They were gone when I woke up at ten and he'd left a note that said he would be back at four. I cleaned up, though Reed had already done so for the most part. Then I painted.

He surprised me at the door and I saw it was indeed a quarter to four. I peeked at the screen that showed him, saw what he was holding and shook my head. I dealt with the alarm, opened the door, and took the rainbow roses, which were actually white roses that had been spliced and dyed so each one was different colors. 

"Little late, but," he said with a sheepish grin and a tight hug.

"I've never seen these in real life," I said, checking them out in fascination as he relocked the door. "I know they're hard to make."

"Hard to find, too." He got a clear vase from under the kitchen sink and put them in with some water. "But totally worth it." His face broke into a smile and it hurt how much I loved him.

"Thank you," I said, arranging them a little. "How'd it go with RJ?"

"He'll be okay, I think." He poured water from the filtered pitcher into a cup and drank it all, then poured another and took it with him into the living room. I followed and we sat on the couch. "The people he's with are the best. If anyone can heal him, it is they."

"What, did you tap into some kind of underground trustworthy adoption agency or something?" I flipped on the TV. Wolves ran. Reed sat on my right, in his usual spot, wearing a black hoodie that said something in Japanese on it. At least, I thought it was Japanese.

"Something," he said agreeably.

"What's your sweatshirt say?"

He looked down at it. He never seemed to realize what he was wearing and indeed got dressed in the dark at times. "Seize the life." His mouth quirked. 

"I like it. It works. When are we going cliff diving?"

"It is a little cold for it now," he pointed out.

"Now as in November and all the following months of winter, it's too cold? Is that why you're suddenly up for it?" I elbowed him.

"Maybe," he allowed. "Really, though, we could go this week. I think we could handle it. I know I could; you, I don't know, you look kind of soft," he pretended to scoff.

"Soft?" I asked indignantly. I was almost as wiry as he, and my muscles were nothing to laugh at.

"Marshmallowy," he said decidedly, and I punched his arm. "Hey, ow."

"Rude," I told him.

We watched for awhile and then made some pasta and he had a couple glasses of wine. I stuck to water. I had enough emotional issues without alcohol.

We were eating chocolate eclairs when I noticed the long red hairs on the shoulder of his sweatshirt, and every joyful feeling was ripped clean away. "Got a new girlfriend?" I asked as I plucked them off, forcing my voice to be light as a feather.

He raised an eyebrow and took them from me with a laugh. "Hardly. Just someone I work with." He made a motion with his hand over the floor and they fell from his fingers.

Sure, just some girl who got to know what he did and where he went and probably even got to go. I almost choked on the unfairness of it.

He noticed my silence and followed my train of thought. "She's not important, chérie. It's not as though I'm the one who brought her into the program." It was the first time he had referred to it as a program. "It's her, mmm, job as well. More than that. Her responsibility."

"I get it," I said, but there was no keeping the sourness out of my voice. "Maybe they're hiring," I added in a small voice, wishing I could just go with him.

He whistled. "Never in life, Addy. It's terribly dangerous." He realized what he'd said. "It can be. Not for me, necessarily. Ouf, never mind."

I hated this red haired girl. Her face was probably perfect. I didn't care how dangerous it was. At least, I didn't think I cared. Kind of hard to tell when I didn't know what it was he did.

He wasn't done. "You know I am not a sexist person, right? But the things we do, they're . . . " He gestured aimlessly. "Not for women. For a number of reasons." He laughed briefly. "Not for anyone, really. Damn. No more wine for me; I'm always running my mouth when I'm in my cups."

"Yes, the information just pours forth," I said dryly.

"Oh!" He brightened. "This make you feel better?" He pulled his hoodie over his head and I inwardly raised my eyebrows. But he was holding out his arm. "Not sure how you missed it yesterday. Or how I forgot."

"It" was a tattoo on the inside of his forearm that said "Addy", in among the other tattoos but in script large enough to be read across a room.

"What the hell?" I asked, delighted. "That's my name," I, Captain Obvious, said as I examined his arm. Butterflies raged inside me.

"Yes, well, we had an evening to kill at a tattoo parlor in Kuwait." He shrugged. "It was kind of voted on for me." He smiled. "They miiight hear about you, now and then."

I thought of Dane saying they all knew my name, whoever they were. "It does," I said, such an understatement.

"Does what?"

"Make me feel better."

He put his arm around my shoulders. "I should think so. I have sixteen tattoos, chérie, but only one of them is a name. My favorite name." he thought of something else. "Should have shown it to Isabella. Maybe it's reliable enough for her."

He wasn't usually snarky so that must have gotten to him. "No, she just would have bitched because it doesn't say Heidi. You know her; she'll never be satisfied." I wasn't talking shit about Bella. It was just facts. "I happen to love it, if that counts."

He kissed my hand and pulled the hoodie back on. "It's all that counts."

Worked for me.

We were spending our second-to-last evening together when his phone made the noise I despised. I paused the movie and watched as he checked it with the same dread I felt, and his face fell. "Merde," he said softly, though he rarely swore. He stared at his phone though he'd already read the message.

"No," I said, my heart dropping like a stone.

"I'm sorry," he said, sighing, looking at me now.

"We have two more days," I said, though I knew it was hopeless. I stood up, flooded with resentment and the unfairness of it. "I hate this!" I kicked my purse out of my way, not caring that my phone was in it, wiping my sleeve across my face as I went into my room. I shut the door, almost a slam, and did the classic throw-myself-on-the-bed-and-cry thing. I wasn't trying to be dramatic. The opposite was in fact my desire; I wished I could just be calm and and normal and somehow understanding. But there was no way.

He was all those things though, when he came in and sat with me and rubbed my back in a circle. "I'm sorry, Addy," he said again, and I didn't want to make him feel helpless too so I sucked it up. Or tried. I knew he felt awful about it. People had loved ones who were soldiers who went away for much longer periods of time. Or look at astronauts for fuck's sake. But thinking that didn't make me feel any better.

I turned my face to the right but put my arm over it. "I know." I said, my voice completely betraying my tears. "I just, I thought there was more time, is all. It's . . . " heartbreaking. I swallowed. "It's, um, disappointing."

"For me, too, ma coeur. I never know, either, even when I'm gone. How long it will be." He gently tugged me up and embraced me. I was pretty sure coeur meant heart.

"Sorry," I said, my left cheek against his chest, his left hand holding my head to him. I took deep breaths and tried to get it together. "I know my reaction is terrible."

I felt him shake his head. "Yes, it's terrible that you hate when I go away," he said mildly. "How awful that you miss me so much."

"It's pretty awful to miss you," I said soberly, though he was trying to be lighthearted.

"I feel the same, as you know."

Maybe not quite the same. I braced myself and asked. "When?"

He didn't answer for a long minute. "I must leave in an hour at most."

I wished I could find whoever was in charge and punch them in the nose. I thought of the possibility of him being gone another four and a half months, or more, and felt physically crushed. "Oh." My voice was more of a whisper.

"Yeah."

He must have had a million things to do to get ready but instead he sat there with me, and I knew he would continue to do so until I was okay. "Okay, I'm okay," I lied, pulling away a little so he slowly let his arms drop. I moved so my hair fell, knowing my face was a mess and my eyes red. "I'm over it. Go, pack."

He hesitated, knowing I was faking it, but unable to do anything about it with the time limits imposed on him. "Courage," he said, but to himself or me I didn't know. Probably both of us. "Almost done, remember?"

It helped. 

I could still feel his lips on my wet cheek after he left, as I put two thousand dollars in a Ziploc baggie, triple bagged it, and put it out in the laundry room in the cupboard above the washer. The little door to the backyard locked with a bolt, but when his sister came back I could at least somehow let her have that money without coming into my actual house. Hopefully this precaution would save me an ass kicking next time.