The woman hastily pushed her newly-dyed, blonde hair out of her face. It was a constant source of annoyance to her. Her silver-blue eyes twinkled from behind the fragile espresso cup she held daintily in her small hands. The smell of the dark coffee wafted through the small corner cafe. The blonde-haired woman had the look of an out-of-place American, but embodied the Paris chic look well, even going so far as to wear a navy blue beret, which brought out the lovely shade of blonde in her hair. Her attention was held by a small pocket guidebook. Blue eyes poured over it again and again, occasionally she traced a finger down the map next to it. Her fingers, of their own accord,started drumming out an impatient rhythm on the glass tabletop. Her movement stilled when she saw a slight sign of annoyance from one of the patrons in the corner next to her. Smiling apologetically, she resumed studying her map.

     Her patience was wearing thin. She grew tired of the map and guidebook, and put them away in a small bag she had securely wrapped around her body. There was something else in it, but it was not visible to the casual glance. Fingertips brushed against the cool glass, she relished the feeling of its coolness against her sweaty palms, but resisted tapping her fingers against it. A small breath of relief escaped her mouth when a tall man entered. A foreign look passed unnoticed through her eyes, a small relaxing of her tense shoulders. She glanced around, but no one was watching her. She did not approach the man at first, but waited while he bought a pastry and headed out of the store. Then she made her move. She leaped to her feet before he reached the door, and turned, colliding with him. He dropped the pastry and she squealed with surprise.

"Oh! I'm so sorry. Let me pay for that," she exclaimed, sweeping her hands over his arms, brushing off invisible crumbs. The cafe patrons smiled, another young couple destined to be. The young man smiled softly, but made no move to say anything, or replace his pastry. When the cafe had quieted down again, he gently led her to a private corner. She slid into a booth and he slid in across from her. They still had not spoken a word, but their silence was comforting, not stifling. He watched the surrounding area while she fumbled with her bag, presumably hiding a cherry red face. She pulled out the map and guidebook she had studied so studiously earlier.

     When he gave her the signal, they dropped the awkward attitude and shifted to something more serious.

"Were you recognized?"she asked warily, leaning forward so her voice would not travel so far. Wispy, blonde hair falling past her cheeks and into her eyes. The young man laughed softly at her huff of annoyance and reached forward to push the soft veil back.

"No, they didn't pick upon the scent." Her intense focus relaxed, and she took a moment to gaze approvingly on his hair.

"I must say, Conner,"she stated with a smug grin, "You look good as a brunet." He let out a dramatic puff of air and pretended to be annoyed. They held a silent conversation of stares for a few seconds, each looking beyond the obvious and going deeper, to the realm no other human had discovered. They studied everything they had learned from their past weeks together, the weeks they spent running from the world's most dangerous mastermind. She was the first to break the exploration, settling her eyes on the map instead, a small streak of crimson coloring her pale cheeks. She pushed the map over to Conner without looking up to meet his soft gaze.

"This is the best I can do. Two are public places. We can meet and blend in with the local crowd there." He took the offered map and followed her finger as it slid across the smooth,crisp paper. She pointed to three locations on the map, all in the heart of Paris.

"Are you sure these are adequate locations, Monica? What if we miss each other? We could spend days trying to find the other," Monica slumped back against the scratchy booth, her face broadcasting her weariness and her eyes blazing with agitation.

"What would you suggest?" They had this debate often and she already knew what he was going to say. She grew weary of debating him and wished he would understand why she refused.

"We could use the device." She sighed and shook her head, but he reached out and eagerly grasped her hands. "We could avoid a fruitless chase across Paris," he replied. Her hands knotted into fists even as he held them. She was barely containing her frustration.

"You know I can't do that, he could find us. And don't think I haven't thought of that. I have been through every detail and equation. If there was an easier way for us to do this, then I would have taken it." Monica wondered why she had to get mixed up in this mess. Was it because she was too ambitious? She felt trapped.

Conner sighed and averted his eyes. Her hands nervously danced across the table before he sightlessly took hold of her dainty hands and folded them gently into his own. He soothingly stroked them and met her softening eyes.

"I'm concerned, Monica,that's all. I-" His voice was interrupted by a loud shatter. When he turned to look for the source, he was distracted by something heavy and sharp pelting his arms and face. He did not hesitate to reach for Monica and grasping the map still sitting on the table undisturbed. He missed her hand, but grabbed some part of her and pulled her out of the booth.

    Glass shattered and sprayed everywhere, as Monica shielded her eyes with the back of her arm. She was shaking with apprehension. Conner pulled her closer and barreled through the front door of the cafe. Reaching for her hand, he drug her to the left and down a small side street. The loud reports of bullets, and foreign voices filled his ears, pushing him to move faster. His thoughts rested with Monica. He wouldn't let her fall into the wrong hands. He would keep her safe.

    Pushing her around a corner, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing against the concrete walls and into his ears. He had hoped that they would be safe in Paris for a few days, but they had been discovered much sooner. The Man was tearing them apart and wearing them down. Conner was not sure how much longer Monica would last. 

     The sizzle of bullets rushed past his head and he blindly pulled Monica out of the side street and back to the main road. He was aware of their attackers closing in fast, as more bullets skidded on them from the main road. He didn't choose a direction, he blindly pulled Monica in the first clear path. They disappeared around a corner, both breathing hurriedly, forcing air through their battered lungs. Fear was their enemy, not exertion. Conner pulled Monica through a large mall. She was leaning on him and barely cognizant of her surroundings. She couldn't go on for much longer. He knew what he had to do. He led her to a clothing store near the back of the mall, and wrapping his arm around her shaking shoulders, he led her to a rack of dresses against the wall. He grasped her shoulders firmly and gazed cautiously into her eyes. She looked back with dull blue eyes blown wide.

"I need you to listen carefully, Monica." She nodded quickly and jerkily. Gone was the woman who was in control, gone was the calmness. It was replaced by a scared wide-eyed doe, just a child. His eyes softened and his lips tilted upward.

"I want you to hide behind this dress rack; make sure no one can see you. Wait here until dark. If I don't come back by then, go to our checkpoints and wait for fifteen minutes at each. If I do not come by then, take a plane directly to somewhere in South America and contact the FBI." Her eyes filled with tears at his ominous suggestion and a sob escaped her throat.

"Shh," he responded, pulling her to his chest and tangling his hands in her smooth hair. She grasped onto him tightly,unwilling to let go. Her tears soaked his shirt, but neither cared. He heard shouts from the front of the store. It was time. He gently extracted her grip from himself and nudged her into the dresses. She watched with wet eyes as he backed up farther and farther away from her, until she could no longer see his warm blue eyes or make out the different strands of his hair. She held her tears in as she watched his flying figure disappear from her sight.

    She shifted back farther into the dresses and away from the prying eyes of spectators. She stood there for hours, her legs cramping from the stillness. She leaned against the wall for a time to relieve her sore muscles, but soon her agitation got the better of her and she paced. She could see the last light of the autumn day begin to creep away and Conner still did not come. She told herself every five minutes that he would be there, he would come, but he never did. She continued to wait in silence until the last light of the day crept behind the horizon. She slipped out of the dresses and smoothed her hair. A gust of cold air greeted her like an old friend. She could see flashes in the distance and knew a storm was brewing. Her thin clothes would not keep her warm in the coming night.

    She left the store in a hurry. Shapes became a blur, as her eyes shifted around, looking for anyone who was tall and brunet. They alighted on the cars rushing by as she stepped onto the cool pavement. Her boots made an odd thumping sound against the stiff substance. It was comforting in a way. She hailed the first taxi she saw. Conner would no doubt have berated her for being thoughtless, and she would listen to him for hours as he lectured her on safety, if it meant she could only have him close again.

    The taxi took her toher first stop, the Church of Eglise Saint Paul. She pushed herself out of the car and asked the driver to wait. The Church loomed upward from the road, creating a terrifying shadow on the sidewalk. The area was deserted, except for the cars that rushed past without a second's hesitation. As she ascended the chipped and broken steps to the Church, she briefly wondered how many had come before her, seeking the refuge and solitude of the large Church. She received no solitude from it though. No answers came for her, as she waited desperately for the allotted fifteen minutes.

    She slumped against the ripped and torn plush seats of the taxi. She convinced herself to hold back the tears for now. There was still hope, he could be at one of the other checkpoints. She silently watched the lights of cars as they danced across the road, making the city come alive with people returning to their loved ones for the day. She felt that she was alone in the sea of people, that she was the only one lost. They all knew what they were doing and where they were going. She envied them,envied their simple and peaceful lives.

    The taxi pulled out of the rushing traffic and parked next to an old post office. Monica took a deep breath and pushed herself out of the stifling car. She put on a brave face as she prepared to face her battered emotions. It was closed for the night and the building cast an ominous shadow across the surrounding area. She walked along the gritty length of sidewalk in front of the building, vaguely listening to the sound of her heels clattering against the rough surface. Back and forth she went, watching, waiting for something. Waiting for Conner to come jumping out of nowhere and lead her away from this wretched city. But he didn't come. She let almost thirty minutes pass before she dishearteningly gave up. Her emotions reacted violently against her will, threatening to spill out and engulf her. She breathed in the cool night air and set off without thinking; set off in the direction of her last hope.

    She could make out the dark shape of the distant overpass, it was in the train yard below that her last hope lay. The wind came to life and rushed past her in a bellow and the rain fell onto her thin shoulders, covered only by a frail sweater, but she did not regret walking. Her breath came in short puffs, her apprehension grew at each step, until she told her brain that he would be there, he would come. She filled her fantasy world with thoughts of how she would find him, would he be injured? Or would he scare her as he often did? The logical side of her brain told her she would not care, just as long as he was there.

    She scrambled down into the rail yard below. Her footing becoming precarious, causing her to slip and slide in the thick dirt. She scrambled over the many tracks on the open landscape, watching for trains, though all was silent. She stopped under the overpass, and waited for the rain to stop. She hoped that he might be there, waiting for her in the gloom. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, her heart plummeted and her throat constricted, releasing a sob. It was empty, an empty cave devoid of hope. She sucked in a shuddering breath and attempted to pull her shocked body back together. She waited as time crawled on slowly, the tick of her watch coming and passing in sequence. She hesitantly pulled out her watch again, her hands shook as she sighed.

    Her legs buckled out from beneath her, she let them. She stopped fighting and she let her desperation and despair win out, and she cried. Curling into a ball to conserve her heat, she  let out the pain in long sobs,tears streaming down her exhausted face and pooling into her hands.

"Oh please, God," she begged. "Please, don't make me finish this on my own. Please, let him come. PLEASE!" she screamed into the still night air, choking on her breath. There was no other sound except the soft gentle patter of the falling rain. She buried her head into her knees and slowly rocked back and forth. Somewhere in her quieting brain, she remembered Conner telling her to leave should he not come, but she couldn't, she couldn't leave her grief.

     She cried herself into exhaustion, but the distraction of sleep eluded her. Silence reigned around her as the soft pattering of the rain stopped. The sharp whistle of a train reminded her it was time to move on. She felt cold and stiff from her vigil, but she roused the energy to stand and shake herself warm. She stilled when she heard the soft pattering of something in the yard. Clutching her forgotten bag tightly, she remembered her sense of duty and dedication. Why hadn't she listened to Conner? She could not escape the approaching footsteps; she was trapped. She squeezed her shivering body further back into the concealing shadows, hoping to go unnoticed. A shadowy figure stepped into the light of her little cave. Her eyes fell upon a curly mess of brunet hair, followed by warm blue eyes, and a cautious stance. Her body rebelled against her, pushing her into the light and daring to hope.

"Conner?" her voice came out soft and cracked. It was him. He opened his mouth to reply, but instead, she threw herself into his arms, threading her hands through his soft hair and resting her head against his shoulder. He gripped her tightly, thinking she might only be an illusion, but she wasn't. He had not dared to hope that she would be waiting for him, but the shaking woman in his arms proved otherwise.

"I was so worried, I-I didn't have the courage to go on. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, resting her head against his heart, the constant beating soothing her tears away. Her distress was replaced by relief and joy. Conner did not reply. He didn't have an answer, or maybe his answer was to hold her close and run a soothing hand up and down her back. Monica knew at that moment she did not want a normal life. She would never have met Conner if she did. Even with the terrible events of the day, as long as she had him, she could endure.

The End