AN: WOOH  LET'S DO THIS

HApPy ReAdInG

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James POV- 

I'm

such

a

jerk.

I was right there. Right there in my jet, just sitting there, and debating to myself whether or not I should actually go inside the airport, or if I should just make Greta forget me and move on. I knew I shouldn't stay with her, but man, it just feels good to be around Greta. Around Utah. The last place I ever thought I'd want to be in so much.  

I threw all sorts of stuff around, once everyone else left, including the pilots. I was all alone, just with my thoughts and him. He had given me one hell of a fight, but I managed. He would be controlled. Knocking down food trays, and kicking chairs around, I screamed in rage at the battle in my head. My hair in my fists, I sat down and handled my breathing, counting them in and out. Soon, I was able to close my eyes and not see red. Instead, a subtle blue-grey sufficed, reminding me of Greta's eyes. 

I had won. We seemed to make a deal in my head. 

Greta gets the real me. London gets him. If either crosses line, mass hysteria would commence. 

I looked like a mess when I had stepped out of the plane and I knew I'd have to give some kind of reason why I arrived almost six hours later than I told her. And why I made her wait that six hours. 

If she was even still there. 

I wouldn't blame her if she was gone, though. That would have been the smart thing to do, after all, I was a complete idiot. 

I sheepishly stepped down the ramp and made my way inside the airport. It was really quiet, and the moon was high tide so it was extremely bright. 

It was almost as bright as Greta's eyes. 

As I opened the door, small clusters of people walked quickly away, many carrying sleeping children. Droopy soldiers coming home, exhausted mothers and fathers returning from business trips, and out there somewhere, was a hopeful and beautiful young woman, waiting for a man who stood her up for many hours. 

My bags were already at the very same hotel I stayed at before, so there was no need for the baggage claim. Just one less thing I needed to check off. I walked around for a while, wishing to catch a glimpse of a woman with brown-black hair and startling grey-blue eyes. 

However, I found no trace of Greta Levine. 

I meandered to the front desk where a blonde woman cheerfully smiled at me. I gave her the best I could. 

Which wasn't much. 

"Hello! What can I do for you today?" 

"I'm just wondering if you saw someone leave today?" 

Her eyebrows furrowed. 

"I see a lot of people leave." 

"Right, right, but a specific person." I urged more on. Her eyebrows continued to grow deeper. "She's got brown hair and uh. . . how else could I describe her?" I was beaten. How could this woman help me if she didn't know what I needed help with. 

"Well,  I see a lot of woman with brown hair as well." 

"I get that." I grunted. 

"Was she with anyone? Do you know what clothes she's wearing?" The woman tried to help, but honestly. If you are coming home from across the country, unless she's texted you a picture of the specific outfit she's wearing that question is beyond stupid.

"No. She should have been by herself." I told her. "Unless she brought Maurice. That would be an awkward dinner. Especially if Lawrence came along. That Aussie is something else." 

 The blonde woman gave me a forced smile as if she thought I was muttering gibberish. 

"Okay then. . . so she was by herself, maybe, and has brown hair. I talk to many people, a lot of people need help in a place like this, but if I am correct. . ." She paused, deep in thought.

"Yes?" I interjected, growing impatient. 

"Okay. . .I had this one woman ask about a plane coming around two-thirty. It was a private-"

"Yes. That'll be the one." I interrupted. "Thanks," I set out to walk away when I realized I still had no idea where Greta was, or if she left yet. I secretly hoped she did. Then she very well saved herself, "Do you know if she left the airport yet?" 

"No, but I would believe she would, after all, the plane she was waiting for arrived at that time five hours ago." 

"I know. I was in it the entire time." I snapped at her and rolled my eyes. She looked kind of surprised when I had suddenly switched moods. I know I told myself several times that I didn't want Greta there, but the actual thought of her not being there broke my heart. 

I want her there. 

"Well. I guess if she's still there, she'd be in the Baggage Claim. That's where I told her to go. Didn't you see her there?" 

"No. My baggage was already being shipped." I snapped yet again. 

"Ouch. Alright, well, I really hope that helps." She smiled at me and went back to her computer, quickly averting her eyes. 

I yet again had to control my breathing. There was a chance. So small, but still a chance. I could live off chances if it only meant her. 

I ran as fast as I could to the baggage claim. Many people cursed at me when I had accidently (or on purpose, it's still fun either way) bumped into them. I didn't care. I knew now I didn't want her gone. All of that whole 'trying to convince myself that I'm too much of a mess for her' was out the window. That wasn't me telling myself I wasn't good enough, It was the very same person I fought with, in the plane. I was always good enough around her. And no one can tell me otherwise. Not even myself. 

My running came to an abrupt stop, I had reached the Claim. But that was not all I reached. Our frantic eyes met, and at the same time, smiles were on our faces. She was still here. She had waited. I took her in for a hug. 

"My Greta. . . I'm so sorry." I mumbled into her hair.    {AN: You know her hair can't hear you, right James?}     She was here, and I was embracing her. Right now. If anyone was watching, I didn't care. 

She seemed surprised at first at such an action, but soon her tender arms wrapped around my body and she rested her head on my shoulder. 

"James. . .I thought you wouldn't come back. I thought you were just a dream, and I was going insane!" She said, comically lightning the mood, which I was always thankful for. 

"You? Insane? Never." I shook my head and looked down at her. I then put my arm around her shoulder. "Come on. I'm tired, it was a long day. Let's get some food and go home!" I laughed. 

"I like that idea!" Greta agreed and took hold of the hand that dangled from the arm that was around her shoulder. We walked out of the airport just like that. 

When we got outside, it was pitch black outside except for the lights that were implanted in the cement ceiling that hovered over the parking lot. The lights highlighted certain cars that were underneath but other than that gave no extra light. 

We traversed in the dark until Greta took out her automatic car starter. Several isles away came the sound of what we hoped to be her car, spring to life. 

We followed the sound, almost knocking into a ridiculous amount of cars. There weren't even that many people in the airport. 

Reaching the old style car, I opened the passenger door and stepped into her car. It was surprisingly clean. Except for the millions of cd cases and discs that were in every place she could store them. 

"Why do you have so many CDs in here?" I asked, teasingly picking up a few that were in the dashboard. 

"Because I like them." She argued and smiled at me. "If you wanna pick one out you can. I literally have everything." She challenged. 

"Let me see about that." I challenged back and began to look at the ones I have in my hand. I gasped when I found. "Rolling Stones?" 

"Yup." She confirmed. 

"Wow. Bruce Springsteen?" I said, flipping to the next one. 

"Mhm. I told you. I have everything." 

"Nirvana." 

"Heck yeah!" She joked. 

"The Doors. Metallica." I began listing of the artists. I hit yet another one and snapped my head to face Greta, who was pulling out of her parking spot and driving down the ramp. She was a really good driver. Better than I am. 

That's actually because I haven't driven myself anywhere for about five years. 

"You have Madonna." 

"Of course! My mom loved Madonna."

"What do you got in your car right now?" 

"I don't remember. Let's check it out." Greta gave me a smirk and turned on her radio, obviously fully aware of what CD was in her car radio, and the all-too-familiar drum line started the song. 

"No." I teased.

"Yes!" 

"No. Stop." 

"Never. Nunca. Nie." 

"Please. I don't want to kill my ears." 

"Aw, I love this song!" She argued and began to sing along in a surprisingly accurate impression of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up. The ever popular dance moves in his video and the eighties background music gave it more of a comical than musical taste. 

Laughing, I shook my head and began to make out what I could of all her CD's in the dark. As she continued to sing and dance in her seat (which I think she was just showing off her driving skills instead) my eyes wandered over Fleetwood Mac, Kanye West, and someone by the name of Halsey. 

"Who's Hasel?" I asked Greta. She laughed and shook her head. 

"Halsey? Potty-mouth, beautiful singer-songwriter." 

"Oh. So that's why she's explicit." 

"Yeah. . . I got a lot of those." She admitted, and made a guilty face. I chuckled a bit. 

It was only after the song was over (and we had to listen to the whole thing) that she put in a different CD. I continued to explore her car as she took out the CD and put in a CD that had a huge triangle on it from what I could make of it. A strange design, a single triangle. 

"This man is Maurice's favorite. She has all of his CD's from the fifties and on!" She teased but then paused. "And so do I." 

I laughed with her and waited for the first song. I immediately knew who it was. I don't know how, but it just kind of clicked when I heard the man singing. 

"This is Bobby Darin? Mack the Knife, right?" I asked.

Greta looked over at me surprised. 

"Wha-How- You know Fall Out Boy and Bobby Darin?" 

"Of course!" 

To be honest, I only knew the one song that I made a joke with when I first met her. I wasn't a huge fan. But I wasn't about to tell Greta that. 

"Oh my-my. . ." She shook her head, smiling. 

I'm pretty sure, we sang every single song that played until we got to this restaurant that I used to have a reservation for but because of certain extremely unnecessary and stupid actions we missed it. She knew all the lyrics to every song, I did not. 

We pulled into a parking lot that was almost empty. I guess not a lot of people go out to eat at 7:30 at night. Shocking. 

"Let's get in. I'm cold and starving!" Greta rubbed her hands together then gave me a sly smirk, and it was a smirk if I ever saw one. This woman seriously needs to give me lessons on how to do that. "Race ya!" She cried, and bolted towards the door. 

"You know that's nowhere near fair!" I shouted back and lightly jogged after her, making sure I wasn't about to run into a car that could be coming. 

"I know." She gave me an innocent smile and held the door open for me. 

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around." 

"I'm pretty sure we went over this at the sandwich shop with the grumpy old waitress." She shot back. I held my hand over my heart, teasingly. 

"Ooh. Touche." 

"I'm just being what we Americans call 'savage'." She teased. I put my other hand over the one on my heart. 

"You hurt me, Greta. You hurt me." I picked on her. She laughed and rolled her eyes. 

"Get in before I shut the door in your suave British face." 

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AN: WOOH! I really don't know why I stopped the chapter here. I really wanted to keep going but I also want to get something out to you guys before I end up publishing next year. . . *KNEE SLAP* 

I know what you're thinking, Never heard that one before, Barbara

And you know what I say? IT NEVER GETS OLD (unless you are old and you've heard that joke maybe 60 times every year like Maurice has)

SEE YOU NEXT YEAR EVERYBODY