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"Hey, um, you awake?"
I jumped. And in that instant between waking, and knowing you're awake, I thought it was him. And in the darkness I thought I saw him. But then I truly woke up.
"Joe," I mumbled. I wasn't tired. I'd been asleep all day. That was all I wanted to do. Lay in our bed. I could still smell him. Us. I would hug his pillow, let the slow tears soak into it. The real crying was past. The kind that led to sobbing. The kind that made my chest burn.
"Yeah, yeah, um, Joe, I'm awake.." I looked up at the man who had been such a good friend through all of this. Who had been a friend to both of us.
That was why he had a key to my apartment. And obviously no compunctions about using it.
"I called. You, ah, didn't answer," he said forthrightly.
"Yeah," I replied. But I hadn't voiced my next thought. So?
Because I knew how much he cared.
"Yeah, " he agreed softly.
A while went by, and I thought he was gone. Then I smelled the coffee. God damn him, it was his brand. I had made a special trip out in the rain to get those damn beans. How could Joe have done that to me? I buried my head under the pillows. Under the blanket. All I wanted was to be left alone in misery.
"Here." The SOB dragged me up. I already knew that kicking and screaming wouldn't work. Not with Joe.
So, I sat up. Bowed to the inevitable. I didn't want to spill scalding liquid on me. I took the mug, but I refused to look the man in the eye.
"Drink that. Then, um, come to the kitchen. You need to eat. Ah, you're already too thin. We're worried about you. And damn, I'm not losing another friend."
So I drank the coffee. Then grabbed a robe and schlepped into the kitchen. Whatever he was cooking smelled good. It wasn't the gourmet food he would have served. And I was glad.
I had to smile--just a little--when Joe put a bowl of beef stew in front of me. Hearty. Comforting. Old fashioned. Like the man, himself.
"You look like hell."
"I feel like it, Joe."
"You're not the only one," he agreed.
I went back to work a couple of days later. And it was hard. Very hard. My friends and coworkers helped. Tried to help. But I kept running into people who didn't know. Then they would become sympathetic. Usually I didn't mind. But there were days when all I wanted to do was wallow in my grief. I couldn't inflict that on them.
Those were the days when I would show up at Joe's.
Somehow, being with Joe was okay. We could talk about the past. About...Duncan.
Finally. I could say his name without losing it. Duncan. And Joe, well, he'd known him longer than I had, after all.
I'd sit and drink beer and watch him play guitar. Listen to his wonderful, soulful voice. And at the end of the night we'd talk. About things.
One night he told me about Vietnam. About waking to complete lucidity to find that his legs were gone. He left a lot out of the story. But I could sense that he had come close to ending his life. He never said what brought him out of his depression. Only that it had been on the order of a miracle.
I wished he could work one for me.
And it seemed like he had.
Then I found the crossword puzzle.
It wasn't a big deal. No. It wasn't. But I stood there with it in my hand for a long time. A half-finished crossword. Printed in Duncan's strong, neat hand. One of those incredibly complicated puzzles he had gotten addicted to.
The thing had been overlooked when I finally decided to get rid of the bits and pieces of our brief life together.
Maybe I had a breakdown. All I could remember afterward was wanting one person.
And he came. Walking into the mess I'd made of my apartment. Of myself.
Poor Joe. Always cleaning up our messes.
He was so unbelievably kind. He cleaned me up as if I was a child. Got me into clean clothes. Put me into bed. I had tormented myself to the point of exhaustion. But I wouldn't let him leave me. I couldn't stand to be alone.
"Joe," I asked weakly, "Why? Why did,,,why'd he have to go and, and, and get killed?" Then I almost knocked him off the bed when I threw myself into his arms. And God, if felt perfect when he held me. He was so strong.
It wasn't as if I loved him. I was smart enough to know that. And he didn't--doesn't--love me. But, he was the closest to Duncan I could get.
I don't think either of us considered it a pity-fuck.
No, it was a catharsis. A heart-healing. For both of us. We saw each other almost every night for a week. Making sweet love at his place or mine.
Then I had to go out of town for two weeks. A conference. I was sad. And missed him, of course. But it was a good thing. It gave us distance. And it showed me that I would be okay on my own. I think--I know I loved Duncan. But it had been a roller-coaster relationship. And Joe, well, Joe had been a consolation. In the best way.
I went home from the seminar determined to make a fresh start.
I walked into the bar that day not quite knowing what to think. I hadn't seen or spoken to Joe in a couple of months. And then I got his call. Was I surprised? Absolutely.
"Joe." He was standing behind the bar. Handsome as ever.
"Hi, thanks for coming down."
That was Joe. Gracious as always. "Yeah." I looked around the bar as I went over to him. "Well, ah, you, ah, you said it was important. You kinda sounded a bit nervous." God, did I sound stupid or what, I thought.
"Yeah, maybe. So, ah, how you been holding up?"
"Oh, ah, working hard. You know. Keeping busy. Trying not to think about it too much."
"Yeah, sure. Sit down. Please, sit down."
Well, was that request an indication that something unexpected was going to happen? I'd say so. So, I sat.
"Why don't I get you a drink."
"Oh, no thanks."
"Ah, trust me, you'll want a drink."
"Well, now you're making me nervous." I hadn't had a drink in weeks. And I really didn't want one now. But Joe was already pouring the wine. I took the glass, pretended to sip, and set it aside.
"You know, I've...I've always thought you were quite a remarkable woman."
"You know something Joe, you can, ah, skip the sweet talk. Now, you said it was important. So, I'm...I'm here." I was steadily becoming more unnerved as I sat there.
"Yeah. Look, you know how there were always things...about MacLeod he couldn't tell ya? Things he didn't get to explain before he died?"
"Yeah, so?" Duncan had driven me practically insane with his secrets.
"It's time for the explanation. He, ah, wanted me to give you this." Joe took out an unaddressed white envelope and put it on the bar in front of me. I didn't take it.
"What is it?" It was eerie. I didn't want to touch it.
"It's a plane ticket to Paris."
"I-I-I'm, ah, um, um going to Paris?" Poor Joe. He could see I was confused.
"I guess that depends."
"Depends on what?" Okay, I was getting the feeling someone was playing games with me. And I didn't like it. I was about to tell Joe that when the phone rang. He picked it up, but didn't answer. "It's for you."
I took the receiver. A bit reluctantly. "He-hello?"
"Anne."
"Duncan...Duncan?"
EndOriginally posted a long, long time ago.Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.