dark blue baseball cap. “This is for you,” she murmurs as she hands over the cap, “in case you need it at the other end.”

A slow smile spreads across his brother’s face. He says something Lincoln doesn’t catch, then Lincoln turns away, because the sight of his brother kissing Sara Tancredi goodbye is not exactly helping him forget the mess he had made of things with the woman who’d travelled thousands of miles to be with him.

The check-in process is quick, painless and - most importantly - anonymous. No-one at the airport gives them a second glance, even when they hand over their passports. He knows it will be very different when they land in the States, but he’s beyond the point of caring about cameras and microphones.

The woman behind the counter hands Lincoln his boarding pass, and his eyes widen. “You booked business class?”

Michael shrugs. “Less people around means less people trying to remember where they’ve seen us before.”

Lincoln briefly wonders if his brother will ever stop seeing life as something to be planned down to the tiniest detail, then dismisses the thought. If Michael wasn’t the way he was, Lincoln wouldn’t be breathing now. “Good call.”

~*~

Two hours into their nine hour flight, Lincoln pulls off his headphones and looks at his brother. “I know you want to say something about Jane, so go ahead and spit it out.”

Michael holds up his hands as though fending off an invisible punch. “I was just wondering why she needed to go to Washington in person when she was already in constant contact with Dad by phone.”

Lincoln flicks the plastic headphones with his thumb, not wanting to meet his brother’s gaze. He’s been asking himself the same question, and the only answer he can find is that he’d given Jane a more than enough reason to leave and she’d found an excuse to go. It’s not something he feels like sharing, though, so he simply shrugs. “She was on vacation down there. After everything that went down with the Company, she needed to get away and blow off some steam.” The flimsy headphones in his hands are in danger of snapping, he realises, and he hastily drapes them over his knee. “She does still work for Dad, you know.”

“A woman doesn’t fly thousands of miles to Punta Chame just to blow off some steam, Linc.”

Lincoln gives him a cool stare. “You’re an expert on women now too, huh?”

Michael flushes. “I just think you should try to focus on what could be, rather than what was.”

“You think I should just forget about Veronica?

Michael shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.” His brother’s jaw clenches, his eyes glittering. “I loved Veronica too.”

Lincoln stares at him. “Not like I did.” His eyes blur hotly, and he dashes them with the back of his hand. “Never like I did.”

His brother slumps back in his seat, breathing out a loud sigh. “No. Not like you did.”

On the surface, the words are soothing, but there’s a hidden sting in them that slices through the air between them. Lincoln leans closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. They may be in business class, but he’s not in the mood for an audience. “You have no idea what I’m feeling, Michael.” He thinks of the tender exchange he’d witnessed at the passenger drop-off. “You got your happy ending.”

Michael’s gaze narrows. “You think it’s been easy for Sara and me.”

“Looks like it to me.”

His brother snorts. “I lied to her every single day for three months, Lincoln.” He frowns, his words obviously an unwelcome reminder. “Because of me and my family, she lost her sobriety, her job and her father.”

Lincoln shrugs again. “She’s obviously forgiven you.”

Michael looks at him as though he’s an idiot, and maybe he is. “We decided that we had something worth saving.” He shakes his head. “It’s not all happy families and margaritas on the beach, Linc.” A darkness flickers in his eyes. “We both have our demons and that’s never going to change.”

Lincoln’s anger falls away, and he’s suddenly ashamed. “My head’s a mess,” he mutters, finding a small measure of comfort in finally breaking his self-imposed silence. “Maybe if they’d found her when we first came down to Panama, or in a year’s time-“ He breaks off, struggling to find the words to explain what he can barely understand himself.

Michael studies him for a moment, then Lincoln sees comprehension dawn in his eyes. “You think this is because of Jane.”

Lincoln feels his face grow hot, not because the assertion is ridiculous, but because it’s all too close to the truth. “Maybe.”

“I felt like that once,” Michael tells him, his tone conversational, and Lincoln frowns.

“When?”

“When Kellerman grabbed Sara.” Michael’s throat works as he swallows. “I pushed back my plans to meet you when I went after her.” He stares unseeingly out the small window beside him. “I drove for hours in the darkness, having no idea if either of you were still alive. I felt like I was being reminded that I couldn’t have both of you.” Michael suddenly turns to look at him, his eyes bleak, and Lincoln’s chest tightens. “That I’d have to choose one or the other.” He sighs, rubbing his temples with his fingers, then gives Lincoln a small smile. “You’re not being punished for trying to live your life, Linc.”

Lincoln digs his fingers into the armrests of his chair, if only to stop himself from ordering as many double scotches as they’ll let him. “So why does it feel as though I am?”

~*~

As Lincoln anticipated, their anonymity comes to an abrupt end as soon as they step onto American soil. Luckily, thanks to Michael’s habit of hoping for the best but expecting the worst, there’s a car waiting for them when they finally make it through Customs.

“I thought that guard was going to try and take you out,” Michael says with a faint grin as soon as they’ve climbed into the backseat of the car sent by Cooper Green’s office.

Remembering the visibly nervous security guard who’d turned white at the sight of them, Lincoln rolls his eyes. “Really? I thought he was going to piss his pants.”

Michael laughs. To his surprise, Lincoln finds it’s infectious. A moment later, his face finally aching from something other than grief, he coughs and wipes his eyes. “We’re going to Cooper’s office first, right?”

Michael nods, the smile on his lips dying. “He said he’d have the coroner’s report by the time we get there.”

Lincoln hesitates. “I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

His brother sighs. “Neither am I.” Their eyes meet. “But we owe it to her.”

Lincoln stares out the tinted window at the passing traffic. “The only good thing I did for Vee was to push her out of my life.”

Michael reaches across to pat Lincoln’s arm lightly. “She didn’t see it that way.” The cuff on his sweater has ridden up; looking down, Lincoln catches a glimpse of the indigo patterns inked onto his brother’s wrist. “And neither did I.”

Lincoln swallows hard, but the lump in his throat is wedged so tight it feels like a fist. “You always were the brains of the family.”

~*~

It’s been four months since they last saw him, but Cooper Green looks reassuringly the same. He shakes their hands warmly, then ushers them into the office Lincoln remembers from their last visit. He didn’t think he’d be back here so soon, but then he never thought he’d be discussing the result of Veronica’s autopsy, either.

Fuck.

Cooper waits until they’re seated and contemplating the coffee that’s been brought in by one of his aides, then he clears his throat and leans forward, his elbows on his desk. “How much detail do you want to know?”

Michael and Lincoln exchange a quick glance, Michael giving Lincoln an almost imperceptible nod. Knowing that his brother has just left the decision up to him, Lincoln turns back to the man behind the desk. “Was it quick?”

Cooper folds his hands over the papers on the desk in front of him, as though he’s read them so many times he knows them by heart. “In his recent testimony, Terrance Steadman stated that Ms Donovan was shot once in the head and twice in the chest at close range." He glances at them both in turn. "According to Steadman, she died instantly.”

Lincoln’s stomach pitches and rolls. “He watched her die.”

“Yes,” the older man replies, “and he has the rest of his life to sit in his cell and think about how he stood there and did nothing.”

Lincoln feels his hands curling into fists. He wants so much to be told Vee hadn’t suffered, but her last terrified words are buried deep in his brain and he knows that she did, no matter how quickly they pulled the trigger.

Cooper casts an apologetic glance at both of them, then continues. “The body was dismembered and buried in three separate locations, each one-“

“Stop.” The word is out of Lincoln’s mouth before he realises he’s saying it, bile stinging the back of his throat. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

He feels Michael’s hand on his shoulder, then the sound of his brother’s voice as he talks to Cooper. “We can’t change how or why she died.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes gently. “We’re here because we want to honour the memory of her life.”

Taking a deep breath, Lincoln lifts his head and gives his brother a grateful look. Across the polished desk, Cooper Green is nodding. “I understand your reasons for being here, which is why I’ve done whatever I could to make this happen for you.” He reaches for the phone on his desk, and a few seconds later is speaking to one of his aides. “Could you show Mr Donovan in, please?”

Lincoln gets to his feet, his mouth going dry. “Veronica’s father is here?”

Michael, looking as shocked as Lincoln feels, turns to Cooper Green. “This may be a little awkward,” he says with his usual understatement, but the older man looks unconcerned. The door to the office opens, and one of Cooper’s aides ushers in the man Lincoln had, after the scene he’d made at Veronica’s graduation ceremony, vowed to punch senseless the next time he saw him.

Thomas Donovan looks much older than he had at Veronica’s graduation. Thicker around the waist, his dark hair threaded with silver, his faded green gaze slides through the room nervously. “Michael.” He hesitates, then puts out his hand. “Lincoln.”

Lincoln stares at the hand, then at the hand’s owner. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Linc-" Michael says quietly as he comes to stand beside him, but Lincoln brushes the warning aside.

“The last time we saw this guy he was mouthing off at Veronica, telling her that her little piece of paper meant nothing and that she was never going to amount to anything and for her not to expect his door to be open when she came crawling back.”

The words pour out of him, a furious tirade that roars up from deep inside him. Michael has hold of his arm now, as though he senses Lincoln’s longing to smash his fist into Thomas Donovan’s face. As happens so often when he’s with Michael, Lincoln feels as though he’s fallen sideways through time to re-enact a painfully familiar tableau. Suddenly he’s fourteen years old with Michael at his side, Veronica crying quietly behind them, the red imprint of her father’s hand emblazoned on her pale face. The only person missing here is Veronica, he thinks hazily, and grief streaks through him.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Donovan mutters as he takes a step backwards, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ill-fitting jeans. “I don’t remember much about that afternoon, to be honest with you.”

The older man’s passive response does nothing to ease Lincoln’s anger. “I’m not surprised.” He feels his lips twist into a sneer. “You were beyond wasted.”

“Lincoln.” Michael’s grip on his arm tightens. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“I agree.” Cooper Green ushers Veronica’s father into the empty chair on the other side of Michael, then looks at Lincoln. “Perhaps we could start again?”

Lincoln drops into his chair, his hands still twitching with the urge to wrap themselves around Donovan’s throat. Michael takes the seat beside him, and Cooper returns to his desk. “I’ve already spoken to Mr Donovan about your request regarding his daughter’s ashes,” he says quietly. “Given that Ms Donovan hadn’t made a will prior to her death, any decisions regarding funeral arrangements fall to her next of kin.” He glances at Veronica’s father, then gives Michael a pointed look. “Now that you’re here together, perhaps you’d like to ask the question yourself?”

Michael darts a quick glance at Lincoln, then at the silent man on the other side of him. Clearing his throat, he addresses Veronica’s father directly for the first time. “We’re very sorry for your loss, sir, and we’ll understand if you don’t want us to have anything more to do with your daughter.” He clears his throat a second time, his hands twisting together in his lap. “But Veronica was like family to us for a long time.” He looks at Lincoln in mute appeal, but Lincoln shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak without shoving his foot straight into his mouth. Michael turns back to Thomas Donovan, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “We would take very good care of her, I promise you.”

Donovan finally lifts his head, and Lincoln is shocked to see that his eyes are wet with tears. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been sober since the day the police told me she was missing.” He looks at Michael, carefully avoiding Lincoln’s gaze. “I kept hoping she was with you, but of course she wasn’t.” His voice cracks painfully. “They killed my little girl and put her in the ground.”

Lincoln stares at the older man, torn between cynicism and sympathy. Thomas Donovan was a shitty father and a poor excuse for a human being, but the grief in his eyes is all too real.

“I guess I should blame you because you’re here and she’s not,” Veronica’s father mumbles, staring straight ahead at the bookcase behind Cooper Green’s desk, his words making Lincoln’s gut tighten.

“Maybe you should.” Lincoln lets out a harsh sigh, finding a certain relief in the truth. “I do.”

Thomas Donovan shrugs, a defeated gesture. “The girl had a stubborn streak a mile wide. I bet you know that as well as I do. She never did know when to leave well enough alone.” His red-rimmed eyes meet Lincoln’s at last. “I never did right by her, not once. If she were still here, she’d want to be with you.” He shrugs again, his hand trembling as he smooths them over his knees. “That’s what she always wanted.”

Lincoln feels deflated, as though someone’s let all the air out of his lungs. There are a dozen things he wants to say to this man - although whether he wants to point out a few more home truths or to beg for forgiveness, he’s not sure - but in the end, he sticks to two simple words. “Thank you.”

~*~

“So weird.” Lincoln contemplates the half-eaten burger on the plate in front of him, then looks up at his brother. “I’ve spent the couple of decades hating that guy’s guts.”

“He was pretty easy to hate,” Michael murmurs, dipping a dozen fries in a puddle of ketchup. “Remember that night at Vee’s place?”

Lincoln grimaces, thinking again of the night Vee had taken it upon herself to convince her father that Michael and Lincoln needed somewhere to live and their apartment was the perfect place. “How could I forget? It was the first time I got us thrown out of somewhere.”

They’re in their hotel room, stuffing themselves with burgers and fries and trying to deal with the unavoidable reality that is jet lag. Michael finishes eating first, sliding his empty plate onto the room service tray with a faint groan. “Remind me again why we ordered so much?”

Lincoln takes another bite of his burger. “Because we’ve been eating grilled fish and bananas for three months, man.”

Grinning, Michael thumps his fist against the middle of his chest, then gets to his feet. “I need to call Sara, let her know what’s happening.”

“I’ll talk to LJ when you’re done.”

The knock on the door takes them both by surprise. Michael tenses, twisting around to look at his brother, then shakes his head as if annoyed at himself. He walks to the door and, after checking the security peephole, quickly opens the door. “Hey, how are you?”

“Hello, Michael.”

Lincoln’s pulse stutters at the sound of Jane’s voice. Hastily wiping his mouth with a napkin, he pushes his plate aside, getting to his feet as Michael ushers Jane into the room. Apparently having abandoned her vacation wardrobe, she’s once again dressed in a dark pantsuit, her pale hair pulled back into a sleek knot. Her eyes meet his, and he feels the familiar kick of sexual attraction hit his bloodstream.

“What are you doing here?” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, and he doesn’t need to look at his brother to know that he’s just rolled his eyes.

Jane’s smile doesn’t falter, but he sees the uncertainty in her eyes and wants to kick himself. “I wanted to see you,” she says simply, and the room is suddenly much too crowded.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Michael picks up one of the electronic room keys. “I might walk off that burger while I talk to Sara.” He smiles at Jane. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Michael pulls the door shut behind him, then Lincoln is alone with a woman he likes very much and wants even more, and he has no idea how to start bridging the gap he can feel widening between them. “How did you know we were here?”

“I spoke to Cooper this afternoon.” She hesitates, her eyes searching his face. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t.” He move towards her and, to his relief, she meets him halfway, sliding her arms around his waist. She fits into his arms perfectly, her cheek smooth against his, the soft warmth of her body pressed against his from shoulder to knee. Her hands start rubbing his back in a gesture he’s sure is meant to be comforting but instead has him wondering how long they have before Michael returns.

As if sensing his train of thought - or maybe she can feel that his blood has left his brain for more interesting places - she gently disengages herself from his embrace. When she speaks, he thinks he understands why she wanted to put some distance between them. “I’m so sorry,” she says quietly, and he knows she’s talking about Veronica. “I know how tough today would have been for you.”

Lincoln lets his hands falls from her hips. It doesn’t feel right to be touching her while they’re talking about Vee. “Her father agreed to let us take her ashes back with us.”

Her brow furrows, as though she’s flicking through her mental file notes. “Her mother’s dead, isn’t she?”

He nods. “Couple of years ago. Cancer.”

Her hand gently trailing down his arm, Jane steps away from him, dropping her purse onto the small writing desk against the wall. She looks around the nondescript room, then smiles. “Cosy.”

He returns her smile. “It’s only for a night or two. Just until we get the red tape sorted out.” He can’t bring himself to say the word cremation, but he’s sure he doesn’t have to, not to Jane. He’s sure she’s already well aware of what needs to be done before they can leave the country. “Is Dad still in town?”

She nods. “He’s at Cooper’s office this afternoon.” She idly flips through the room service menu, and he has the sudden, strangest feeling that she’s nervous. “We haven’t managed to find anything concrete on Kellerman yet,” she murmurs, “but that isn’t much of a surprise.”

“I guess Dad’s not giving up the trail just yet?”

A small smile touches her lips. “Of course not.” She hesitates, then gives him a long, considering look. ”He blames himself for Veronica’s death, you know.”

He looks at her, puzzled. “Who?”

“Your father.”

“What do you mean?”

Putting down the plastic menu folder, she leans one hip against the desk. “If he’d contacted you sooner, perhaps Veronica wouldn’t have made the mistake of approaching Steadman the way she did.”

“Wait.” He frowns, catching what feels like unspoken criticism in her words. “Are you saying it was Veronica’s fault that she was murdered?”

Jane’s steady gaze doesn’t waver. “Her actions were incredibly courageous, but yes, I believe it was foolish of her to go into that situation alone.”

“I don’t believe this.” He stares at her. “Veronica died trying to save my life.”

“I know that, Lincoln.” Something dark flickers briefly in her eyes, but her voice is gentle. “But going into that house alone was pure suicide.”

“You’re blaming her for having the guts to make a stand?”

“I’m trying to make you understand that her death was not your fault.” Her voice is sharper now, her eyes flashing. “I want you to realise that Veronica made her own choice that night.”

He takes a step towards her, then stops, because it’s happening again, his head is filled with too many sharp edges and tangled lines and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. “You don’t know the first thing about her, so don’t talk to me as though you do.”

“I’m trying to help you, Lincoln.” She lifts her hands as if in defeat. “Don’t do what I did. Don’t make the mistake of canonising her.” Her blue eyes are glassy. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying not to cry. “Sleeping with a ghost is one thing, but living with the memory of a saint is another.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, I do.” Her face hardens. “I lost my family to the Company, Lincoln, or have you conveniently forgotten that in your mission to martyr yourself?” He stares at her, mute with anger and sorrow and more than a little shame, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I’d like you to be completely honest with me.” She lifts her chin, her eyes burning into his. “Do you want to be with me?”

They stare at each other for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he finally mutters. “It’s complicated.”

She nods slowly, her expression becoming distant, as though she’s retreating into herself. “Well, I’ll simplify things for you.” She picks up her purse, then lifts her head to look him in the eye. “Take care of yourself, Lincoln.” Before he can say anything, she’s walking out of the room, just like she did in Panama, shutting the door behind her with a faint click that seems to echo through his bones. She’s gone and he’s alone, and this time he’s got no one to blame but himself.

~*~

The return flight to Panama City is a sombre one. Michael dozes most of the way. At least, he looks as though he’s sleeping. Maybe he’s just tired of trying to talk to someone who’s on the verge of a quiet meltdown. Either way, Lincoln’s just relieved he doesn’t have to make conversation.

As the hours wear on, he listens to music and watches bad movies, anything to distract him from the thought of the tiny urn securely packed in their luggage and the fact that he’s just let a truly amazing woman slip through his fingers. It doesn’t work. He’s a free man who doesn’t have to work another day in his life, and yet he feels as suffocated and hollow as he did in his tiny cell in Fox River.

Once they’re back on Panamanian soil, though, he suddenly feels as though it’s easier to breathe. They catch a taxi from the airport - it’s one of Sara’s rostered days at the clinic - and when they’re ten minutes from home, Lincoln turns to his brother with a sigh. “In case you haven’t already figured it out, I royally screwed up things with Jane.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“Trust me, I screwed up.” Lincoln turns to stare gloomily out the window at the passing landscape. “LJ is going to be pissed.”

“I think he’ll get over it.” Michael leans forward, trying to catch his eye. “What about you?”

Lincoln shrugs. “Shit happens.” His brother gives him a look that makes it quite plain he doesn’t buy the casual answer, but thankfully he lets the subject drop.

They reach Michael’s place just as Sara is arriving home from work. She walks halfway down the driveway to meet them, greeting them both with a wide grin. “I’m glad you’re home.”

His brother pulls her into a tight hug, smiling into her windswept hair. “I brought back a stash of Hersheys for you.”

Lincoln hears Sara chuckle. “Then I’m definitely glad you’re home.”

Deciding he’s not exactly in the mood for the whole fifth wheel thing, Lincoln keeps walking towards the house. “I’ll grab LJ and get out of your hair.”

“LJ’s at the dive shop.” Drawing away from Michael, Sara reaches out and puts her hand on Lincoln’s arm. “Maybe you should head straight home.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

She raises her eyebrows. “No, but I think Jane might like to see you.”

Lincoln blinks. “She’s here?”

“She’s at your place.” She doesn’t say the words don’t screw it up this time, but she doesn’t have to. He hears them loud and clear.

Leaving his suitcase in Michael’s care, he heads for the beach, shaving five minutes off the normal fifteen minute walk to his place. When he arrives, Jane is on the small wooden deck at the back of his house, stretched out in a lounge chair. She’s swapped her work clothes for a white skirt that barely reaches her knees and a pale blue sleeveless shirt, and once again he’s amazed at the transformation. Her feet are bare, and there’s a book lying open in her lap, its pages splayed wide. Her eyes are closed behind her dark glasses, but he knows she’s not sleeping.

“You came back.”

Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she regards him calmly. “I’m as surprised as you are, believe me.”

He walks towards her slowly, not taking his eyes off her as he sinks into the other chair. “I thought that, well, after what happened-”

“I guess you were right about me not liking loose ends.” Closing the book lying in her lap, she puts it on the floor beside her chair. “I walked around Washington for two hours after I left your hotel.” She gives him a rueful smile. “I wasn’t exactly in a fit state to go back to Cooper’s office.” She looks at him, her eyes very blue in the afternoon light. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did, and I’m sorry.”

He swallows hard. “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have, but maybe I needed to hear it.”

A faint hint of colour creeps across her face. “I meant no disrespect. You need to believe that.”

“I do,” he says, and to his relief, he means it.

“The Company murdered my husband and my child,” she says softly, her gaze skimming over his face until her eyes lock with his. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t understand how you were feeling?” He shrugs, not daring to speak unless he says exactly the wrong thing, and she gives him a sad smile. “We all have our ghosts, Lincoln.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve finally figured that out.” He takes a deep breath, knowing the time for tiptoeing around the subject is long past. “Do you think this -" he gestures between them with his hand, “is worth a shot?”

She smiles, mischief suddenly glinting in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have just wasted thousands of frequent flyer points if I thought otherwise.”

He starts to laugh, the hollow space deep in his chest filling up with something that feels almost like hope. “Well, I’ll have to make sure you get your money’s worth.”

Still smiling, she swings her legs off the lounge chair, and he catches a tantalising glimpse of tanned thigh. “I can stay for a week, then I have a few commitments back in the States that I need to finalise.” She catches sight of his frown, and smiles. “Work commitments.”

“Right.” He leans across the space between them to take her hand in his. “To be honest, long distance isn’t really my thing.”

“We’ll work something out. For the next week, though, I’m all yours.” She shoots him a subtle yet heated glance that he feels everywhere.

He looks at her, relief and desire pounding at him in equal measure, then they’re both on their feet and he’s pulling her into his arms. Her mouth is soft and warm, her hands as urgent as his as she slides them up his arms and across his back, as though trying to remember the feel of him. The back of his throat suddenly burns with the threat of tears, but he no longer feels as though he’s betraying a memory. What's happening between them is between them and no one else.

“It was a long flight,” he mutters unsteadily, letting his hands wander over the enticing curve of her ass. “I might take a shower.” He dips his hand a little lower, and watches as her eyes darken, her full lips parting on a silent sigh. “Wanna bring me a beer?”

She smiles, a breathless hitch in her voice. “I think that could be arranged.”

~*~

The sun is warm on the morning he lays Veronica’s ghost to rest. They choose a sheltered spot a few miles down the beach, a curved stretch of white sand overlooked by pampas covered dunes. LJ stands beside him, his hair still damp from his foray into the bay. The native flowers he’d taken out on his surfboard are now floating lazily on the surface of the water, scarlet petals bright against the blue.

Lincoln looks at his brother, who is turning a folded piece of white paper over and over in his hands. It was Michael who’d gone searching for the right words to express the unfathomable, and he’d found them in the voice of one of Veronica’s favourite writers.

“Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses -- past the headlands --
Into deep Eternity --”

By the time he’s finished speaking, Michael’s face is wet with tears. He folds the piece of paper with exaggerated care, then gropes blindly for Sara’s hand. With his son on one side of him and Jane on the other, Lincoln carefully unscrews the small urn holding Veronica’s ashes, then closes his eyes.

Don’t give up on me, she’d asked him once, her touch warming him even in the depths of a cold, dark cell. Thank you for not giving up on me, he tells her silently, then he opens his eyes and lifts his hand, holding his breath as he flicks his wrist, the little urn held fast between his fingers.

The light gray ash dances through the air, swirling on the updraft, spun out to sea like a tiny, fierce cloud.

For a moment, no one says a word, then Lincoln clears his throat. “She should have been here with us.” He screws the lid back onto the urn with shaking fingers, his eyes blurring. “Now she is.”

“Amen,” LJ says beside him, taking him by surprise. Hooking his arm around his son’s neck, he pulls him close for a brief moment. LJ’s shoulder is almost level with his, and he’s once again he’s reminded of the unavoidable fact that life has to move forward, no matter how much you might want to hold onto the past.

Jane puts her hand on his shoulder, her thumb gently rubbing the knot of tension at the base of his neck. “You okay?”

He nods, not bothering to wipe his eyes. “Yeah.”

That night, he dreams of Veronica. She’s smiling, her delicate hands fluttering in the air as she talks, her mouth moving with words he can no longer hear. She touches his face gently, just once, then he awakens in the darkness with a start. He’s not a superstitious man, but he has the oddest sense of being absolved.

He rolls over onto his side, curling his arm around the woman lying beside him. The warmth of her body seeps into his skin, the sound of her breathing soft and rhythmic. If he dreams again that night, he doesn’t remember.

~*~