Her question was on the tip of her tongue and he answered it, “In Portland I told you I was damaged goods,” he half turned towards her, and in the light she saw the scars that decorated his chest and it was all she could do to nod, “A lifetime or two ago, I was with somebody I loved, I cared about. I don’t remember much but I do remember a sidewalk,” it took him a minute to push the words out, “Police reports say it was a bus that swerved to avoid some idiot who'd wandered in to the street. The driver lost control,” she opened her mouth and he nodded, briskly, cutting off the obvious question, “We had about three seconds to react but spend two and half staring.”

His voice shook, “Eye witnesses claimed that I turned myself in to a human shield as the bus broadsided both of us. Sent me spinning through some shop window, glass like knives, flying everywhere, tore my back up,” he shrugged, “as you saw. Life is not without a sense of irony.”

She looked confused by his last remark, “Somehow, we got turned around, and she landed first, I landed on top of her, and the wooden spar from something, a table maybe, punched through her heart, and shredded my lung.” he pointed to the scars on his chest, wiping away a tear as his heart tightened in his chest, “They said that she passed on quickly, never even felt it,” he turned away suddenly all business, as he got dressed, “Now you know.”

He managed one step before her arms locked around his waist, “Ever consider that she would have wanted you to move on with life?” he spluttered trying to break her grip, but she only tightened it as her head rested comfortably, just between his shoulder blades, her damp hair clinging to his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He twisted and she let go as he pulled his clothes and gathered his trademark vest and quartet of guns. He bolted leaving her soaked and naked, “She would want you to move on farther than this Cameron,” Jaira called after his retreating figure, “She'd want you to be happy with someone else!”

He ignored her, because she was right as he took the steps two or three at a time, thoughts racing at a million miles a minute, “Why her? What could she possibly want? Why her after so long? Why him? Why did she care so damned much?” The thoughts continued to stream, an unstoppable flow of consciousness that he could do nothing to stop, “My past, my ghosts, my nightmares and she wants to know it all, wants to be there, understand and help me cope. I don't understand why. How am I supposed to understand? I need to think.” He reached in to the inside pocket of his vest and removed the picture, that was folded and creased, worm and turning yellow at the edges, taped together along the fold lines.

The picture was of him and a woman whose every feature he had known and never forgotten. In the picture, she had her hair down, a rarity in its own right. Her blond brown hair framed her face, resting her hand on the side of her forehead. Her eyes were the same beautiful color that they had always been, wearing the engagement ring on her left hand, the diamond sparkling gently in the low light of their living room that night. In the picture Cameron was on the right, hair cut razor short, his arm around her waist, holding her with a promise to never let go. He leaned against the wall and smacked his head against the metal wall, wondering what he should do, whether he could do it. He rubbed his head and unlatched the door, sliding back in to the Fortress.

In the proceeding days, Cameron and Peter had finally had a sit down in the canteen, discussing what both of them needed. For Cameron, it was more the needs of the Fortress and his team: A place to call home whenever they stopped by for rest, fuel, maintenance and if necessary, repairs. Life had continued in the small city had continued even after the dead had risen as construction continued all around them, the chatter of voices and laughter of the other members of the Fortress’s crew.

The Fortress was moved during the following days as Redding's mechanics went over the engine with a fine tooth comb, Robert working alongside them in a friendly exchange of knowledge and skills. The others mingled, helping out where they could, relaxing and just enjoying the simple life in comparison to that of the open road. However, Cameron had kept his distance from Jaira, while the reverse seemed to hold true for Jaira. Fortunately, he had found a place within where no one could find him, buried in the back of one of the empty conference rooms in a back corner, shrouded in shadow with a bottle of single malt whiskey and a carton of cigarettes.

The bottle was still full apart from the single measure he'd poured out for himself. So far, he'd stared at it, held it, swirled the glass till the ice cubes dissolved, thought about things, and then put it down to continue thinking about things as he had rested his head on his arms and stared at the amber fluid. Peter found him by following the trail of footprints on the dusty floor. He lowered his weapon, and twisted the flashlight, turning it in to a high powered lamp that lit up the darkened interior. Light shined across tables and chairs that had been setup for a banquet, with the cutlery and silverware already set with the candles sitting in the holders. The conference room, in fact the entire fourth floor of the hotel had been forgotten. He holstered his weapon, taking a chair on the opposite side of a table, “When a man doesn't drink, there is generally no problem. When a man drinks, there is usually a problem, if not several. But when a man stands on the edge of his glass, his problem is not whether he should drink but what can he do besides drink to solve said problem.”

Cameron looked up, using one hand to shield his eyes from the flare like brightness, “Peter,” he nodded to the chair opposite him, “What can I do for you?”

“Just to part friendly advice” Cameron hoisted the glass and started swirled the now diluted whiskey around, “First of all, you're not a regular drinker which means that you'll get drunk and then all hell will break loose.” Cameron actually took a sip of the fluid, feeling it burn the back of his throat, “Second of all, Jaira told me,” Cameron's glass crashed to the table, spilling the liquid over his hand, lending the stale air the refreshing scent of alcohol, “enough for me to give you advise that you don’t want.”

“If it's advice I don't want, why are you so eager to give it?”

“Because somebody should tell you what you don’t want to hear. Then maybe you’ll do something instead of sit and drink in the dark!”

“What do you know about love?” shot back Cameron as he drained the rest of the glass, smacking his lips as he refilled it.

“I was in love... not that long ago. She knew it, just as well as I did, but neither of us had the courage to say, or do anything about what we felt for each other. Then one day, she was gone. I lost something that could have made me the happiest man alive.”

“She’s dead. So are a lot of people. Get with the program!” retorted Cameron.

“I had to sit there, opposite her, while she sat with her hands bound,” snarled Peter, “and wait. The last thing we shared was a smile, before we exchanged our only kiss. Ever. Then she said good bye.”

“You got that much!” broke in Cameron, “I lost my fiancée, and woke up almost two weeks after the fact, to find that she had been buried. I never got to say good bye, have that one kiss, and run my fingers through her hair! I got nothing but a stone slab to stare at!”

“No you didn't you idiot! What you didn't get was to pull the trigger on the woman you love because she got bitten!” snapped Peter, “I pulled the trigger! Me!” That shut Cameron up, “Your ghosts are your ghosts, but at least you've had time to accept it, to mourn, even if you couldn't let go. Look to the future! You've got someone close by who wants you for who you are. And no matter what you say or do to hide it, she knows it, and I can see it: You want her as much; if not more than she wants you!” Cameron lifted his refilled glass.

Peter snatched it from him and drained in a long swallow, “I never knew the woman you loved, but I know you love her like no other, but just think about this for a minute: If she loved you half as much as you did, as you still do... Would she want you to be happy? I don't have to meet her to know the answer to that question!” His voice dropped, taking a more reasonable tone, “Accept that she would want you happy and not the miserable mopping bastard you are, when you’re not an arrogant cold distant bastard! She would want you to be happy and to get on with life, even if it was with someone else. Say good bye to her, take Jaira in your arms and move forward!” If looks could kill Peter would have turned to stone. Peter shook his head and left the lamp in the darkness for Cameron.

Later that same night, with the stars twinkling, he emerged from the Fortress. He held a shovel in one hand with a backpack slung over his shoulder with one destination in mind. It had taken him hours to make this decision, and as he stared at the lines of neat graves, as he searched the tree line around the cemetery for those who had fallen.

Knowing he was alone in the dark of night was strangely comforting. The moon came out from behind a bank of dense clouds that promised rain as he dug the small grave at the fork in the roots of one of the trees. Doubt filled him but he quashed it firmly, like one would stamp out a bug as he lifted the black box from his backpack and placed it reverently in the grave, followed by the picture from his vest pocket, the last reminder that he had of another life. He placed it carefully in to the small grave and kneeled.

He looked up at the stars and then around him, suddenly wondering if someone was watching him. He shook his head and resisted the urge to dig everything up. He'd spent long hours convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, and he wasn't about to start second guessing as he leaned against the tree, “I know that this seems strange, perhaps even outright crazy but I could never bring myself to visit your grave when I had the opportunity. And I can't just “talk” to thin air,” he took a breath, “I... I didn't know what love meant, what love was, or what it meant to be in love until you came in to my life.... I didn't know anything about a lot of things.” Strangely enough there was so much more he wanted to say and it just tumbled out of him, like unlocked floodgates, “I've carried the past for too long. My life is here, and everyone has been right, over the years, that I need to get on with it, live it. I won't, can’t forget you. I will always love you, and treasure what we shared.”

He stood, brushing off his pants, and for the first time, he felt the weight he carried lighten. He had his responsibilities as they had been for months now, but at least, she was at peace, and he was at peace. He drew the machete from its sheath, taking time to carve his initials and hers in to the base of the tree before carving a heart around them, “You hold my heart as much as you ever did. If you're watching from heaven, think of me from time to time... I know I will.”

Cameron’s feet seemed to know where to take him, as he found himself returned to the fifth floor of the hotel, standing in front of an occupied room. He hesitated and finally knocked, and then knocked a second time. He wasn't sure if he felt disappointment or relief first as he turned away, when the door opened Jaira stared at him for a moment, unable to believe just who was standing in her doorway, “Cameron?”

She stood there dressed in loose fitting but eminently more comfortable pajamas, “Its four thirty in the morning. Is everything alright?”

She stood there, and for the first time, in a very long time, he smiled, a warm genuine smile that actually reached his eyes, sparkling with light, “Are you alright?”

She looked nothing like the woman he'd loved and lost, she was someone different but radiant, like the calm after a morning spring rain. Cameron's brain checked in with him and he took a hesitant half step towards her, “Everything’s fine,” he pulled her close “now,” he whispered.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, looking up in to his eyes, “I suppose…” she asked “How long you planning on staying?”

“For as long as you’ll have me” he whispered, “Just... stay with me.” He held her tight and promised that he would be damned if he ever let her go.

“Always,” She whispered.

In that moment, everything was right with the world.