Amber
Faded photographs.
Kevin Flynn would bite his tongue off before admitting that he sometimes can't remember, visually, events that happened in his ... well, youth. Late youth. Before, or even some in the beginning of his exile outside the Grid. So he does his best to refresh them, and the two big boxes of pictures stacked at the bottom of the bookcase in the loft over the Arcade help.
He will take them out, in some moments that he has to himself (and with Alan and Sam and Quorra working, and Tron and Xia spending time exploring on their own, or back inside the Gridworld, he has those, although he knows that as the MMORPG project unfolded, that will change), and sit looking through them, sorting them out.
When he has the visual anchor, the events become vivid in his memory again. How soft and golden Jordan's hair is, and how musical her laugh. How Walter limped slightly when he came to tell him he was retiring, but he knew that Encom was in good hands. The breeze that made Sam's curls fly all over around his face and the Frisbee go all askew, until the moved so that Flynn would be throwing against the wind and Sam could send him running much further back, sometimes. The roar of a helicopter engine and smiles in blue eyes as he was welcomed back.
The pictures are faded, but not as much as those downstairs in the office, and dusty, though less than how he knows the loft has gotten, deserted in his absence.
But they are enough to let the rest of the sensual data fill in.
***
It was Wednesday, his second day back actually working - not that he went to Encom, but it was still fully on the job anyway - and he'd gone down to check on Clu and Tron and Xia after business hours were over.
The cautious note in Quorra's voice over the phone when he checked in about going down was enough to make him take a nap - on Grid time - before finding the other three, because Clu and Tron would pick right up that he was tired and worry, and he could avoid that easily enough, without great loss of time, too. And when they were concerned, time was precious. Not because they held it against him, not right now. Tron and Xia understood better, too. Maybe Clu would, too, one day, but he was less resentful for the time anyway, and that mattered to Flynn a whole lot. Any way to make it easier...
He shrugged the leather jacket on and grabbed his helmet on the way out. Pick up some dinner, then everybody could relax more after a long day of dancing with the tech elephant. His tech elephant, once upon a time, but now among them, his friend and his son and the ISO seemed to be managing to keep it at hand, and it was damn impressive. Even if he thought so himself.
She stood on the sidewalk across from the entrance of the Arcade when he stepped out. The street wasn't quite deserted, but she stood out, he coat a little too warm for the weather and a little too dressy for the neighborhood. And just standing there, watching the entrance, which he only caught for a moment before her eyebrows shot up.
He closed up, the gathering dusk hiding her features from him already, but since she hadn't gone anywhere while he did that, he crossed to her and smiled. "Can I help you?"
"I am... was. I was just here for some old memories." There was a tightness to her voice, and while she'd been looking at the building before, now her eyes - hazel, he could see from here - were not moving away from him. The way she turned to face him with her whole body, the half-parted lips as though she expected something, made him realize that she recognized him.
It was the way the light of a passing car lit up her hair in just the right color - she hadn't dyed it, unlike many women her age - and made her features wash out of the effect of years that helped him recognize her in turn. The old Polaroid pictures were in the bottom of the smaller box. He could recall asking Jordan if he should throw them and a few others away. She'd laughed, and said that a man without a past is one without a future, and she wouldn't dare to take the future from him. She'd kissed him, and let him know he could keep them. She'd been amazing like that, but then, she had no reasons for insecurity. Once she'd entered his life, there were no others.
The name trickled back from the memory inside the memory, the eyes of the living woman in front of him almost glowing on her suntanned face. "Amber?"
And the half-parted lips spread into a startled smile. "Yeah. You remember."
Flynn smiled back. To say that he couldn't have forgotten would be a lie; then again, he hadn't forgotten the time they'd had together. He merely wouldn't have recognized her without the pictures, that was all.
Instead of platitudes, he looked around, then tentatively smiled. "Are you... Well. How about a walk? Down on the beach?"
She hesitated a brief moment, then nodded. "I'd like that."
***
After he texted Alan to tell him he's out and would take the scenic route home, they headed to her hotel so she could change into something more appropriate for walking in the sand, and with her arms wrapped around his waist, it was difficult not to remember. He didn't try; unlike many of his later memories, there was no sting to this one.
It was late spring or early summer, the first summer when the Arcade was operational, although it had almost been a year. The crowd was already thick, because it was a good place and he knew how to make it best for those who liked to play and those who could hang around. Lora had... bowed out of his life, but they kept in touch, and it was okay; he knew he'd come in a bit too intense a few times while the whole anger thing had been going on, so he didn't blame her.
He thought he might get her back, one day, when he was in a respectable position again. Maybe.
For now, he had the Arcade. And it was shiny, and awesome, and the people who came were such that he could love being the center of attention to, and it was fun.
And he knew them enough that when the new face appeared, hazel eyes glimmering with the blinking lights, half at the game she was playing and half at him, he noticed. He checked to make sure if she needed anything, on account of, new face, and she responded with about the same level of flirting. Which made sense, she was probably in her late twenties, mature behavior - yes, he could appreciate it even at the Arcade - to set her apart from the usual crowd of sixteen-to-nineteen-year-olds who watched him wide-eyed and at times almost offered themselves to him.
She came again a couple of days later, and then again, this time more splitting her time between playing and hanging around, watching others - and him - play. In the general chatter, he could trace some of what she said. Visiting with family for a couple of weeks, not entirely by her choice. Enjoying herself there, at least. Little tidbits scattered here and there.
He supposed if he wanted more, he'd have to ask, but a week rolled by before it hit him how short a time she'd be around, heading back East after that, and then he tried to spend a bit more time around her - she was enjoyable company, and, yes, good-looking, too. Even if she came from a cooler climate, her skin was well-tanned, her coloring a little darker than his usual 'type,' but striking in her way, too
She took him by surprise, a little bit, when she opened up the subject by asking if he'd like to go out to dinner with her, the evening before she left which happened to be her only not-family-engaged one. He couldn't help grinning wide, and asked if she, in turn, would be open to the idea of him throwing a movie into it, and then they laughed for a good ten minutes figuring out which movie it might be (they ended up watching one that wasn't even mentioned, but it was all good fun).
And then they wanted to continue the conversation from dinner, so she hopped behind him on the bike again and he took them to one of the beaches, kicking off their shoes to go into the bike's saddlebags and waddled barefoot on the still-warm sand. Talking and laughing until the faint chill of the night breeze and a lull in the conversation made them look at each other, his leather jacket already around her shoulders between his arm went around her, too.
She leaned up and kissed him, unashamed and easy, and them smiled, her amber hair blowing around her face, bright enough to not be grayed out in the starlight.
"So..."
"So. Want me to drive you back to your place so you get a good night's sleep before your flight, or..."
"Not too much. Or?"
"Well, my loft is above the Arcade... I might show you around." He answered her grin. "Or we can find something else to do there, since it's not all that large to show around for long."
"I find myself in definite preference of that option, actually."
A corner of his mouth twitched up, and then he leaned down to return the kiss, the hold of one arm shifting down around her waist, her fingers, somehow surprisingly strong (she played the guitar, he remembered) going back through his hair.
They didn't get straight to the sex when they got to the loft, either. There was laughter, and talking, and maybe sharing a bottle of beer, passing it back and forth as words and touches and kisses got them more relaxed and less clothed. The glow and pulse of the lights that the blinds let through drew shifting patterns on her skin, and he traced them, first with fingers and then with lips; and he made silly jokes that made her shake the bed with laughter and return ones that were not better, and he almost fell off the bed reaching for the condoms, and then they rested briefly and started all over again, until they were exhausted and drifted off without energy for even saying good-night.
He opened his bleary eyes to her slipping out of bed to stop her wrist-watch alarm. Which was somewhere in the vicinity of the couch, good thing she'd heard it.
"Kevin." Her smile was entirely too much more awake than he felt at the moment. "You don't have to get up with me, I'll see myself out."
"Mmmph..." His mouth seemed stuffed with an old stocking and he couldn't make it work, but he did sit up, careless of the sheet, and she giggled slightly.
"Good morning to you, too." Small head-shake, and she took a brief moment to orient herself before starting coffee. For both of them. And tugging him in the shower. Which helped immensely, as did the warm beverage, but she still turned down his offer to give her a ride to the airport in favor of calling her a cab.
New York, he thought as being awake slowly seeped into his mind, watching the taxi pull off. That, and her name and that she played the guitar and some vague idea about the job she was doing was all that he knew about her. Then again, they hadn't been planning on a future together, just having fun.
Which they had.
***
Flynn didn't have long to wait outside her hotel while she got ready; it kept with the kind of sensible and fun-appreciative person she'd been so long ago. She did see his eyebrows go up as she came out - because she was carrying a guitar case, the brighter light from the hotel lobby gleaming off the the locks. Amber just grinned back and took her position behind him, slinging the instrument at her back and holding on tight once more.
It wasn't quite warm enough for walking barefoot on the sand after sunset, but the similarities were enough, even after over thirty years' distance. Maybe because the beach and the ocean and the stars didn't really change, over that short a time. He wondered idly how much they would change, in as long as he had lived, as they listened the waves and wondered, at least he was wondering, where to start the conversation from. He opted for the ridiculous, it was easiest to deal with, he hoped.
"So. I see you made it to your flight and landed safe and sound, back then."
She glanced at him, and then laughed, briefly and surprised. "Well, yes. And a few more times back and forth, since. Mostly business trips, once we were settled and got things going."
"Yeah? I see you're still in the music business..."
"Mm-hmm." There was too much amusement in the short response, the conversation ball still clearly landed squarely in his yard and her fully aware what she was doing with it.
"Still coast to coast?"
She laughed, then. "Well, yes. There are people I work with who are here, even if the business hub is in New York. Especially when I'm trying to get back to my feet..." He could see one hand cross to the other, touching the back of her ring finger. Where, he'd noticed in the brighter light when she'd come out of the hotel, she had a wedding band tan line, but no band. Instead of elaborating, she tossed her head in a gesture that was, to his surprise, familiar and took the conversation in a different direction. "Don't say you're not familiar with the trip."
He didn't even have to think to recognize the Signs of a Grieving Spouse, in the hesitation in her voice and then the resolution. In the gesture. He'd been there; he was seeing it in Alan every day, too. And while he didn't know what was the way to deal with it, he opted for playing up to her game with a soft chuckle. "Me? I'm from New Jersey and I used to run a Fortune 500 company. Of course I am."
... apparently, the response wasn't far enough, because her face... saddened, again, except this time it was less private and more... looking in compassion at him. Huh. "I knew that. That you're from New Jersey. There's ... there has been a lot of publicity over you. Your wife," and she smiled gently up at him, face clear in the starlight, "and then what happened. The whole CEO thing. And then the disappearance. I didn't think you'd go away, no matter what they said, it was so out there. But... It..." She trailed off, and didn't ask, but the confusion tinged her voice pretty loud.
He walked beside her for a while, trying to figure out what to say, and how. It was mostly that she didn't ask, even after bringing it up, that resolved him to give her some answer. She didn't ask because it had been a sensation, she wanted to... know. For his sake. Even if it had been such a short thing, so long ago, and she'd found a home and likely happiness, she'd not forgotten what she'd known about him. It mattered, somehow.
"I didn't. Go away, I mean. It was..." Long breath out. "More complicated and I'm not up to really talking about it, but put simply, I was... kidnapped and held."
"What? Where?" She halted even the slow progress they were making, by now, to turn and face him, feet planted in the sand, the thinner part of the guitar case looming above her head, but not casting a shadow over it.
"That's the complicated part." He tried to smooth the frown from his face, but he suspected it didn't work too well. "It was partly a trap that I'd set up for myself, too, only not intentionally. And I couldn't come back."
There must have been something, because she lowered her inquisitive gaze and nodded, slightly. "What happened?"
He didn't know if she'd let it go, or come back to it later, if there was a later, or she was considering running away horrified... no, he could pretty much rule that one out, but still. "Sam... my son." And she flicked a look up at him that he couldn't decipher, but then, he hadn't even tried to keep the emotion - the pride and the love - from his voice. "He figured it out. And pretty much came and rescued me."
"... pretty tall order."
"That wasn't my idea, either, but..." He shrugged one shoulder, then resumed walking. After a moment, so did she. "He may tell the story a bit differently, but he did just that."
She hmphed, but didn't ask him to elaborate on that. "When was that?"
"Oh... a couple of months ago."
"But... the news..."
He shrugged again, but he tried to impress the importance of this part. "It's been over twenty years, Amber. If I show up, it'll be a constant circus for months, and I'm not ready to talk about some of it, and... I just want some time with my son." Swallowing, he needed a moment to find his voice again. Saying for the first time out loud, out here, the words. "I never thought I'd see him again."
"Of course you want to." Matter of fact, and somehow one of her hands had found its way to wrap around his arm. It was comforting, a bit of warmth in the breeze. "That part, I don't blame you of at all." Beat, and then. "Who knows?"
"Sam, a few friends from... back there, you, and my best friend from before I disappeared, Alan Bradley."
"... he was mentioned..."
"Yeah?"
She looked down, and it was her turn to walk in silence. "There was... this article, back at the time. Ran when it was about the time of your son's sixteenth birthday. It was appalling, garish... banking on a kid in a way that ... well, I'm sure you can imagine." He forced his lips to relax from the way they'd pressed into a thin line, and it worked - partially. "I was flying here the next day, and because it'd called things up, I went to the Arcade. The only time before today that I have, actually. It was locked up. Cold and dark. I thought you were..."
"No." Softly. "I'm not." It was warming, really. The way she talked, the way she cared - not for the celebrity but for the person. "And it's a good thing." No references to how close it's been, or what it's cost. It wasn't for now.
"I'd say so."
"You know what's also good?"
"... what?" Her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, over her shoulder, as he paused again briefly and his voice changed.
"Popcorn. I've missed popcorn." Because, yes, he saw a lonely stall still open, and he could imagine the eyeroll that went with her sigh as he tugged her that way.
The conversation went to easier topics, after that, and she respected that. Actually, she enthusiastically joined it, after a couple of lines from him, and in a bit she was wrinkling her nose because, apparently, popcorn didn't stick in his hair as well as it used to when it was all in curls, when she threw some at him.
He found it very easy to be around her. Again. Pleasant and clever, and mature and yet not at all jaded. She told stories of her work, and he occasionally chimed with some of the recent things that had happened. They went through a couple of movies they had both seen, and he could practically see how she took in the huge gap in his knowledge and started to work around it in ways that were convenient to her, different from Alan's, for example. Not that he objected.
And her laughter still sounded pretty, as she threw her head back to the stars, at his not-quite-appropriate comment on some of the dialogue.
They jumped onto the score of one of the films, and from there the topic naturally progressed to music, and she revealed some more of the details of what she did. In the middle of which it was her turn to take his hand and tug him in the direction of the edge of the beach, this time to one of the benches, already dry from yesterday's drizzle. He followed, curious what she had in mind (and more than a little certain that it wasn't making out, they didn't even need to talk about it to know that that kind of a spark was gone with the past where it had happened), and then almost laughed to see her tug the guitar case off her shoulder and take the instrument out, crossing one ankle on top of the opposite knee and propping the guitar on it.
It had been a long while since he'd heard a live guitar played. Here, accompanied by the wind and the beat of the waves, and her singing. They'd never had time for her to sing before, other than singing along with whatever track was playing, on occasion. His loss, he realized. That she joyfully reversed, right now.
He even found himself humming along at a few of them. And then more, when she realized older songs were ones he knew.
The music continued until a stronger gust of wind made her shiver, which reminded him that, well, they'd been walking, moving, just a tad sweaty, and now that had dried up on them as they sat down, her on the 'table' with her heels on the edge of the bench, and him with one elbow propped beside her knee, and nobody wanted to get a chill, right? He reached his hand to still hers on the guitar strings, and she shot him down a look of startlement at the touch, but nodded in a moment.
"Let's head back."
So they did, his jacket again around her shoulders (habit, plus, it was a good one with the bike) and the conversation stuttering back with casual, easy topics. Wandering along the sand in the general direction of here he'd parked until the chill was again held at bay.
She didn't halt abruptly or anything like that. Just slowed, then stopped, and looked up at him, her sile slight and almost tired. "I never expected to see you again." It was a mix of things, there. The disappearance, true. But they'd not even given each other contact information, back when. They'd had a week or two of fun, then it had been over. It was supposed to be over...
Well, one part of it was. The want to snog each other breathless, for one thing (not that he even got that, any more).
But the fun didn't seem to be.
Flynn was still looking for words to answer her with, because that was important, when her phone rang, loud and clear in the almost-silence of wind and breeze and shuffling steps in the sand. She answered, giving him a sheepish smile and turning away for better reception; he thought it my be one of her sons. He was almost tempted to listen in, but his on phone rang, and he picked up reassure Sam that things were well, he was out there on the beach, would be home after a while. Not too late.
Amber was looking up at him when he cut the connection, her eyes almost glittering in the starlight. He only had to meet them before his own crinkled, and they both burst into laughter. Somehow, he coincidence was vastly amusing, for no reason he could pinpoint. But she wasn't asking, so that was all right.
The hug that followed was noticeably more awkward. Even if she neither froze in his arms nor tried to push away, it still felt odd.
Neither of them mentioned it as they did start back, with more purpose, towards his bike, so he could give her the ride back to the motel.
When he dropped her off, he ducked around the guitar case and placed a kiss on her forehead, light, but lingering.
"You've become... older." More mature, he could read in her remark, but not just.
He abstained from remarking that she had no idea; that would lead nowhere. Instead, he limited himself to, "yes." He waited a beat - a heartbeat, his - before he added, "and that's not a problem for you."
"No, of course not," there was laughter in her voice, "you're still... vivid. To be around." It wasn't difficult to recognize it as a compliment, or praise. Something that she liked. Something that she might like more of.
So he banked on that. "Give me a call when you're back in town again? Maybe a dinner?" It was impulsive, the request, but she laughed - not mocking him.
"You do realize that we still haven't exchanged phone numbers, don't you?"
"Well. It might have occurred to me. Shall we?"
She shook her head in amusement at the first part, but then got her phone out for the action follow-up.
He rode off, home, shortly after that. And for some reason, his heart was a little big lighter, because... that felt human. Normal, plain, palpably and undeniably human. A welcome change, since he almost wondered if he was, anymore.
***
Faded photographs.
Slowly, some of them aren't needed anymore. Like those of Sam, and of Alan (though not of Lora). Now Amber. He has vivid, near memories to touch and hold and keep.
But he doesn't throw them away, and he doesn't pass them up.
It's all precious.
Kevin Flynn would bite his tongue off before admitting that he sometimes can't remember, visually, events that happened in his ... well, youth. Late youth. Before, or even some in the beginning of his exile outside the Grid. So he does his best to refresh them, and the two big boxes of pictures stacked at the bottom of the bookcase in the loft over the Arcade help.
He will take them out, in some moments that he has to himself (and with Alan and Sam and Quorra working, and Tron and Xia spending time exploring on their own, or back inside the Gridworld, he has those, although he knows that as the MMORPG project unfolded, that will change), and sit looking through them, sorting them out.
When he has the visual anchor, the events become vivid in his memory again. How soft and golden Jordan's hair is, and how musical her laugh. How Walter limped slightly when he came to tell him he was retiring, but he knew that Encom was in good hands. The breeze that made Sam's curls fly all over around his face and the Frisbee go all askew, until the moved so that Flynn would be throwing against the wind and Sam could send him running much further back, sometimes. The roar of a helicopter engine and smiles in blue eyes as he was welcomed back.
The pictures are faded, but not as much as those downstairs in the office, and dusty, though less than how he knows the loft has gotten, deserted in his absence.
But they are enough to let the rest of the sensual data fill in.
***
It was Wednesday, his second day back actually working - not that he went to Encom, but it was still fully on the job anyway - and he'd gone down to check on Clu and Tron and Xia after business hours were over.
The cautious note in Quorra's voice over the phone when he checked in about going down was enough to make him take a nap - on Grid time - before finding the other three, because Clu and Tron would pick right up that he was tired and worry, and he could avoid that easily enough, without great loss of time, too. And when they were concerned, time was precious. Not because they held it against him, not right now. Tron and Xia understood better, too. Maybe Clu would, too, one day, but he was less resentful for the time anyway, and that mattered to Flynn a whole lot. Any way to make it easier...
He shrugged the leather jacket on and grabbed his helmet on the way out. Pick up some dinner, then everybody could relax more after a long day of dancing with the tech elephant. His tech elephant, once upon a time, but now among them, his friend and his son and the ISO seemed to be managing to keep it at hand, and it was damn impressive. Even if he thought so himself.
She stood on the sidewalk across from the entrance of the Arcade when he stepped out. The street wasn't quite deserted, but she stood out, he coat a little too warm for the weather and a little too dressy for the neighborhood. And just standing there, watching the entrance, which he only caught for a moment before her eyebrows shot up.
He closed up, the gathering dusk hiding her features from him already, but since she hadn't gone anywhere while he did that, he crossed to her and smiled. "Can I help you?"
"I am... was. I was just here for some old memories." There was a tightness to her voice, and while she'd been looking at the building before, now her eyes - hazel, he could see from here - were not moving away from him. The way she turned to face him with her whole body, the half-parted lips as though she expected something, made him realize that she recognized him.
It was the way the light of a passing car lit up her hair in just the right color - she hadn't dyed it, unlike many women her age - and made her features wash out of the effect of years that helped him recognize her in turn. The old Polaroid pictures were in the bottom of the smaller box. He could recall asking Jordan if he should throw them and a few others away. She'd laughed, and said that a man without a past is one without a future, and she wouldn't dare to take the future from him. She'd kissed him, and let him know he could keep them. She'd been amazing like that, but then, she had no reasons for insecurity. Once she'd entered his life, there were no others.
The name trickled back from the memory inside the memory, the eyes of the living woman in front of him almost glowing on her suntanned face. "Amber?"
And the half-parted lips spread into a startled smile. "Yeah. You remember."
Flynn smiled back. To say that he couldn't have forgotten would be a lie; then again, he hadn't forgotten the time they'd had together. He merely wouldn't have recognized her without the pictures, that was all.
Instead of platitudes, he looked around, then tentatively smiled. "Are you... Well. How about a walk? Down on the beach?"
She hesitated a brief moment, then nodded. "I'd like that."
***
After he texted Alan to tell him he's out and would take the scenic route home, they headed to her hotel so she could change into something more appropriate for walking in the sand, and with her arms wrapped around his waist, it was difficult not to remember. He didn't try; unlike many of his later memories, there was no sting to this one.
It was late spring or early summer, the first summer when the Arcade was operational, although it had almost been a year. The crowd was already thick, because it was a good place and he knew how to make it best for those who liked to play and those who could hang around. Lora had... bowed out of his life, but they kept in touch, and it was okay; he knew he'd come in a bit too intense a few times while the whole anger thing had been going on, so he didn't blame her.
He thought he might get her back, one day, when he was in a respectable position again. Maybe.
For now, he had the Arcade. And it was shiny, and awesome, and the people who came were such that he could love being the center of attention to, and it was fun.
And he knew them enough that when the new face appeared, hazel eyes glimmering with the blinking lights, half at the game she was playing and half at him, he noticed. He checked to make sure if she needed anything, on account of, new face, and she responded with about the same level of flirting. Which made sense, she was probably in her late twenties, mature behavior - yes, he could appreciate it even at the Arcade - to set her apart from the usual crowd of sixteen-to-nineteen-year-olds who watched him wide-eyed and at times almost offered themselves to him.
She came again a couple of days later, and then again, this time more splitting her time between playing and hanging around, watching others - and him - play. In the general chatter, he could trace some of what she said. Visiting with family for a couple of weeks, not entirely by her choice. Enjoying herself there, at least. Little tidbits scattered here and there.
He supposed if he wanted more, he'd have to ask, but a week rolled by before it hit him how short a time she'd be around, heading back East after that, and then he tried to spend a bit more time around her - she was enjoyable company, and, yes, good-looking, too. Even if she came from a cooler climate, her skin was well-tanned, her coloring a little darker than his usual 'type,' but striking in her way, too
She took him by surprise, a little bit, when she opened up the subject by asking if he'd like to go out to dinner with her, the evening before she left which happened to be her only not-family-engaged one. He couldn't help grinning wide, and asked if she, in turn, would be open to the idea of him throwing a movie into it, and then they laughed for a good ten minutes figuring out which movie it might be (they ended up watching one that wasn't even mentioned, but it was all good fun).
And then they wanted to continue the conversation from dinner, so she hopped behind him on the bike again and he took them to one of the beaches, kicking off their shoes to go into the bike's saddlebags and waddled barefoot on the still-warm sand. Talking and laughing until the faint chill of the night breeze and a lull in the conversation made them look at each other, his leather jacket already around her shoulders between his arm went around her, too.
She leaned up and kissed him, unashamed and easy, and them smiled, her amber hair blowing around her face, bright enough to not be grayed out in the starlight.
"So..."
"So. Want me to drive you back to your place so you get a good night's sleep before your flight, or..."
"Not too much. Or?"
"Well, my loft is above the Arcade... I might show you around." He answered her grin. "Or we can find something else to do there, since it's not all that large to show around for long."
"I find myself in definite preference of that option, actually."
A corner of his mouth twitched up, and then he leaned down to return the kiss, the hold of one arm shifting down around her waist, her fingers, somehow surprisingly strong (she played the guitar, he remembered) going back through his hair.
They didn't get straight to the sex when they got to the loft, either. There was laughter, and talking, and maybe sharing a bottle of beer, passing it back and forth as words and touches and kisses got them more relaxed and less clothed. The glow and pulse of the lights that the blinds let through drew shifting patterns on her skin, and he traced them, first with fingers and then with lips; and he made silly jokes that made her shake the bed with laughter and return ones that were not better, and he almost fell off the bed reaching for the condoms, and then they rested briefly and started all over again, until they were exhausted and drifted off without energy for even saying good-night.
He opened his bleary eyes to her slipping out of bed to stop her wrist-watch alarm. Which was somewhere in the vicinity of the couch, good thing she'd heard it.
"Kevin." Her smile was entirely too much more awake than he felt at the moment. "You don't have to get up with me, I'll see myself out."
"Mmmph..." His mouth seemed stuffed with an old stocking and he couldn't make it work, but he did sit up, careless of the sheet, and she giggled slightly.
"Good morning to you, too." Small head-shake, and she took a brief moment to orient herself before starting coffee. For both of them. And tugging him in the shower. Which helped immensely, as did the warm beverage, but she still turned down his offer to give her a ride to the airport in favor of calling her a cab.
New York, he thought as being awake slowly seeped into his mind, watching the taxi pull off. That, and her name and that she played the guitar and some vague idea about the job she was doing was all that he knew about her. Then again, they hadn't been planning on a future together, just having fun.
Which they had.
***
Flynn didn't have long to wait outside her hotel while she got ready; it kept with the kind of sensible and fun-appreciative person she'd been so long ago. She did see his eyebrows go up as she came out - because she was carrying a guitar case, the brighter light from the hotel lobby gleaming off the the locks. Amber just grinned back and took her position behind him, slinging the instrument at her back and holding on tight once more.
It wasn't quite warm enough for walking barefoot on the sand after sunset, but the similarities were enough, even after over thirty years' distance. Maybe because the beach and the ocean and the stars didn't really change, over that short a time. He wondered idly how much they would change, in as long as he had lived, as they listened the waves and wondered, at least he was wondering, where to start the conversation from. He opted for the ridiculous, it was easiest to deal with, he hoped.
"So. I see you made it to your flight and landed safe and sound, back then."
She glanced at him, and then laughed, briefly and surprised. "Well, yes. And a few more times back and forth, since. Mostly business trips, once we were settled and got things going."
"Yeah? I see you're still in the music business..."
"Mm-hmm." There was too much amusement in the short response, the conversation ball still clearly landed squarely in his yard and her fully aware what she was doing with it.
"Still coast to coast?"
She laughed, then. "Well, yes. There are people I work with who are here, even if the business hub is in New York. Especially when I'm trying to get back to my feet..." He could see one hand cross to the other, touching the back of her ring finger. Where, he'd noticed in the brighter light when she'd come out of the hotel, she had a wedding band tan line, but no band. Instead of elaborating, she tossed her head in a gesture that was, to his surprise, familiar and took the conversation in a different direction. "Don't say you're not familiar with the trip."
He didn't even have to think to recognize the Signs of a Grieving Spouse, in the hesitation in her voice and then the resolution. In the gesture. He'd been there; he was seeing it in Alan every day, too. And while he didn't know what was the way to deal with it, he opted for playing up to her game with a soft chuckle. "Me? I'm from New Jersey and I used to run a Fortune 500 company. Of course I am."
... apparently, the response wasn't far enough, because her face... saddened, again, except this time it was less private and more... looking in compassion at him. Huh. "I knew that. That you're from New Jersey. There's ... there has been a lot of publicity over you. Your wife," and she smiled gently up at him, face clear in the starlight, "and then what happened. The whole CEO thing. And then the disappearance. I didn't think you'd go away, no matter what they said, it was so out there. But... It..." She trailed off, and didn't ask, but the confusion tinged her voice pretty loud.
He walked beside her for a while, trying to figure out what to say, and how. It was mostly that she didn't ask, even after bringing it up, that resolved him to give her some answer. She didn't ask because it had been a sensation, she wanted to... know. For his sake. Even if it had been such a short thing, so long ago, and she'd found a home and likely happiness, she'd not forgotten what she'd known about him. It mattered, somehow.
"I didn't. Go away, I mean. It was..." Long breath out. "More complicated and I'm not up to really talking about it, but put simply, I was... kidnapped and held."
"What? Where?" She halted even the slow progress they were making, by now, to turn and face him, feet planted in the sand, the thinner part of the guitar case looming above her head, but not casting a shadow over it.
"That's the complicated part." He tried to smooth the frown from his face, but he suspected it didn't work too well. "It was partly a trap that I'd set up for myself, too, only not intentionally. And I couldn't come back."
There must have been something, because she lowered her inquisitive gaze and nodded, slightly. "What happened?"
He didn't know if she'd let it go, or come back to it later, if there was a later, or she was considering running away horrified... no, he could pretty much rule that one out, but still. "Sam... my son." And she flicked a look up at him that he couldn't decipher, but then, he hadn't even tried to keep the emotion - the pride and the love - from his voice. "He figured it out. And pretty much came and rescued me."
"... pretty tall order."
"That wasn't my idea, either, but..." He shrugged one shoulder, then resumed walking. After a moment, so did she. "He may tell the story a bit differently, but he did just that."
She hmphed, but didn't ask him to elaborate on that. "When was that?"
"Oh... a couple of months ago."
"But... the news..."
He shrugged again, but he tried to impress the importance of this part. "It's been over twenty years, Amber. If I show up, it'll be a constant circus for months, and I'm not ready to talk about some of it, and... I just want some time with my son." Swallowing, he needed a moment to find his voice again. Saying for the first time out loud, out here, the words. "I never thought I'd see him again."
"Of course you want to." Matter of fact, and somehow one of her hands had found its way to wrap around his arm. It was comforting, a bit of warmth in the breeze. "That part, I don't blame you of at all." Beat, and then. "Who knows?"
"Sam, a few friends from... back there, you, and my best friend from before I disappeared, Alan Bradley."
"... he was mentioned..."
"Yeah?"
She looked down, and it was her turn to walk in silence. "There was... this article, back at the time. Ran when it was about the time of your son's sixteenth birthday. It was appalling, garish... banking on a kid in a way that ... well, I'm sure you can imagine." He forced his lips to relax from the way they'd pressed into a thin line, and it worked - partially. "I was flying here the next day, and because it'd called things up, I went to the Arcade. The only time before today that I have, actually. It was locked up. Cold and dark. I thought you were..."
"No." Softly. "I'm not." It was warming, really. The way she talked, the way she cared - not for the celebrity but for the person. "And it's a good thing." No references to how close it's been, or what it's cost. It wasn't for now.
"I'd say so."
"You know what's also good?"
"... what?" Her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, over her shoulder, as he paused again briefly and his voice changed.
"Popcorn. I've missed popcorn." Because, yes, he saw a lonely stall still open, and he could imagine the eyeroll that went with her sigh as he tugged her that way.
The conversation went to easier topics, after that, and she respected that. Actually, she enthusiastically joined it, after a couple of lines from him, and in a bit she was wrinkling her nose because, apparently, popcorn didn't stick in his hair as well as it used to when it was all in curls, when she threw some at him.
He found it very easy to be around her. Again. Pleasant and clever, and mature and yet not at all jaded. She told stories of her work, and he occasionally chimed with some of the recent things that had happened. They went through a couple of movies they had both seen, and he could practically see how she took in the huge gap in his knowledge and started to work around it in ways that were convenient to her, different from Alan's, for example. Not that he objected.
And her laughter still sounded pretty, as she threw her head back to the stars, at his not-quite-appropriate comment on some of the dialogue.
They jumped onto the score of one of the films, and from there the topic naturally progressed to music, and she revealed some more of the details of what she did. In the middle of which it was her turn to take his hand and tug him in the direction of the edge of the beach, this time to one of the benches, already dry from yesterday's drizzle. He followed, curious what she had in mind (and more than a little certain that it wasn't making out, they didn't even need to talk about it to know that that kind of a spark was gone with the past where it had happened), and then almost laughed to see her tug the guitar case off her shoulder and take the instrument out, crossing one ankle on top of the opposite knee and propping the guitar on it.
It had been a long while since he'd heard a live guitar played. Here, accompanied by the wind and the beat of the waves, and her singing. They'd never had time for her to sing before, other than singing along with whatever track was playing, on occasion. His loss, he realized. That she joyfully reversed, right now.
He even found himself humming along at a few of them. And then more, when she realized older songs were ones he knew.
The music continued until a stronger gust of wind made her shiver, which reminded him that, well, they'd been walking, moving, just a tad sweaty, and now that had dried up on them as they sat down, her on the 'table' with her heels on the edge of the bench, and him with one elbow propped beside her knee, and nobody wanted to get a chill, right? He reached his hand to still hers on the guitar strings, and she shot him down a look of startlement at the touch, but nodded in a moment.
"Let's head back."
So they did, his jacket again around her shoulders (habit, plus, it was a good one with the bike) and the conversation stuttering back with casual, easy topics. Wandering along the sand in the general direction of here he'd parked until the chill was again held at bay.
She didn't halt abruptly or anything like that. Just slowed, then stopped, and looked up at him, her sile slight and almost tired. "I never expected to see you again." It was a mix of things, there. The disappearance, true. But they'd not even given each other contact information, back when. They'd had a week or two of fun, then it had been over. It was supposed to be over...
Well, one part of it was. The want to snog each other breathless, for one thing (not that he even got that, any more).
But the fun didn't seem to be.
Flynn was still looking for words to answer her with, because that was important, when her phone rang, loud and clear in the almost-silence of wind and breeze and shuffling steps in the sand. She answered, giving him a sheepish smile and turning away for better reception; he thought it my be one of her sons. He was almost tempted to listen in, but his on phone rang, and he picked up reassure Sam that things were well, he was out there on the beach, would be home after a while. Not too late.
Amber was looking up at him when he cut the connection, her eyes almost glittering in the starlight. He only had to meet them before his own crinkled, and they both burst into laughter. Somehow, he coincidence was vastly amusing, for no reason he could pinpoint. But she wasn't asking, so that was all right.
The hug that followed was noticeably more awkward. Even if she neither froze in his arms nor tried to push away, it still felt odd.
Neither of them mentioned it as they did start back, with more purpose, towards his bike, so he could give her the ride back to the motel.
When he dropped her off, he ducked around the guitar case and placed a kiss on her forehead, light, but lingering.
"You've become... older." More mature, he could read in her remark, but not just.
He abstained from remarking that she had no idea; that would lead nowhere. Instead, he limited himself to, "yes." He waited a beat - a heartbeat, his - before he added, "and that's not a problem for you."
"No, of course not," there was laughter in her voice, "you're still... vivid. To be around." It wasn't difficult to recognize it as a compliment, or praise. Something that she liked. Something that she might like more of.
So he banked on that. "Give me a call when you're back in town again? Maybe a dinner?" It was impulsive, the request, but she laughed - not mocking him.
"You do realize that we still haven't exchanged phone numbers, don't you?"
"Well. It might have occurred to me. Shall we?"
She shook her head in amusement at the first part, but then got her phone out for the action follow-up.
He rode off, home, shortly after that. And for some reason, his heart was a little big lighter, because... that felt human. Normal, plain, palpably and undeniably human. A welcome change, since he almost wondered if he was, anymore.
***
Faded photographs.
Slowly, some of them aren't needed anymore. Like those of Sam, and of Alan (though not of Lora). Now Amber. He has vivid, near memories to touch and hold and keep.
But he doesn't throw them away, and he doesn't pass them up.
It's all precious.