Against Impossible Odds part 2
Title: Against Impossible Odds
author: artemismuse
Pairing: Norribeth
Era: WWII, post-AWE by several hundred years
Rating: R
Status: Part 2/?
Warnings: spoilers for all movies
Summary: A naval nurse named Lizzie encounters bizarre officers and dashing bomber pilots in the Caribbean during WWII, and stumbles upon a past life that could change her future.
Jameson opened his eyes in a strange place with an angel hovering over him. The last he knew, his plane, Scourge of the Caribbean- a lovely B-25 Mitchell Bomber that had never failed him- had been shot down over the Caribbean sea and he was spiraling out of control, radioing for help. The last thoughts in his head were that at least he'd taken the bastards out with him when he went, and that he hoped that the crew had made it out alright. Yet now here he was, and the angel was hovering over him, asking if he wanted or needed anything. Yes, he did. He wanted a million things and had a hundred questions: did the crew make it out all right, where was he, was he going to live? But most importantly of all, he needed to know her name. Angels being merciful and gracious, she granted his request and told him her name. Elizabeth. It hit him like a brilliant flash of light combined with a punch to the gut. I found her, he thought, and then the blackness rose up behind his eyes and claimed him again.
Lizzie continued making inquiries about her new patient, Jameson Weatherby, to all the hospital staff who'd been around for a while. He was a Lieutenant Commander and an absolute hero, they told her. He could have been on the radio absolutely everywhere, his name in letters six miles high for all his courageous deeds. He flew into territory no one else would touch on missions deemed near-impossible with a loyal crew who'd follow him into hell, and had done so, or so it was rumoured, on several occasions.
"Then why had I never heard of him before?" She always asked, and she always got the same answer.
"Jameson's modest. He's not out for glory or praise. He's an unsung hero because he wants it that way. He swears he's just doing his duty, and that any number of his colleagues would do the same."
Word got around quickly that Jameson was in hospital, and that Lizzie had played a large part in saving him. Soon enough, every member of Jameson's crew wanted to drop by his room with a message to give him when he woke up, and they always said thank you to Lizzie before they left.
"He's an inspiration, I don't know what we'd do without him. He means so much to everyone at this base. Thank you for taking care of him." Lizzie eventually had to use her authority to move him to a private room and close it off from visitors so he could rest and heal in peace. And then Jack dropped by to say hello.
"Sorry, no visitors," she said, crossing her arms. "And how do you know Jameson Weatherby?" Jack just smiled and winked at her, leaning in close. He surely wasn't going to kiss her again, not here in front of the whole hospital! He didn't. She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He smirked, noticing her dilemma.
"Lizzie, darling, you need a man in your life," he said, the tip of his tongue flicking out and touching her ear as he whispered to her. "Who, regrettably, isn't me." She started to protest indignantly but he cut her off. "Do me a favor. When Jamie wakes up-"
"-give him a message for you, sure, I've got it."
"No. No message. The compass I gave you."
"The one that doesn't work? What about it?"
"When Jamie wakes up, show it to him. I suspect after that, he'll want to get in touch with me, but in case he doesn't say anything, tell him I'll be dropping by."
"Did I not just say no visitors? Or are you immune to rules?"
"Darling, please. I'm-" His mouth open, then closed again, rather like a fish. "Sergeant Jack Spirrell," he muttered half-heartedly. "Now be a dear to lovely Jamie. Go back in there and hold his hand and do that nurturing thing you women are so good at. I'll stop by later." Lizzie watched him go, shaking her head in disbelief as he swigged from a canteen at his hip. Don't tell me they let him have rum on the premises.
"Jack? Tell me that's not-"
"It's not, Lizzie. Here. Sniff it yourself." He held it under her nose. "See? Clear. No smell."
"Vodka could also be clear," she said, frowning at him, and took an experimental swig. Jack's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his mouth hung open. He made squeaking noises. Lizzie ignored him; he'd clearly never met a nurse with this much backbone before. She swished it around in her mouth and swallowed. It really was just water. She recapped it and handed it back to him.
"Alright, you can keep it. Sorry I doubted you."
"No harm done," he said weakly, and walked quickly away.
Lizzie was sitting by Jameson's bed, keeping one eye on his progress, when he woke up. His eyes focused on her and he smiled again. He had the most beautiful smile, Lizzie thought; it just shone out of his eyes.
"You're awake," she said, pleased that he appeared to have made it through the worst. Then he spoke.
"Do you believe in reincarnation, Lizzie?" Jameson asked her. Lizzie frowned. That head wound might have done more damage than she'd thought. She'd have to notify someone later.
"What a funny question to ask a girl. Mostly, soldiers just propose marriage to me when they wake up." She laughed it off, but she was oddly shaken. "Why do you ask?"
"I know it sounds strange," he replied slowly, choosing his words with care, "but I was this close to dying- well, you know, you've heard how it was- and I swear, I saw my life flashing before my eyes, but it wasn't this one." He waited for her to interject that he must be crazy, but Lizzie was open-minded and willing to humor him, so she motioned for him to continue.
"It must have been some past life that I saw. That's the only conclusion I can come to. I'd say it was one of those near-death experiences where the mind hallucinates, but it was too vivid, too detailed." He coughed twice, and Lizzie held a glass of water to his lips. "Thank you. Anyway, in the life I saw, I was a Commodore in the British Navy." He paused. "No, that's not right, I was a pirate. No, I was an Admiral." Lizzie was worried he was getting too excited after having just walked through the valley of the shadow of death, as the expression went. She moved to him and put a hand on his forehead, hoping he wasn't feverish. He wasn't, but he felt tense. She stroked his hair and murmured soothing things to him to try to get him to calm down.
"Please, Jameson, don't overexert yourself. Are you dizzy? How does your head feel?"
"No, no, hang on, I've got it now… I was all those things. In rapid succession." He relaxed, having made his point, and his breathing slowed. "And there was this girl," he said softly, drowsing. "This woman. She had your name. And now I meet you. Isn't that strange?" His head fell back onto the pillow. Lizzie smiled. What a strange yet enchanting young man. She found herself incredibly curious about him. She'd have to ask him when he woke up- Jack's compass, she thought. I was supposed to show him Jack's compass. Ah, well, perhaps tomorrow.
Lizzie dreamt that night, and in her dream, the handsome young pilot called himself James and proposed marriage to her. She was wearing an elaborate hairstyle and gown with a corset, and she couldn't breathe or she would have said yes. There was a pirate named Jack who caught her, and a medallion, and Jack Spirrell's compass made an appearance. She watched as James transformed from a naval officer into a scruffy, dirty, cynical pirate. She had major lust for this dream-James. They kissed for a long time, and he was about to suggest that they take things somewhere more private when someone tapped her on her shoulder, a young man who said he was her true love. Lizzie was annoyed. This was her dream, after all, and she should be able to make out with the hot dirty pirate if she wanted to, and she told him so. The interrupter looked like a blacksmith but insisted he was a pirate and that she loved him. She wanted to ignore him and get back to the canoodling, but suddenly the blacksmith changed into an older man, covered with barnacles, and he stabbed James through the heart. Then he turned back into the younger man- Will, he said his name was- and told her it was for her own good. He told her she was already married to him and they were very much in love, so she must be mistaken. The James in her dream died for her, and she was covered in blood and sobbing. Then the swaggering pirate named Jack crowned her King and offered her rum while the young blacksmith sailed away, and they left her on an island with her crown to wait for him and grow old. In her dream, she forgot why she was waiting and who she was waiting for. She was lonely and had James's blood on her hands, and then she was suddenly a mother, and all her children seemed to have James's face.
The next day when she visited him on her rounds in hospital, he was already awake and hungry. He seemed to have forgotten all about their strange conversation of yesterday. He wanted to know about his men, of course, and Lizzie was glad to be able to tell him that the "two idiots, Gillette and Groves" (as he referred to them), had made it out safely and only suffered getting wet when their parachutes landed them in the water. Two more crew members had sustained shrapnel wounds when they jumped, and they'd hit the water fairly hard. His last crew member, sadly, hadn't made it- his chute hadn't opened- and the plane was a wreck.
"She was a beautiful plane, Lizzie. The Scourge of the Caribbean. You should have heard her roar. Gizmo'll have my head for this- that mechanic was even more attached to her than I was." Jameson was quiet in his grief, but he was strong and used to loss. She'd wanted to forestall the questions, but she couldn't lie to him. It wouldn't be fair.
"I'll give you some space, shall I?" She asked too brightly. He shook his head.
"No, stay here, please. Talk to me." He wanted to know more about her, his rescuer, and she asked him easy questions about himself in return: what did he do when he wasn't flying planes, what was his favorite color, his favorite food? What was her favorite flower, what kind of books did she like to read, what sorts of music did she listen to? They traded questions back and forth, and Lizzie was pleased to learn that his favorite color was blue, he had a strange craving for citrus, and he liked Mozart and jazz music equally. He was pleased to learn she read adventure novels, not those mushy romances they were always trying to sell to girls like her, and that she loved orchids but rarely ever got to see them, because they were rare and exotic. Lizzie was wary of tiring him out, but Jameson insisted he was feeling fine and he was just grateful to be alive. He seemed sad whenever she had to leave him alone to go check on her other patients, who she had to remind him about frequently.
"You're not my only charge, you know."
"That's a shame. Could I be if I paid you?" She laughed and shook her head. "I'd make it worth your while."
"I'm sure you'd try," she said with a wry grin.
"Come here and I'll show you just how persuasive I can be," he joked, and she rolled her eyes at him, but a part of her was sorely tempted and she gave him a speculative glance before she left the room. She wondered how his skin would taste and what sort of sounds he would make when she kissed him. She imagined he would be a passionate lover, using his long expressive fingers to play her body like a musical instrument and find out what made her moan. The James in the bed and the one from her dream were getting all mixed up inside her head. He's a patient, she scolded herself. An incredibly attractive and charming patient, but a patient nonetheless, and Lizzie did not get involved with her charges. She wasn't that stupid. Still, he was lovely. Jack was right. She really did need a man in her life.
"What are your dreams, Lizzie?" He asked her on her afternoon visit to his room.
"My dreams? You mean things I hope for in my life, or-"
"What do you dream about?"
"Oh, just silly things. Nonsensical things."
"Give me an example," he persisted. "Do you know you chew on your lower lip when you're thinking?" His eyes twinkled with mirth and she swatted at him playfully.
"Shush, you, I'm trying to come up with a good answer." She paused. "I had the strangest dream last night about a pirate who told me his name was Jack Sparrow." Just then, an announcement came over the loudspeaker- paging Nurse Byrd to operating room one, Nurse Byrd to operating room one. "I have to go," she said. "I'll tell you later."
It was late in the evening when Lizzie got back from assisting at the operating table, and it took her a while longer to change from her blood-spattered clothes into a fresh uniform and wash her face. When she passed by Jameson's room, she thought for sure he'd be asleep, but he was sitting up as best he could, waiting for her. Lizzie sighed and went in.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"You promised you'd come back and tell me about your dream," he said, and he had a stubborn look on his face. Lizzie could tell he'd force himself to stay awake until she broke down and told him, so she sat at the foot of his bed and began again.
"There was a pirate," Jameson prompted.
"Yes. There was a pirate. And someone proposed marriage to me, but before I could say yes he got stabbed through the heart. There was this medallion too, and the pirate told me I was a king. People kept telling me what to do and who I was supposed to love- this blacksmith named Will- but I was irritated because all I wanted to do was get back to the guy who died." She laughed, but even to her ears it sounded brittle and sad. "That was my dream. I don't suppose that means anything to you, but it seemed significant at the time." Jameson grabbed her wrist with a feverish look in his eyes.
"What else do you remember?" She looked alarmed and he amended, changing his tone to a soothing one, "I mean, what else did you dream about?" He stroked her wrist with his thumb. "Tell me, Lizzie. You know I'll find it amusing."
"The man who proposed to me was an officer in the British Navy, and he was the noblest man I'd ever met. It was one of those strangely detailed dreams. Normally I never remember my dreams, but this one just won't go away. The pirate had these tattoos on his arms of birds and ships, and he looked like Sergeant Jack Spirrell did when he brought me to that costume party- oh, and speaking of Jack, he wanted me to show you this." She gave him the compass. He opened it and turned it in his hands, glancing from it to her and back again, the light of comprehension dawning in his eyes.
"Oh, yes. I remember this. It gave me hell a long time ago. Would you bring him to me?"
"Sergeant Spirrell?"
"Yes," Jameson said firmly. "I need to see him. I think he has some things he needs to tell me."
author: artemismuse
Pairing: Norribeth
Era: WWII, post-AWE by several hundred years
Rating: R
Status: Part 2/?
Warnings: spoilers for all movies
Summary: A naval nurse named Lizzie encounters bizarre officers and dashing bomber pilots in the Caribbean during WWII, and stumbles upon a past life that could change her future.
Jameson opened his eyes in a strange place with an angel hovering over him. The last he knew, his plane, Scourge of the Caribbean- a lovely B-25 Mitchell Bomber that had never failed him- had been shot down over the Caribbean sea and he was spiraling out of control, radioing for help. The last thoughts in his head were that at least he'd taken the bastards out with him when he went, and that he hoped that the crew had made it out alright. Yet now here he was, and the angel was hovering over him, asking if he wanted or needed anything. Yes, he did. He wanted a million things and had a hundred questions: did the crew make it out all right, where was he, was he going to live? But most importantly of all, he needed to know her name. Angels being merciful and gracious, she granted his request and told him her name. Elizabeth. It hit him like a brilliant flash of light combined with a punch to the gut. I found her, he thought, and then the blackness rose up behind his eyes and claimed him again.
Lizzie continued making inquiries about her new patient, Jameson Weatherby, to all the hospital staff who'd been around for a while. He was a Lieutenant Commander and an absolute hero, they told her. He could have been on the radio absolutely everywhere, his name in letters six miles high for all his courageous deeds. He flew into territory no one else would touch on missions deemed near-impossible with a loyal crew who'd follow him into hell, and had done so, or so it was rumoured, on several occasions.
"Then why had I never heard of him before?" She always asked, and she always got the same answer.
"Jameson's modest. He's not out for glory or praise. He's an unsung hero because he wants it that way. He swears he's just doing his duty, and that any number of his colleagues would do the same."
Word got around quickly that Jameson was in hospital, and that Lizzie had played a large part in saving him. Soon enough, every member of Jameson's crew wanted to drop by his room with a message to give him when he woke up, and they always said thank you to Lizzie before they left.
"He's an inspiration, I don't know what we'd do without him. He means so much to everyone at this base. Thank you for taking care of him." Lizzie eventually had to use her authority to move him to a private room and close it off from visitors so he could rest and heal in peace. And then Jack dropped by to say hello.
"Sorry, no visitors," she said, crossing her arms. "And how do you know Jameson Weatherby?" Jack just smiled and winked at her, leaning in close. He surely wasn't going to kiss her again, not here in front of the whole hospital! He didn't. She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He smirked, noticing her dilemma.
"Lizzie, darling, you need a man in your life," he said, the tip of his tongue flicking out and touching her ear as he whispered to her. "Who, regrettably, isn't me." She started to protest indignantly but he cut her off. "Do me a favor. When Jamie wakes up-"
"-give him a message for you, sure, I've got it."
"No. No message. The compass I gave you."
"The one that doesn't work? What about it?"
"When Jamie wakes up, show it to him. I suspect after that, he'll want to get in touch with me, but in case he doesn't say anything, tell him I'll be dropping by."
"Did I not just say no visitors? Or are you immune to rules?"
"Darling, please. I'm-" His mouth open, then closed again, rather like a fish. "Sergeant Jack Spirrell," he muttered half-heartedly. "Now be a dear to lovely Jamie. Go back in there and hold his hand and do that nurturing thing you women are so good at. I'll stop by later." Lizzie watched him go, shaking her head in disbelief as he swigged from a canteen at his hip. Don't tell me they let him have rum on the premises.
"Jack? Tell me that's not-"
"It's not, Lizzie. Here. Sniff it yourself." He held it under her nose. "See? Clear. No smell."
"Vodka could also be clear," she said, frowning at him, and took an experimental swig. Jack's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his mouth hung open. He made squeaking noises. Lizzie ignored him; he'd clearly never met a nurse with this much backbone before. She swished it around in her mouth and swallowed. It really was just water. She recapped it and handed it back to him.
"Alright, you can keep it. Sorry I doubted you."
"No harm done," he said weakly, and walked quickly away.
Lizzie was sitting by Jameson's bed, keeping one eye on his progress, when he woke up. His eyes focused on her and he smiled again. He had the most beautiful smile, Lizzie thought; it just shone out of his eyes.
"You're awake," she said, pleased that he appeared to have made it through the worst. Then he spoke.
"Do you believe in reincarnation, Lizzie?" Jameson asked her. Lizzie frowned. That head wound might have done more damage than she'd thought. She'd have to notify someone later.
"What a funny question to ask a girl. Mostly, soldiers just propose marriage to me when they wake up." She laughed it off, but she was oddly shaken. "Why do you ask?"
"I know it sounds strange," he replied slowly, choosing his words with care, "but I was this close to dying- well, you know, you've heard how it was- and I swear, I saw my life flashing before my eyes, but it wasn't this one." He waited for her to interject that he must be crazy, but Lizzie was open-minded and willing to humor him, so she motioned for him to continue.
"It must have been some past life that I saw. That's the only conclusion I can come to. I'd say it was one of those near-death experiences where the mind hallucinates, but it was too vivid, too detailed." He coughed twice, and Lizzie held a glass of water to his lips. "Thank you. Anyway, in the life I saw, I was a Commodore in the British Navy." He paused. "No, that's not right, I was a pirate. No, I was an Admiral." Lizzie was worried he was getting too excited after having just walked through the valley of the shadow of death, as the expression went. She moved to him and put a hand on his forehead, hoping he wasn't feverish. He wasn't, but he felt tense. She stroked his hair and murmured soothing things to him to try to get him to calm down.
"Please, Jameson, don't overexert yourself. Are you dizzy? How does your head feel?"
"No, no, hang on, I've got it now… I was all those things. In rapid succession." He relaxed, having made his point, and his breathing slowed. "And there was this girl," he said softly, drowsing. "This woman. She had your name. And now I meet you. Isn't that strange?" His head fell back onto the pillow. Lizzie smiled. What a strange yet enchanting young man. She found herself incredibly curious about him. She'd have to ask him when he woke up- Jack's compass, she thought. I was supposed to show him Jack's compass. Ah, well, perhaps tomorrow.
Lizzie dreamt that night, and in her dream, the handsome young pilot called himself James and proposed marriage to her. She was wearing an elaborate hairstyle and gown with a corset, and she couldn't breathe or she would have said yes. There was a pirate named Jack who caught her, and a medallion, and Jack Spirrell's compass made an appearance. She watched as James transformed from a naval officer into a scruffy, dirty, cynical pirate. She had major lust for this dream-James. They kissed for a long time, and he was about to suggest that they take things somewhere more private when someone tapped her on her shoulder, a young man who said he was her true love. Lizzie was annoyed. This was her dream, after all, and she should be able to make out with the hot dirty pirate if she wanted to, and she told him so. The interrupter looked like a blacksmith but insisted he was a pirate and that she loved him. She wanted to ignore him and get back to the canoodling, but suddenly the blacksmith changed into an older man, covered with barnacles, and he stabbed James through the heart. Then he turned back into the younger man- Will, he said his name was- and told her it was for her own good. He told her she was already married to him and they were very much in love, so she must be mistaken. The James in her dream died for her, and she was covered in blood and sobbing. Then the swaggering pirate named Jack crowned her King and offered her rum while the young blacksmith sailed away, and they left her on an island with her crown to wait for him and grow old. In her dream, she forgot why she was waiting and who she was waiting for. She was lonely and had James's blood on her hands, and then she was suddenly a mother, and all her children seemed to have James's face.
The next day when she visited him on her rounds in hospital, he was already awake and hungry. He seemed to have forgotten all about their strange conversation of yesterday. He wanted to know about his men, of course, and Lizzie was glad to be able to tell him that the "two idiots, Gillette and Groves" (as he referred to them), had made it out safely and only suffered getting wet when their parachutes landed them in the water. Two more crew members had sustained shrapnel wounds when they jumped, and they'd hit the water fairly hard. His last crew member, sadly, hadn't made it- his chute hadn't opened- and the plane was a wreck.
"She was a beautiful plane, Lizzie. The Scourge of the Caribbean. You should have heard her roar. Gizmo'll have my head for this- that mechanic was even more attached to her than I was." Jameson was quiet in his grief, but he was strong and used to loss. She'd wanted to forestall the questions, but she couldn't lie to him. It wouldn't be fair.
"I'll give you some space, shall I?" She asked too brightly. He shook his head.
"No, stay here, please. Talk to me." He wanted to know more about her, his rescuer, and she asked him easy questions about himself in return: what did he do when he wasn't flying planes, what was his favorite color, his favorite food? What was her favorite flower, what kind of books did she like to read, what sorts of music did she listen to? They traded questions back and forth, and Lizzie was pleased to learn that his favorite color was blue, he had a strange craving for citrus, and he liked Mozart and jazz music equally. He was pleased to learn she read adventure novels, not those mushy romances they were always trying to sell to girls like her, and that she loved orchids but rarely ever got to see them, because they were rare and exotic. Lizzie was wary of tiring him out, but Jameson insisted he was feeling fine and he was just grateful to be alive. He seemed sad whenever she had to leave him alone to go check on her other patients, who she had to remind him about frequently.
"You're not my only charge, you know."
"That's a shame. Could I be if I paid you?" She laughed and shook her head. "I'd make it worth your while."
"I'm sure you'd try," she said with a wry grin.
"Come here and I'll show you just how persuasive I can be," he joked, and she rolled her eyes at him, but a part of her was sorely tempted and she gave him a speculative glance before she left the room. She wondered how his skin would taste and what sort of sounds he would make when she kissed him. She imagined he would be a passionate lover, using his long expressive fingers to play her body like a musical instrument and find out what made her moan. The James in the bed and the one from her dream were getting all mixed up inside her head. He's a patient, she scolded herself. An incredibly attractive and charming patient, but a patient nonetheless, and Lizzie did not get involved with her charges. She wasn't that stupid. Still, he was lovely. Jack was right. She really did need a man in her life.
"What are your dreams, Lizzie?" He asked her on her afternoon visit to his room.
"My dreams? You mean things I hope for in my life, or-"
"What do you dream about?"
"Oh, just silly things. Nonsensical things."
"Give me an example," he persisted. "Do you know you chew on your lower lip when you're thinking?" His eyes twinkled with mirth and she swatted at him playfully.
"Shush, you, I'm trying to come up with a good answer." She paused. "I had the strangest dream last night about a pirate who told me his name was Jack Sparrow." Just then, an announcement came over the loudspeaker- paging Nurse Byrd to operating room one, Nurse Byrd to operating room one. "I have to go," she said. "I'll tell you later."
It was late in the evening when Lizzie got back from assisting at the operating table, and it took her a while longer to change from her blood-spattered clothes into a fresh uniform and wash her face. When she passed by Jameson's room, she thought for sure he'd be asleep, but he was sitting up as best he could, waiting for her. Lizzie sighed and went in.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"You promised you'd come back and tell me about your dream," he said, and he had a stubborn look on his face. Lizzie could tell he'd force himself to stay awake until she broke down and told him, so she sat at the foot of his bed and began again.
"There was a pirate," Jameson prompted.
"Yes. There was a pirate. And someone proposed marriage to me, but before I could say yes he got stabbed through the heart. There was this medallion too, and the pirate told me I was a king. People kept telling me what to do and who I was supposed to love- this blacksmith named Will- but I was irritated because all I wanted to do was get back to the guy who died." She laughed, but even to her ears it sounded brittle and sad. "That was my dream. I don't suppose that means anything to you, but it seemed significant at the time." Jameson grabbed her wrist with a feverish look in his eyes.
"What else do you remember?" She looked alarmed and he amended, changing his tone to a soothing one, "I mean, what else did you dream about?" He stroked her wrist with his thumb. "Tell me, Lizzie. You know I'll find it amusing."
"The man who proposed to me was an officer in the British Navy, and he was the noblest man I'd ever met. It was one of those strangely detailed dreams. Normally I never remember my dreams, but this one just won't go away. The pirate had these tattoos on his arms of birds and ships, and he looked like Sergeant Jack Spirrell did when he brought me to that costume party- oh, and speaking of Jack, he wanted me to show you this." She gave him the compass. He opened it and turned it in his hands, glancing from it to her and back again, the light of comprehension dawning in his eyes.
"Oh, yes. I remember this. It gave me hell a long time ago. Would you bring him to me?"
"Sergeant Spirrell?"
"Yes," Jameson said firmly. "I need to see him. I think he has some things he needs to tell me."