Taste of Bittersweet (Archie/Jimmy)
Title: Taste of Bittersweet
Author: snarkcasm
Rating: PG-13?
Genre: Slash (implied) Archibald "Archie" Leach/James "Jimmy" Ford (I KNOW RIGHT?)
Spoilers: Spoilers for Inside and Three Card Monte Job (if you don't know the characters above, I wouldn't read it if I were you)
Summary: An ex-thief and a bookie walk into a bar.
A/N: As always, reviews are love!
A month. His own son ran him out of his town a month ago. The insult still stings, even as he slings back shots in a hideyhole somewhere in downtown Belfast. He had been played by his own flesh and blood, how could he bounce back from that sober?
He catches the bartender’s eye and taps the rim of his glass. The bartender, a hard-faced, no-nonsense woman ironically named Fiona, gives him an exasperated look and fishes out another bottle of Jameson. “It’s a busy night. If you want to poison yer liver, do it on yer own time.” Impeccable logic, he thinks as he refills his own glass. If he drinks himself to death, at least the bartender has his credit card.
“I thought I remembered that head of hair, silver though it may be.” That voice! Hell, he might have been blind-drunk, but he knew that voice from anywhere. Jimmy spins around and almost falls off the stool in a fit of drunkenness. “Archie,” he breathes.
Archibald “the Leech” Young. He smiles, leaning heavily on a distinguished cane. It might have been twenty odd years since they last said their final goodbyes, but he still looks too good to be true. “Hello, James.”
----
“Is anyone sitting here?”
Jimmy grunted, in a foul mood because an idiot thought he could pull the wool over his eyes and not pay up his debts. In his peripheral, he saw a non-descript man plunk down on the one stool open in the packed bar. It was empty for a reason. Everyone knew not to mess with Jimmy Ford when he was in a mood, but the guy (British? American? The man had a mid-Atlantic accent, making origin difficult) was a new face around here. He’d let the man slide scot-free this time.
“Your oldest brandy, please?” You could tell a lot from what a man drank. More from how he ordered. This man was a pushover, a nice target. Hell, Jimmy could set up a hook right now, fleece him out of everything, and still have enough time to get a haircut before dinner was on the table. He gave his companion a once-over. Nice, expensive blazer, splash of some overpriced, spicy cologne, clean-shaven but awkward about it (his shave must have been recent and against his will), modest features. Plain. Easy.
The newcomer caught his gaze and quickly looked down at his drink, a blush darkening his cheekbones. Well, what did he have here? Jimmy angled his body towards the other man and held out his hand. “Jimmy Ford,” he introduced himself with a smile that showed too many teeth.
“Archie Young.” The man looked up, blue eyes suddenly coy as he shook Jimmy’s hand. A fissure of want crawled up Jimmy’s spine at the unexpected challenge. “A pleasure to meet you, James.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
----
Several shot glasses pile up before Archie asks. Jimmy knows Archie knows because even retired, the man has his ear to the fucking ground and his finger in every operation. Leopards can’t change their spots, after all. Archie's pointedly unpointed questions are just another passive-aggressive tick of his.
“What happened? I heard you got out of prison, but never expected to see you in Ireland.” Of course Archie didn’t. Ireland was for when Jimmy completely gave up on the con business. The other man knew that. Jimmy wasn’t buying Archie’s innocent act for one second. He slammed down his shot.
“You know what happened to me.” Most people would be afraid of him. In his heyday, if someone pissed him off, they disappeared. Even now, he still knew how much pressure he needed to break a finger and the dry twig snap sound before the pain seeped in and people started screaming. He glares; Archie’s serene expression doesn’t waver. He glowers into his whiskey.
“Of course I do, James. Did you think I would forget--”
“That’s old history,” he barks, interrupting him. Drinking was for forgetting, not raking up old coals. He wants Archie gone, wants him to stay; he doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He picks up the shot glass and downs it.
“I almost forgot how much of a bastard you can be when you’re drunk.” Archie sips at his brandy almost delicately. “You two have that in common.”
This makes Jimmy perk up. While Archie had kept tabs on him, his resources were rather limited in prison. Most of his time and money went towards information about Nathan, but somehow this made it past his radar. He laughs, a rich and dark sound. His boy took down Archie, did he? Suddenly he didn’t feel so bad. “How’d he get you?”
“Someone threatened my family. He and his merry band of thieves helped me,” Archie says. Reluctance colors his words and Jimmy isn’t sure if it’s because the man hated asking for help or because not talking about their families was a rule for such a long time.
----
“Nice wedding band.”
Archie sighed, back muscles rippling in the moonlight as he sat up in bed. His legs hung over the side with only a sheet to preserve dignity. “Can we not do this right now, James?” He sounded tired, but Jimmy never learned to leave something alone. He was the type of boy to prod at a sore tooth, who taunted the neighborhood junkyard dog to see what made it tick. Dangling a puzzle in front of him and telling him he couldn’t solve it was like asking a fish not to swim.
Jimmy sat up from his deceptive scrawl as well. “When are we going to do this, Archibald?”
Archie whirled on him then. “‘When are we…’?For heaven’s sake, Ford. You have a wife and a son. You do not get to play the jealous lover. Yes, I‘m married. Yes, I love her. Get over it.”
A shadow passed over Jimmy’s face. Even at forty-three, he still had the ruggedly handsome mug Archie fell in love over and over with against his better judgment. “Get out.” Not one for theatrics outside of his job, Archie quietly gathered his clothes, dressed, and slipped away like the thief he was.
----
“So you’re still going by 'Leach', Archie?” James brings up in the middle of conversation, an ironic tilt to his moustache.
Archie smiles fondly, eyes a little misty in memory. “I remember the day you gave me that moniker. The McTeague job. Cleaned out their entire accounts, made you lose your profit…”
Jimmy shifts closer and curls a hand around Archie‘s upper arm. A half-bottle of Jameson simmering in his belly made him affable with his affections. Archie’s smile turns a bit bittersweet around the edges. “I caught up to you and you jump off the roof without a harness. I screamed ‘you friggin' leech’ at the top of my lungs. I didn’t think you heard me. Thought you just took the name offa Cary Grant later on.”
“Well, that was another reason. I always loved Grant. Our second date, if I recall.” He laughs as Jimmy makes a face. They didn’t have dates; they had escapades. “‘Leach’ grew on me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It is Jimmy’s turn for his smile to turn bittersweet.
“Man, I feel old, gossiping about the ‘good, ole days’.”
“He really does remind me of you.” Perhaps it is too quick of a topic change because it takes Jimmy a few seconds to puzzle out what Archie is talking about. But when he does figure it out, he recovers with his usual aplomb. That was his Ford, too damn sharp for his own good.
“Yeah, he’s a mean drunk.”
“And brilliant. He cares a lot for that team of his.”
Jimmy actually seems surprised at that. “Oh, you met them?”
“You…haven’t?”
“I met them at the harbor when my boy shipped me off to Ireland.” His voice carries more than a little resentment. “But, I don’t know their names.”
“When I first saw Nate that day, he was shadowed by this thug of a man. Rough in all senses of the word with long hair.” Jimmy might not have been introduced to Nate’s team, but the man always did have a head for faces. Archie waits for Jimmy‘s grunt of recognition. “His name is Eliot, Eliot Spencer. From what I could tell, he cares a lot for Parker--” Even if he didn’t know Nate’s team, Jimmy knew Archie’s Parker. “--and for your son.”
Jimmy sighs, bone-weary and deep, and plunks down his new shot. He regards his erstwhile lover with cutting skepticism. “What game you runnin’, Leach?”
“No game.” Archie knows better than to show emotion around a Ford. “None at all.” He didn’t mention both Jimmy and Nate share the same general mistrust for the people they were close to. It was neither the time nor the place. “Just a few observations I picked up along the way.”
----
Jimmy Ford loved his privacy. He had done way too many stints in prison not to appreciate privacy. Some called him paranoid, and he wore that mantle with pride. A paranoid bookie was a cautious bookie--it was good for business.
So, when he saw a familiar tweed jacket at his bar, he froze. Nathan, twelve at the time, stopped beside him, confused.
“What is it, Ford?” Colin Donnelly, the snub-nosed heir from the Donnelly family, grunted. Jimmy never liked Colin; he was too rash for the subtle art of the con, but he made a good bruiser in a pinch.
“Nothin’, Colin. Why don’tcha take Nathan and pick up a game of darts, huh? I’ll get us something to drink.” Colin shadowed Nathan like a lost puppy. Nathan was in good hands; Colin wouldn’t let anything happen to Jimmy Ford’s kid. He sat down at the bar after scaring a poor man out of his seat, a tiny smile on his face in remembrance. “Hello, stranger.”
Archie’s gaze was warm and fond. “Hello, James.”
“Long time, no see.”
If Jimmy was half as captivated by Archie’s long, tapered fingers as he was by the man’s electric blue eyes, he was going to be in trouble. “Work.” Archie’s smile, hidden by an alarming beard, grew sly and Jimmy arched a brow.
“I see. Is that,” he mimed a particularly fuzzy beard on his own cleanshaven face,” Grizzly Adams beard a result of your work?”
“Perhaps.” And, that was all Jimmy was going to get out of Archie. Even though they ran in the same sordid circles, the other man was oddly reticent to talk about his jobs.
“Dad. I’m bored.” Archie’s eyebrow climbed to his hairline at the boy by Jimmy’s knee. Jimmy ruffled his son’s curly hair and Nate shied away with a perturbed face.
“Nate, I want you to meet one of your daddy’s friends.”
Nate looked Archie up and down. He dismissed the other man in favor of his father. If Archie had doubts about the boy’s legitimacy, the scrutinizing look reassured him. That was pure Jimmy. “Friend or ‘friend’?”
Archie held out his hand, pleased at the boy‘s quick wit. “I’m Archibald Leach, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Nate grasped his hand in a weak handshake.
“You talk funny.” He was blunt like all children. Like his father.
“That I do.”
----
“He never liked me.”
A glass clinks against the other in solidarity. “That makes two of us.”
----
“I came as soon as I could.” Archie stripped out of his soaked wool coat. “How is she?”
Jimmy blew out a sigh and scrubbed down the side of his unshaven face. “I dunno. She’s dying, Arch, and I can’t help her.” He folded in on himself, rubbing at red, puffy eyes. “She’s dying and I’m out here like some fuckin’ idiot, waitin’ for a doctor to tell me that he can’t do shit for my wife.”
Archie sat next to him on those squeaky plastic chairs, wrapping a companionable arm around his shoulders. No one would dare question a friend consoling another friend. Jimmy reached into his wrinkled, tear-stained jacket and when he couldn’t find what he was searching for, he began frantically patting down his sides. “…My flask, where’s my flask…? Fuck! Shit!”
The thief tucked the stolen flask out of sight and held Jimmy out at arms length. The years had changed him, made his face harsher and bleaker. A few streaks of gray ran through the chestnut brown hair Archie used to run his fingers through. He looked worn. Archie’s heart twinged in his chest. He looked around the nearly empty waiting room. “Where’s Nate?”
“I don’t know. I tried…I tried getting a hold of him, but he’s…He left seminary school to become an insurance agent.” Archie hissed under his breath instinctively. “We haven’t talked in…twelve years. I tried…”
Archie tugged Jimmy closer, cradling the back of his head and making quiet, soothing noises. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I’m so sorry.” He blinked back tears and looked heavenward for something to say to make everything all right. What do you say to a man who’s losing his wife?
Jimmy clung onto him for the rest of the night.
The funeral was a quiet, private affair. Katrina’s family was there, John McRoy and a few nameless faces as well, but Nate was a no-show. He stood by a quietly grieving Jimmy, lending his strength when needed. Their affair might have lasted decades, but Kat was the love and light of Jimmy’s life just like Abigail was his. A single tear tracked down his face as the casket was lowered into the ground. Jimmy made a wounded, animalistic noise in the back of his throat next to him.
Long after the ceremony, he continued to stay next to Jimmy as the man knelt by the fresh dirt and traced the carved epitaph.
Katrina “Kat” Logue Ford
Mother, Wife, Daughter, Friend
May You Find Your Peace At Last. ---
Archie gets up from the barstool, bones creaking more than usual. Perhaps he embellishes his arthritis pain as an excuse to lean against Jimmy and commit his woodsy scent to memory, but even he has his flights of fancies. “I’ve missed this. You,” he admits softly, brushing an almost kiss to Jimmy’s hairline.
“For what it’s worth, I did love you too, you know?”
“I know.”
Author: snarkcasm
Rating: PG-13?
Genre: Slash (implied) Archibald "Archie" Leach/James "Jimmy" Ford (I KNOW RIGHT?)
Spoilers: Spoilers for Inside and Three Card Monte Job (if you don't know the characters above, I wouldn't read it if I were you)
Summary: An ex-thief and a bookie walk into a bar.
A/N: As always, reviews are love!
A month. His own son ran him out of his town a month ago. The insult still stings, even as he slings back shots in a hideyhole somewhere in downtown Belfast. He had been played by his own flesh and blood, how could he bounce back from that sober?
He catches the bartender’s eye and taps the rim of his glass. The bartender, a hard-faced, no-nonsense woman ironically named Fiona, gives him an exasperated look and fishes out another bottle of Jameson. “It’s a busy night. If you want to poison yer liver, do it on yer own time.” Impeccable logic, he thinks as he refills his own glass. If he drinks himself to death, at least the bartender has his credit card.
“I thought I remembered that head of hair, silver though it may be.” That voice! Hell, he might have been blind-drunk, but he knew that voice from anywhere. Jimmy spins around and almost falls off the stool in a fit of drunkenness. “Archie,” he breathes.
Archibald “the Leech” Young. He smiles, leaning heavily on a distinguished cane. It might have been twenty odd years since they last said their final goodbyes, but he still looks too good to be true. “Hello, James.”
----
“Is anyone sitting here?”
Jimmy grunted, in a foul mood because an idiot thought he could pull the wool over his eyes and not pay up his debts. In his peripheral, he saw a non-descript man plunk down on the one stool open in the packed bar. It was empty for a reason. Everyone knew not to mess with Jimmy Ford when he was in a mood, but the guy (British? American? The man had a mid-Atlantic accent, making origin difficult) was a new face around here. He’d let the man slide scot-free this time.
“Your oldest brandy, please?” You could tell a lot from what a man drank. More from how he ordered. This man was a pushover, a nice target. Hell, Jimmy could set up a hook right now, fleece him out of everything, and still have enough time to get a haircut before dinner was on the table. He gave his companion a once-over. Nice, expensive blazer, splash of some overpriced, spicy cologne, clean-shaven but awkward about it (his shave must have been recent and against his will), modest features. Plain. Easy.
The newcomer caught his gaze and quickly looked down at his drink, a blush darkening his cheekbones. Well, what did he have here? Jimmy angled his body towards the other man and held out his hand. “Jimmy Ford,” he introduced himself with a smile that showed too many teeth.
“Archie Young.” The man looked up, blue eyes suddenly coy as he shook Jimmy’s hand. A fissure of want crawled up Jimmy’s spine at the unexpected challenge. “A pleasure to meet you, James.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
----
Several shot glasses pile up before Archie asks. Jimmy knows Archie knows because even retired, the man has his ear to the fucking ground and his finger in every operation. Leopards can’t change their spots, after all. Archie's pointedly unpointed questions are just another passive-aggressive tick of his.
“What happened? I heard you got out of prison, but never expected to see you in Ireland.” Of course Archie didn’t. Ireland was for when Jimmy completely gave up on the con business. The other man knew that. Jimmy wasn’t buying Archie’s innocent act for one second. He slammed down his shot.
“You know what happened to me.” Most people would be afraid of him. In his heyday, if someone pissed him off, they disappeared. Even now, he still knew how much pressure he needed to break a finger and the dry twig snap sound before the pain seeped in and people started screaming. He glares; Archie’s serene expression doesn’t waver. He glowers into his whiskey.
“Of course I do, James. Did you think I would forget--”
“That’s old history,” he barks, interrupting him. Drinking was for forgetting, not raking up old coals. He wants Archie gone, wants him to stay; he doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He picks up the shot glass and downs it.
“I almost forgot how much of a bastard you can be when you’re drunk.” Archie sips at his brandy almost delicately. “You two have that in common.”
This makes Jimmy perk up. While Archie had kept tabs on him, his resources were rather limited in prison. Most of his time and money went towards information about Nathan, but somehow this made it past his radar. He laughs, a rich and dark sound. His boy took down Archie, did he? Suddenly he didn’t feel so bad. “How’d he get you?”
“Someone threatened my family. He and his merry band of thieves helped me,” Archie says. Reluctance colors his words and Jimmy isn’t sure if it’s because the man hated asking for help or because not talking about their families was a rule for such a long time.
----
“Nice wedding band.”
Archie sighed, back muscles rippling in the moonlight as he sat up in bed. His legs hung over the side with only a sheet to preserve dignity. “Can we not do this right now, James?” He sounded tired, but Jimmy never learned to leave something alone. He was the type of boy to prod at a sore tooth, who taunted the neighborhood junkyard dog to see what made it tick. Dangling a puzzle in front of him and telling him he couldn’t solve it was like asking a fish not to swim.
Jimmy sat up from his deceptive scrawl as well. “When are we going to do this, Archibald?”
Archie whirled on him then. “‘When are we…’?For heaven’s sake, Ford. You have a wife and a son. You do not get to play the jealous lover. Yes, I‘m married. Yes, I love her. Get over it.”
A shadow passed over Jimmy’s face. Even at forty-three, he still had the ruggedly handsome mug Archie fell in love over and over with against his better judgment. “Get out.” Not one for theatrics outside of his job, Archie quietly gathered his clothes, dressed, and slipped away like the thief he was.
----
“So you’re still going by 'Leach', Archie?” James brings up in the middle of conversation, an ironic tilt to his moustache.
Archie smiles fondly, eyes a little misty in memory. “I remember the day you gave me that moniker. The McTeague job. Cleaned out their entire accounts, made you lose your profit…”
Jimmy shifts closer and curls a hand around Archie‘s upper arm. A half-bottle of Jameson simmering in his belly made him affable with his affections. Archie’s smile turns a bit bittersweet around the edges. “I caught up to you and you jump off the roof without a harness. I screamed ‘you friggin' leech’ at the top of my lungs. I didn’t think you heard me. Thought you just took the name offa Cary Grant later on.”
“Well, that was another reason. I always loved Grant. Our second date, if I recall.” He laughs as Jimmy makes a face. They didn’t have dates; they had escapades. “‘Leach’ grew on me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It is Jimmy’s turn for his smile to turn bittersweet.
“Man, I feel old, gossiping about the ‘good, ole days’.”
“He really does remind me of you.” Perhaps it is too quick of a topic change because it takes Jimmy a few seconds to puzzle out what Archie is talking about. But when he does figure it out, he recovers with his usual aplomb. That was his Ford, too damn sharp for his own good.
“Yeah, he’s a mean drunk.”
“And brilliant. He cares a lot for that team of his.”
Jimmy actually seems surprised at that. “Oh, you met them?”
“You…haven’t?”
“I met them at the harbor when my boy shipped me off to Ireland.” His voice carries more than a little resentment. “But, I don’t know their names.”
“When I first saw Nate that day, he was shadowed by this thug of a man. Rough in all senses of the word with long hair.” Jimmy might not have been introduced to Nate’s team, but the man always did have a head for faces. Archie waits for Jimmy‘s grunt of recognition. “His name is Eliot, Eliot Spencer. From what I could tell, he cares a lot for Parker--” Even if he didn’t know Nate’s team, Jimmy knew Archie’s Parker. “--and for your son.”
Jimmy sighs, bone-weary and deep, and plunks down his new shot. He regards his erstwhile lover with cutting skepticism. “What game you runnin’, Leach?”
“No game.” Archie knows better than to show emotion around a Ford. “None at all.” He didn’t mention both Jimmy and Nate share the same general mistrust for the people they were close to. It was neither the time nor the place. “Just a few observations I picked up along the way.”
----
Jimmy Ford loved his privacy. He had done way too many stints in prison not to appreciate privacy. Some called him paranoid, and he wore that mantle with pride. A paranoid bookie was a cautious bookie--it was good for business.
So, when he saw a familiar tweed jacket at his bar, he froze. Nathan, twelve at the time, stopped beside him, confused.
“What is it, Ford?” Colin Donnelly, the snub-nosed heir from the Donnelly family, grunted. Jimmy never liked Colin; he was too rash for the subtle art of the con, but he made a good bruiser in a pinch.
“Nothin’, Colin. Why don’tcha take Nathan and pick up a game of darts, huh? I’ll get us something to drink.” Colin shadowed Nathan like a lost puppy. Nathan was in good hands; Colin wouldn’t let anything happen to Jimmy Ford’s kid. He sat down at the bar after scaring a poor man out of his seat, a tiny smile on his face in remembrance. “Hello, stranger.”
Archie’s gaze was warm and fond. “Hello, James.”
“Long time, no see.”
If Jimmy was half as captivated by Archie’s long, tapered fingers as he was by the man’s electric blue eyes, he was going to be in trouble. “Work.” Archie’s smile, hidden by an alarming beard, grew sly and Jimmy arched a brow.
“I see. Is that,” he mimed a particularly fuzzy beard on his own cleanshaven face,” Grizzly Adams beard a result of your work?”
“Perhaps.” And, that was all Jimmy was going to get out of Archie. Even though they ran in the same sordid circles, the other man was oddly reticent to talk about his jobs.
“Dad. I’m bored.” Archie’s eyebrow climbed to his hairline at the boy by Jimmy’s knee. Jimmy ruffled his son’s curly hair and Nate shied away with a perturbed face.
“Nate, I want you to meet one of your daddy’s friends.”
Nate looked Archie up and down. He dismissed the other man in favor of his father. If Archie had doubts about the boy’s legitimacy, the scrutinizing look reassured him. That was pure Jimmy. “Friend or ‘friend’?”
Archie held out his hand, pleased at the boy‘s quick wit. “I’m Archibald Leach, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Nate grasped his hand in a weak handshake.
“You talk funny.” He was blunt like all children. Like his father.
“That I do.”
----
“He never liked me.”
A glass clinks against the other in solidarity. “That makes two of us.”
----
“I came as soon as I could.” Archie stripped out of his soaked wool coat. “How is she?”
Jimmy blew out a sigh and scrubbed down the side of his unshaven face. “I dunno. She’s dying, Arch, and I can’t help her.” He folded in on himself, rubbing at red, puffy eyes. “She’s dying and I’m out here like some fuckin’ idiot, waitin’ for a doctor to tell me that he can’t do shit for my wife.”
Archie sat next to him on those squeaky plastic chairs, wrapping a companionable arm around his shoulders. No one would dare question a friend consoling another friend. Jimmy reached into his wrinkled, tear-stained jacket and when he couldn’t find what he was searching for, he began frantically patting down his sides. “…My flask, where’s my flask…? Fuck! Shit!”
The thief tucked the stolen flask out of sight and held Jimmy out at arms length. The years had changed him, made his face harsher and bleaker. A few streaks of gray ran through the chestnut brown hair Archie used to run his fingers through. He looked worn. Archie’s heart twinged in his chest. He looked around the nearly empty waiting room. “Where’s Nate?”
“I don’t know. I tried…I tried getting a hold of him, but he’s…He left seminary school to become an insurance agent.” Archie hissed under his breath instinctively. “We haven’t talked in…twelve years. I tried…”
Archie tugged Jimmy closer, cradling the back of his head and making quiet, soothing noises. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I’m so sorry.” He blinked back tears and looked heavenward for something to say to make everything all right. What do you say to a man who’s losing his wife?
Jimmy clung onto him for the rest of the night.
The funeral was a quiet, private affair. Katrina’s family was there, John McRoy and a few nameless faces as well, but Nate was a no-show. He stood by a quietly grieving Jimmy, lending his strength when needed. Their affair might have lasted decades, but Kat was the love and light of Jimmy’s life just like Abigail was his. A single tear tracked down his face as the casket was lowered into the ground. Jimmy made a wounded, animalistic noise in the back of his throat next to him.
Long after the ceremony, he continued to stay next to Jimmy as the man knelt by the fresh dirt and traced the carved epitaph.
Katrina “Kat” Logue Ford
Mother, Wife, Daughter, Friend
May You Find Your Peace At Last. ---
Archie gets up from the barstool, bones creaking more than usual. Perhaps he embellishes his arthritis pain as an excuse to lean against Jimmy and commit his woodsy scent to memory, but even he has his flights of fancies. “I’ve missed this. You,” he admits softly, brushing an almost kiss to Jimmy’s hairline.
“For what it’s worth, I did love you too, you know?”
“I know.”