Sunset ^beta

Elizabeth has only been working for Halling for a couple of months when a car pulls sharply into the garage late one hazy afternoon, with the muffled purr of an expensive engine that wants to be noticed. 

There was a time she wouldn’t be able to tell a Chevrolet from a Cadillac; now she can even distinguish the difference between the Radim’s ATV and the Caldwell’s UTV. They’re as familiar to her as the top ten on the radio that sits on the sill of the window looking out over the workshop, next to a photo of Jinto in a glitter-painted frame and a lopsided cactus in a terracotta pot. The cactus is a gift from Rodney and Torren, courtesy of an afternoon spent in the garden after preschool. 

Water it when you remember, no more than a tablespoon. It’ll flower whenever it feels like it, which might be never. Apparently, its name is ‘popsicle’.  

“Like the cat?”  

“Like everything he ever gets to title.”  

The car idling outside isn't local; no one around here would test the limits of a luxury vehicle on roads so low on the maintenance roster that the potholes could hide a fully grown man, but most of their trade is from people passing through in need of repairs or fuel or directions so it’s not unusual enough an occurrence to pull her attention from the accounts on the monitor. Halling has given her free rein to organise Pegasus Auto’s finances, and she’s finally stabilised the cashflow in and out enough that she can squirrel away savings for ad hoc business costs; upgrades and contractors and—if she can get everyone on board—business cards. Maybe an advert two in the local papers and on some of the fold-out maps of the Mojave the state hands out to tourists. 

She’s just packing up when Halling steps into the office with an envelope and a bottle of water dripping with condensation. He places his offerings down on the desk and leans against the filing cabinet with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“It’s been nearly three years since Farmer Prenum's paid us a dime,” he says out of the blue. 

“He just needed some incentive,” she replies, picking up the envelope and feeling the thick contents. Probably a late cash payment, but why isn’t there an account number on it? 

“If I’d known all I needed to do to get him to clear his debt was refuse to do his annual maintenance, I’d have done it a long time ago.” 

“Really?” asks Elizabeth, one brow raised to the heavens. 

“Well, no,” admits Halling. “Probably not.” 

“You are very lucky I came along then,” teases Elizabeth, but when Halling replies “I know,” his voice is completely sincere.  

“Are you going to tell me what this is?” 

Halling taps the filing cabinet with the fingernails of the hand tucked under his elbow. “Wages,” he says after a beat. “I know we had an agreement but—” 

“Halling—” 

“—I just don’t think room and board and expenses that amount to pocket money is enough recompense for your work. My grandfather would have called it pin money and expected you to be grateful, but your time and expertise have helped us break even for the first time since...well...” 

“Since Anika went missing?” 

Halling nods, teeth tugging his bottom lip. His home has photos of his wife in most of the rooms, including Elizabeth’s bedroom. It was on the dresser when she first walked in—dusty and sun-bleached on a faded, crocheted doily—but she’s never minded it being there and so never got around to moving it elsewhere.  

Anika was a beautiful woman with a happy smile.  She had a penchant for working outdoors and a freckled tan to match. Her loss is etched into all the corners of the house and all the lines on Halling’s face. He does his very best not to let her absence affect Jinto overmuch, and weathers questions with a grace that hides his aching heart. Elizabeth hopes he finds closure one day, but knowing the way of the world as she does, she's not overly optimistic. 

“There’s no slip?” she says, as she slides the envelope into her purse. She doesn’t count it.  

“Slips mean taxes; taxes mean addresses; addresses are traceable.” 

“I’m not on the lam, you know.” 

Halling shrugs. “I know,” he says. “But I figured if you wanted to lie low for a while, that’s no one’s business but your own.” 

“I appreciate the caution. It’s not necessary, but it’s thoughtful.” 

“I just want you to know you’re a valuable employee as well as a good friend,” insists Halling, “even if you didn’t expect to end up somewhere like here.” 

“Thank you.” 

"And I'm trying my very best to get you to become so financially dependent on us that you never leave..." 

Elizabeth starts to laugh with Halling—because of all the men she’s ever met, he is the very last to try to stop someone from following their heart—but it gets caught in her throat when she hears her ex-husband's voice bouncing off the walls of the garage, straight through the open door and into the office. 

She stands and rushes out into the workshop. Teyla has backed a few paces into the building. Her back is to them but the set of her shoulders is enough to show she’s holding her tongue as tight as she can. Elizabeth knows her self-control is not a natural affect but a learned one, and if anyone can test the boundaries of that it’s an irate and unreasonable Simon, so she rushes out to the forecourt where the sight of her shuts him right up.  

Elizabeth never wondered one way or the other if she’d ever see him again. His emails have gone unread, and she’s already changed her number even though her signal out here works maybe one day in ten. He's standing there in a polo shirt and slacks, his sneakers a blinding white and his mouth a deep dark chasm of surprise. She feels a sudden, irrational hatred for the way he’s taken to popping his collar up like he’s one of his undergrads.  

He gapes at her in silence, and she can’t blame him. She has no idea what to say either. 

"I wasn't expecting to find you here," is what finally comes out of his mouth. 

“How did you find me?” asks Elizabeth.  

“I tracked your cell. The last ping was somewhere...out here.” 

“You hacked my phone?!”  

“Not...exactly.” Simon fiddles with his shades, eyes darting to Teyla and Halling and dismissing them out of hand. “I asked a friend to track your phone when you didn’t turn up.”  

Elizabeth wants to yell at him, but Simon holds up a hand. Placating, not presumptive.  

“It’s been months, Liz. I thought something bad might have happened.” 

“You mean you couldn’t quite believe it when you finally decided to come home and found I wasn’t pining for you?” she says, louder than she probably should.  

“No, I—” 

“So, what, you thought I was playing hard to get when I left?” 

“No, of course not. I just...I just wanted to talk to you, Liz. Listen to you. I was an idiot. I thought maybe...but obviously that’s not an option, and it hasn’t been for a long time. I get it, I do. I’m sorry for what I said. All of it. I swear I only wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Elizabeth still wants to rage at him but she swallows it down because a very wise and messy-haired chef recently told her Alžběta, if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten over coffee and Medovnik. 

"You've seen me," she says, instead of giving in to the old behaviours that only Simon can seem to provoke in her, "and I'm okay. You can go now." 

Simon nods, eyes dropping to her feet, all bravado blowing away on the wind. “Yeah,” he says, “you...okay. I’ll just...” 

Elizabeth looks at Teyla and Halling—grateful that they’re both willing to stand there and be ignored by Simon if it means she’s not left alone with him—and gets the urge to do something a little impulsive. A habit she’s fallen into since she first arrived here. 

“You should stay for dinner,” she says, and the three of them turn to her in surprise.  

Teyla leans in and says to Elizabeth quietly, “Are you sure?” 

“I am, unless you think...” 

“Whatever has happened between you both, it is hard to let go of the past when you can only look at it in anger. I do not want you to keep carrying this. Maybe you should talk to him. Clear the air.” 

Teyla is right. There’s something to be salvaged here. Not any kind of relationship, she couldn’t stomach having Simon in her life after what he did, but some closure maybe. Answers to the questions she doesn’t want to ask, but which might ease her heart. 

She turns back to Simon. “Dinner...later,” she says, and nods at Laura and Radek’s. “In the diner.” 

It’s one thing to invite Simon to dinner, it’s quite another to actually turn up. She doesn't want to go, probably wouldn’t were it not for Teyla’s promise to stay close and John’s promise to keep watch. She doesn’t ask how he and Rodney knew to turn up at Halling’s door with a board game for Jinto and Torren, and a stiff drink for everyone else. She’s grateful for the medicinal shot Rodney pours over ice, and for his insistence that if Simon causes her so much as a single tear, he’ll make a call to an old friend of his and have him put on the No Fly list. 

They leave the kids with Halling for an evening of pizza and cartoons and Junior Clue. Elizabeth wants to head back and scoop ice cream into cones, maybe fill up some water pistols and start a game in the backyard as the sun sets. Her heart is thumping hard as the four of them approach the diner, her body preparing to fight or flee. She spots Simon in the window, looking small and nervous; a town mouse in the country, overdressed and out of place. For a moment she feels like an interloper, but this is her home and these are her friends. He's the one that's intruding on her quiet life. 

When they walk in, Teyla squeezes her wrist and settles in a booth on the other side of the room, close enough for comfort but far enough for privacy. John grabs his favourite barstool and drops a handful of coins in the jukebox. God only knows where Rodney vanishes to, but Elizabeth wouldn’t be surprised if he can still count the creases in the sleeves of Simon’s linen shirt.  

When Elizabeth hangs her jacket on the hook by the restrooms, Radek pokes his head out of the kitchen and asks her, oh so casually, if her ex-husband has any allergies and would she like him to forget them? She laughs, appreciating his somewhat macabre humour, and heads to Simon's booth with a little more confidence than she had a moment ago. 

Simon watches her approach, and Elizabeth is struck by a memory of their first date, or maybe it was their second, when he was nervous and babbling and got up to pull her chair out for her. He’s nervous in a different way today, a silent kind of unease that she’s not used to. 

"The chilli is good," she says as she slides into the booth, and it cracks the ice between them, just a little. Just enough. Simon takes her advice when Laura comes with her pad, and orders an iced tea and a side of greens. Elizabeth orders "the usual" and it's that which gets Simon talking. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, then grimaces. “That’s not what I—” 

“Do you use that line on all the girls you meet?” asks Elizabeth. 

“No,” says Simon. “I don’t.” He sounds sincere, but he’s tearing his paper napkin to shreds in his hands. It could be a lie, or maybe she’s making him nervous. 

“I come here a couple of times a week,” Elizabeth discloses. Not because she wants him to have any insight into her new life, but because old habits die hard and she’s made a career of getting people to open up to her. For better or worse.  

“Alone?” asks Simon, and she’s surprised by his directness.  

“With friends,” she answers simply. Friends who are more kin than anyone from her life before.  

“You’ve been here this whole time?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why here?” 

“My rental broke down.” 

Simon drops the tattered napkin and looks out the window. 

“I figured you’d gone to Reno. I was looking there.” 

“Until you got your cop buddy to track me down.” 

“I was getting desperate Liz. No one knew where you were. You could have been—” 

Laura appears with a tray in one hand and sets down their order. “Two iced teas...and two chillis.” She picks up another bowl and Elizabeth half expects her to drop it in Simon’s lap, but she places the greens neatly next to his plate, nudging Elizabeth’s ankle under the table with her foot. “You let me know if you need anything.”  

The pointed comment is lost on Simon. Elizabeth smiles at Laura, thanks her and watches her head over to top up John’s coffee. Simon’s already dug in when she looks back, and she picks up her fork and makes a start on her meal even though her stomach is roiling with adrenaline and running on tequila fumes and a righteous fire. 

“This is good,” says Simon. 

Elizabeth throws him a bone. “It’s the best chilli I’ve ever had.” 

“It’s not far off.” Simon takes a sip of tea and leans back. “So you’re staying...?” 

“With a friend.” 

“The guy at the garage? Uh, Halim?” 

“Halling. Yes.” 

“He seems...he’s very...uh...tall.” 

Elizabeth can’t help herself. “Mmmm, yes, he's an eighth giant by blood,” she says. 

Simon blinks, one hand picking up his spoon, the other pulling his bowl of chilli closer. “Giant...like, what, Norwegians?” 

“I’m joking.” 

"Oh. Yes. Of course you are."  

"I think he's Canadian." 

Simon shovels the chilli in his mouth like a starving man. "This honestly is delicious," he says between mouthfuls. 

Elizabeth picks at her own meal. There’s something uncomfortably domestic about sitting at a table with Simon, even though it’s been a very long time since the last time, and longer still since it was a regular occurrence. Late nights with his colleagues indeed. Still. It's no longer an aching wound, more of a healed scar that twinges whenever the pressure drops low. 

“You’re really okay?” Simon asks when he puts down his spoon for the last time. 

“I’m really okay.” 

“This isn’t some kind of”—Simon waves his hand—“cult thing?” 

“What, the Order of the Mojave?” laughs Elizabeth, because really. “No. This isn’t some kind of cult thing. My car broke down. Halling gave me a ride, a room, and a job.” 

“What kind of job?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“I think it does.” 

"I do some accounting. I help in the yard. I make sure I'm there for his son when he gets called out in the middle of the night to fix a harvester. No coercion or brainwashing necessary." 

When Simon turns in his seat to look at the rest of the patrons in the diner, Elizbeth follows his gaze around the room. If he’s intimidated by the blatant show of support, he’s doing a decent job of hiding it—even the regulars in the corner Elizabeth can’t yet address by name are radiating close-knit-community vibes—but he can’t hide his disdain for the faded red leather stools and the scratched checkerboard linoleum. 

“It’s just...it’s a long way from L.A.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“I’m not just talking about the distance.” 

“Neither am I.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“I mean, it’s not anything I ever pictured for you, but if you’re happy here then—” 

"I am happy here, and I don't need your approval." 

Simon’s face falls, and Elizabeth feels a pang of something uncomfortable.  

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I should go.” 

She could let him go. Watch him drive off into the sunset in his midlife crisis. The thing is, she’ll only get one chance at this; one chance at cutting him out of her life cleanly enough that she won’t ever have to do this again. 

Sometimes a goodbye needs a little more finesse than a screaming Fuck You. 

“Wait,” she says. “John’s playing later in the bar next door. Let's have a drink before you go.” 

John is on form tonight. He’s guarded and the whole crowd can feel it. Elizabeth isn’t city-brained enough to think there’s any kind of rural telepathy going on here, but she can feel the concern from every single body moving on the dance floor as John belts out the anthems of scorned women through the ages with the kind of intensity that threatens to incite violence. Simon’s oblivious to the first few songs, but when John starts to sing a newly released mega hit about a cheating ex, his head snaps up and he looks around. 

John, who has been glaring daggers at the back of Simon’s since he walked on stage, tips his head in a greeting that reads as a warning. Simon picks up the slip on the table and reads through the songs—Elizabeth already looked; this setlist is definitely not for Rodney—then drops his head in his hand. 

“Okay, okay, Jesus, I get it,” he says. “Can you tell Mr Tall, Dark and Intimidating over there that his message is received loud and clear?” 

John smiles over the crowd at Elizabeth when she laughs but doesn’t deviate from his performance, rallying the whole crowd into singing the last chorus of Before He Cheats. 

“So what happened,” asks Elizabeth, when the fanfare dies down a little. 

Simon squirms under her gaze. “With Jodi?” he asks. 

“No,” says Elizabeth, her patience wearing thin. “What made you show up on my doorstep and hijack my car keys?” 

“I quit. My tenure.” 

“You mean you decided to leave before the new Dean fired you?” 

“No, I mean...Jodi left me. For someone else.” 

“Someone her age, I hope?” 

"Another lecturer." 

There’s a small voice in the back of Elizabeth’s head that wants to express her schadenfreude, but she’s not that woman anymore. 

“Do you think that exonerates you?” she asks instead. 

“No, of course not,” insists Simon. “Look, Liz, I didn’t mean for any of it.” 

Elizabeth might not want to dance on his grave, but she has no patience for whatever bullshit excuses he’s prepared. 

“Let me guess,” she says, “you were simply too smitten to see straight? So beguiled by the wiles of a teenager that you lost all sensibility? Come on, Simon.” 

Simon shakes his head and spins his beer in his hands.  

“It’s not her fault.” 

“No,” agrees Elizabeth. “It never was, and I was never angry with her, not for a second. I stopped loving you because of what you did to her, not because of what you did to me. I could have forgotten a one-night stand with a colleague. I could have forgiven a love affair with another woman. But this? A teenager young enough to be your daughter? There are no excuses for something like that.” 

“I realise that now.” 

“It shouldn’t have taken her moving on for you to find your moral core.” 

An uncomfortable silence falls heavy between them, but Elizabeth is feeling lighter. Maybe it’s because she’s finally told Simon how she feels. How she felt. Her anger was important to her once, and she’s honoured that, but suddenly it’s not important anymore. 

"What will you do now?" she asks because she is curious even if she's not emotionally invested. 

"To be honest, I was so obsessed with the idea that something bad had happened to you that I didn't make a plan. But I might head to Washington. Start over. What do you think?" 

“Simon—” 

“No. I know. Lesson learned. You are right. You were right. It was unforgivable. I’m not asking for forgiveness.” 

“What are you asking for?” 

“I don’t know. You were the love of my life. I fucked that up. I don’t know where to go from here.” 

It’s hard to know if he’s flattering her or not. There was a time she could read him like a book, but there’s too much emotional damage and too much time between them for the effort to be worth it. 

“To be honest Simon, I don’t care where you go. As long as it’s not here.” 

Her candour hits Simon hard, he recoils like he’s been slapped across the face. There’s a sneer in his voice when he recovers that sets her teeth on edge. 

“You’re really going to stay here?”  

“I have friends here, a life. A happy one.” 

“We used to be happy.” 

“Mmmm.” 

If Simon was gunning for an argument, her indifference has dissolved the energy he was building up. He sits back and drains his beer. 

“This Halling...is he important to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“I see.” Simon’s smile is cruel and triumphant, and Elizabeth is done. 

“No, you don’t see. He’s important, but not in the way you’re thinking. Most people don’t want to fuck everyone that falls into their orbit.”  

Simon sucks in a breath, but Elizabeth presses on. 

“Everyone here is important to me. They’ve welcomed me and supported me and helped me find my bearings after you marooned me at sea, and I am doing my best to become a part of the community and return what I’ve been given so freely.” 

“I understand.” 

“Do you? You ruined our marriage and destroyed all respect I had for you. Now you’ve tracked me through questionable means after I made it very clear I had nothing to say to you. You might think you’ve spent the evening making all the right noises, but your track record isn’t great, Simon. It’s hard for me to believe anything you say.” 

“So this was a waste of time?” 

“Your time, maybe, if you thought you could come here and speak some magic words that would get me to come back to LA with you. I knew we were over a long time ago. You’re the one who ended it.” 

Simon stands abruptly, hands slamming on the table.  

“Liz—” 

There has never been a time Simon has physically intimidated her, and she knows this display now is more bark than bite, but Elizabeth is glad anyway for Ronon’s quick appearance. Gladder still when he tells Simon he’s barred. His presence is enough for Simon to make a quick and quiet exit instead of making the scene he’s been angling for since he arrived. 

The moment he’s gone, Teyla slips into the seat he vacated and reaches for Elizabeth's hand. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

"He seemed...more confrontational than I expected.” 

"Things weren't always this way, but I—" 

A yell from outside has everyone rushing over to the table to out the window. Simon’s standing next to his car across the road cursing up a storm. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and starts pacing as he dials a number. Elizabeth can't see what’s going on, but Laura helpfully appears at their table stuffing the key to a car she doesn't own into her shirt pocket. 

“Laura Georgina Cadman, you did not,” says Radek, a pace behind her. 

“Maybe I did,” says Laura. “Maybe I didn’t.” 

“What did you not do?” asks Teyla. 

“It was an accident!” insists Laura. “I was locking up, and I saw someone had parked their pussy wagon in the disabled space, so I went over to write them a polite note only when I went to grab a pad out of my purse I accidentally dropped a car key someone left in the diner, and y’all know I’m as clumsy as a drunk nun, I might have accidentally scuffed it against the car door when I was picking it up. A couple dozen times.” 

Elizabeth smiles as she watches Simon get in the car, slam the door shut, and speed away fast enough to burn rubber into the road. When he disappears over the horizon, everyone heads back to the bar and the stage, where John resumes strumming his guitar. 

It’s not lost on Elizabeth when he deviates from the printed setlist and falls back on his regular songs of eternal devotion instead. 

“He wasn’t always like that,” Elizabeth tells Teyla when they’re alone again. “There was a time he looked at me the way you do. I don’t know when that changed, and I don’t know what came over him to make him think that he was somehow better than all the other men who seduce someone who should be able to trust them. If it was always there and I didn’t see it, or if...I just don’t know.” 

“Surely you do not think you are responsible for his actions.” 

“No. I know I’m not. I tried to do something when I found out. I called the Dean of the university. I called her parents. I called his boss. I called my lawyer. I called the cops. No one wanted to do anything about it. They thought I was just a scorned ex-wife; told me it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be, that students often worked closely with their mentors, and that it wasn’t unusual for them to spend unsociable hours together and text all night long. That if I spent more time working on our relationship instead of flying off to fix that of the US and its allies maybe I wouldn't be so paranoid about who Simon was with at all hours. Maybe I could have done more. Maybe not.”  

Teyla rubs Elizabeth’s knuckles with her thumb, on her face an expression of consideration and reflection. Elizabeth appreciates that about her, how she takes the time to think her words through instead of flying off at the handle and voicing every grievance and thought that passes through her brain. 

“I think you can take solace in the knowledge that his behaviour is now seen and known and understood.” 

“It doesn’t feel like enough.” 

“No, but that is not on you. A lot of people failed here, Elizabeth. But you tried even so.” 

“I am glad that it’s over.” 

“Did you get what you needed?” 

Elizabeth directs her focus from her own woes to Teyla’s physical presence. She takes in the leather jacket she wears on all their dates; the inevitable smudges of grease she misses in the shower; her short, neat fingernails; the way everything about her face and her body is open and honest and fond. Elizabeth didn’t always know what love could feel like when it was whole and healthy and uncomplicated, but she has no regrets. Everything past has led her here, to this place, this moment in time.  

And later, Teyla will walk her back to Halling’s and kiss her goodnight, then carry a sleeping Torren home to his bed. Jinto will brush his teeth while Halling tries to find the missing pieces of their board game under the couch. Tomorrow Laura and Radek will cook and bake and brew for locals and visitors alike, and Rodney and John will bicker over the cost of milk and fix people’s beloved things for a song. 

She couldn’t ask for more. 

“He didn't have it. Everything I need is right here.”