A/N: This was not part of the original story, and even after I wrote it, I wasn't planning on posting it. But a comment from Alice way back in Chapter 8 got me thinking. And then Kristen pointed out a certain inequity that needed to be rectified. And based on some of the comments on previous chapters, the majority of the readership might find it…satisfying. It's not essential to the story, and if you're happy where the last chapter left off, then stop reading now. Otherwise…

Once more for the road: disclaimer and acknowledgments are in the prologue.

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Epilogue

Monday, May 2, 2009
10:13 P.M.
3930 Glenalbyn Drive, Los Angeles, CA

Dina Javier was in deep trouble.

Four weeks had passed since J. Everett Tuttle's conviction and the ensuing celebration at the Fleinhardt/Reeves residence. Four weeks of a difficult child kidnapping on top of a sudden, significant break in an ongoing human smuggling case on top of a routine-but-time-consuming anti-terrorist drill had left her exhausted every night. And despite that, all she could think about when she closed her eyes was a certain former FBI agent. It was driving her up the wall.

She'd never seen Don Eppes so relaxed, so at ease, as in Megan and Larry's backyard, surrounded by his friends and family. That wasn't surprising, considering the circumstances under which she knew him, but it was still fascinating to watch him avidly discussing baseball with Colby while making expansive gestures with his beer bottle or stealing potato chips off his brother's plate for no other reason that the fact that they were on his brother's plate. She'd never seen him smile so many times, either. Once or twice that full-blown, eye-crinkling smile had caught her straight in its sights, and she swore it made her heart stop. Or beat faster, she wasn't sure which one.

She'd known that Don was an attractive man; she'd recognized that the first time she laid eyes on him. It was irrelevant as long as she thought he was a killer, and it remained irrelevant in the tangle of investigation and self-recrimination and near-death situations that followed. By the time the dust cleared and she saw him in the FBI office after he was discharged from the hospital, she was too wrapped up in guilt over her part in his whole nightmare to do much more than hold a conversation with him. And then, as much as she'd wanted him to hate her so she could just walk away and not have to figure out how to deal with him, he'd been surprisingly perceptive and understanding.

Then they'd started working together preparing for the trial. She'd already known he was strong and persistent and brilliant and compassionate. But she hadn't known that he was also thoughtful and funny and organized to the point of compulsion and apparently able to survive on even less sleep than she could. Once or twice she'd thought of asking him if he wanted to crash when a session at her place ran particularly late, but on each occasion, Howard Meeks had still been around, and she didn't exactly want to host a slumber party.

Or, more honestly, she didn't know what Don would think of the offer and what would happen to their increasingly comfortable interactions if he said no.

Now they were about to go through the wringer all over again, this time for the sentencing hearing. There wouldn't be as much prep, but they would both have to go over the details of how Tuttle's crimes had affected them in order to justify the harshest possible sentence. They'd both been to any number of these hearings before, listening to relatives and friends describe the pain of having a loved one taken away or hearing how someone had been permanently incapacitated and was unable to work or live a regular life. All Dina had to show for her travails was a couple of marks on her record and a number of months with Dr. Bradford, which had been difficult but beneficial in the long run.

Nothing like her former fugitive.

Don, however, insisted that he was doing fine. Besides, there was the question again of how he should dance around the fact that he had been a fugitive, had spent months evading the law and doing what he had to in order to defend himself, if only because of what Tuttle had done. Meeks suggested they focus on his gunshot wound and the likelihood that Don would not have been able to return to the FBI even if he had wanted to as proof of the damage the convicted billionaire had done. That would also lead Dina to focus on the weeks in which she couldn't stand to be in her own house, which she was fine talking about now, but would probably garner considerable sympathy from the jury.

Then there was the question of Liz. Don had been very, very reluctant to talk about her, but since her death was the catalyst for everything else, and conspiracy to commit murder was one of the charges Tuttle had been convicted of, he was going to have to say something about how his lover's murder had affected him.

Now she was watching him from across her dining room table as he sat twirling an empty beer bottle between his fingers, arguing with Meeks over how much he was going to have to say. His eyes flickered up to hers once or twice, but for the most part he stared stubbornly at the bottle, insisting that he didn't want to get into it when there was plenty of other evidence of how Tuttle had damaged his life.

Meeks was trying to be patient, she could tell, but he was growing exasperated with Don's refusal to even discuss the subject. There was only one conclusion she could draw, and as much as it pained her, she finally opened her mouth and said, "Look, if it's still too difficult for you to talk about Liz, just tell the jury that. That's all they need to know."

His gaze shot up to hers. "It's not that," he said, his long fingers stilling the motion of the bottle.

"Then what is it?" she demanded.

He looked over at Howard and then back at her before dropping his gaze to the tabletop and speaking in a low voice. "Look, I—I was in love with Liz, okay, and it hurt like hell to lose her. And then I never really got to mourn her." He picked at one corner of the label, leaving it unsaid as to why that was the case. "And by the time I had space to, and time to think about it…" He bit his lip. "It was like she had already faded away."

Dina drew in a sharp breath as the understanding hit her. "And you're worried that's not the appropriate reaction," she said sympathetically. From the jury's point of view—or from yours.

His eyes locked on to hers, and the traces of guilt in their depths told her she had hit the mark. Then he gave the AUSA a sideways glance. "So if you're looking for some big emotional speech about how Liz's murder devastated me, I don't think I can give it. And that might be worse than not saying anything at all."

Meeks nodded slowly. "We'll have to talk about that some more," he said, giving Don an understanding pat on the shoulder. "But thanks for being forthcoming about it."

Don gave a short nod, his attention back on the amber-colored bottle he was once again twirling between his fingers.

She exchanged a look with Howard, who gave a significant glance to the wall clock visible in the kitchen. She nodded and rose to her feet. "Okay, enough for one night. Same time and place tomorrow?"

"Afraid so," the attorney said as he hauled his briefcase off the floor and stuffed a couple of files in it before clicking it shut. "See you then."

Don grunted an acknowledgment, and she left him at the table as she saw Meeks out the door. When she returned, he had risen to his feet and was standing at the sink, rinsing out the empty bottle before putting it in the dishrack. She came up behind him and hesitated, wanting to reach out to him, but not sure it would be welcomed. She settled for placing a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened slightly, and she pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said, taking a step back.

"For what?" he asked, turning around to face her, his face unreadable.

"That you never got to mourn her." That was all my fault, she added silently.

He nodded heavily. "You thought I'd killed her," he said simply.

She looked down at the tile floor. There it was. That would always remain between them, no matter how she might wish it away. "It's so strange," she said slowly. "It's like I think of you as two different people: the one I thought you were back then and the one you really are. And the strange part is, it's not like you did anything to change from one to the other. It was how I saw you that changed."

She risked a glance up at him and saw him pursing his lips. "You know, I never asked you this, but…" He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. "What made you change your mind about me?"

Dina thought for a moment about how to answer. "Well, originally I would have said that it was knowing they had sent someone after you. If they had the resources to track you down, why were they trying to kill you instead of returning you to prison?"

She paused, unable to meet his eyes. It was so hard to think of him now the way she had thought of him then: an escaped felon who, even if he was only guilty of a crime of passion, had still been convicted of murdering a woman. She swallowed and went on, "And then when Charlie proved to me that Alex Brock was alive, that made it possible to listen to what you'd been saying all along." She looked up at him, sending him an apology with her eyes. "I only wish I'd been able to do that sooner."

"I know," he said quietly, lowering his arm to his side. "I know you do."

She gave him a half-smile and looked away. She'd gotten rid of most of the guilt ages ago, when Dr. Bradford made her see the connection between her reluctance to go back to her own house and her inability to deal with the fact that part of what had happened to Don was her own doing. She'd come a long way since then, but there was still a gulf between the two of them that would probably always be there.

"You said 'originally'," he added, verifying once again that nothing slipped past him. "You'd say something different now?"

Tentatively, she stepped forward and reached out, fingers and thumb together, and mimed wiping something off his forehead. His brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared. "In the hurricane?" he asked incredulously. "Before you even knew someone was after me?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't realize it until much later, but yeah. You—you must have been so angry and so frustrated at that point, and there I was, the person responsible for all of it, completely at your mercy." Her fingertips brushed his face again as her voice softened. "And you couldn't help but be who you are."

They looked at each other for a moment. Then she started to lower her hand, but he swiftly reached up and caught it. "In Chicago," he said in a low voice as his fingers circled around her wrist in a tangible reminder of how he had left her in the alley, "You trusted me not to hurt you. I knew then that something had changed. That said more to me than any of the words you used."

Something had just shifted in the room, something as tangible as the feel of his hand around her wrist. She could almost hear Megan's physicist husband saying something about a warp in the space-time continuum, or maybe that was from Star Trek. Whatever it was, she was suddenly paying a lot more attention to the dark brown eyes that were only a foot away from hers, watching for clues as to what he was thinking and how he might respond.

"I did trust you," she replied. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up as she thought of him holding up her handcuff key. "Well, mostly." His lips curved upwards in response, and she went on, "I suppose it was also my way of starting to atone for what I'd done to you."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Whatever atoning you might think you needed to do," he said slowly as he shifted his grip on her hand so that their fingers were interlaced, "it's been done a long time ago."

Her breath caught ever so slightly at that. Maybe that gulf isn't so wide after all. His palm was warm against hers, his long fingers curling around and brushing the back of her hand. "You know," she said casually, her heart pounding faster than it had been a few minutes ago, "I never thanked you for saving my life, did I?"

One eyebrow quirked up. "Which time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Any of the three, I guess."

His brow furrowed. "The hit man who was about to shoot you, okay. The tree in the windshield, maybe. What's the third?"

"Right here in this room," she replied. "You—you looked at me, and you kept me grounded and focused and here, and if it wasn't for that…." She trailed off, remembering the way his eyes had locked onto hers and refused to let her go, giving her the strength she needed to fight off Tuttle and later save them both.

"So did you. Right here in this room." A few heartbeats passed, and then he added softly, "Sounds like another meeting of that mutual admiration society, doesn't it?" Only then did she notice the hesitancy in his eyes, the ever-so-slight tremble in the hand holding hers. And the revelation that he was nervous, that Don Eppes was unsure about what was going to happen next, fueled her own confidence.

She took a half step forward, closing the distance between them to a hand's span. Then she said in a soft voice, concentrating with all of her willpower to keep it level, "I don't think 'admiration' is quite the right word to describe what I'm feeling."

There was a flash of something like relief in his eyes before they flared with an emotion she'd never seen there before. "Maybe more like 'anticipation'?" he queried lightly, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips, where he placed the gentlest of kisses on her knuckle.

She knew there was no way her voice was going to stay level after the brush of his lips on her skin, and all of a sudden, she didn't really care. "More like 'affirmation'," she managed. It was true: the light in his eyes matched what she was feeling, affirming that whatever limb she was stepping out onto here, he was going to be right there with her.

Right there with her.

She didn't know which one of them moved first, but the point was that they both moved, both leaned towards each other, both tilted their heads so that their lips met with a sweet softness that made her glad his other arm was wrapping around her waist and keeping her steady. She held on to his hand and slid her left arm around his neck, pulling him closer and gently ruffling the short hairs at the back of his head. She felt a shiver run through his body, and then his mouth slanted across hers more fiercely and she literally felt her breath being taken away.

After several long, blissful seconds, he finally drew his head back and she pulled slightly away. He let go of her hand to reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, and then his hand kept moving, tracing along the outside of her ear, running a finger down her cheek, cupping her jaw in his palm. When he spoke, it was in a husky tone that sent a shiver down her spine. "So, what describes what you're feeling now?"

In his eyes, she saw the same mixture of wonder and pleasure and relief and revelation that she was feeling herself. On the other hand, her knees were way too weak for her own comfort. So she raised an eyebrow and said, "If you can't tell, then maybe I should try again," as she slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him right up against her.

She thought she heard a faint, "Uh oh," before her mouth closed over his.

That full bottom lip of his was way too tempting, and she pulled it between both of hers and lightly ran her tongue along it. She could actually feel his answering groan rumble through his chest, and then he was spinning her around, pressing her against the edge of the counter as his tongue entwined with hers, and a matching moan emerged from her throat. Her hands were roaming across his back, one up near his shoulders and one above his waist, and when his hand slid up into her hair to cradle her head against his, her hand at his waist made its way beneath his baseball jersey and onto the bare skin of his back.

She wasn't quite sure what happened after that, except that his warm skin under her fingers was making her almost dizzy with desire and that whole thing about playing it cool to keep her knees from going weak had gone right out the window. She finally pulled her head back to get some air, and he let her go, his chest heaving in time with hers. They stared at each other for some long seconds, his expression slightly dazed and her own eyes wide open.

"Well," he finally murmured with a crooked smile. "Do you think we could…." He nodded at the doorway to the living room behind him. "Sit down for a minute?"

Or should we just go right upstairs? a voice piped up in her head.

Down, girl.

"Yeah, that would be good," she said in a voice that was only slightly shaky.

Taking his hand, she led him around the dividing wall to the living room. There they sat side-by-side on the sofa and wordlessly embraced, she resting her head on his shoulder and he leaning his head atop hers.

She lifted a hand and placed it over his heart, feeling its rapid beat beneath his Quakes jersey. "Your heart is racing," she murmured.

"Gee, I wonder why," he replied with a smile in his voice.

Dina lifted her head to look at him. His dark eyes were regarding her steadily, reflecting the fading traces of desire, tempered with a contentedness she'd never seen in him. She lifted her hand to touch the side of his face, noting in fascination how he closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. She'd watched him with his friends and family at Megan and Larry's place and had noticed how tactile he was, reaching out to people with a hand on the shoulder or forearm, easily embracing his brother and father the way most men of his age or profession (current or former) wouldn't do. It had been like he was another person from the one she knew.

That was the difference, she suddenly realized. Four weeks ago was the first time she'd seen the man Don had been before she met him, before any of what had happened to him had happened. Small wonder it hadn't fully registered before then how attractive he was.

She felt the trace of sadness that she always did when thinking about how much he had lost, and as he opened his eyes, he must have caught a glimpse of it. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up a little.

She shrugged a shoulder. "I guess I'm still amazed that you speak to me at all, much less…" She waved a hand between them to indicate whatever it was that was going on.

"I have to say that—" he imitated her waving gesture—"is certainly what I'm more interested in at the moment," he said as he tilted his head and kissed her again.

She smiled against his lips before pulling back. "No, I'm serious."

"So'm I." He reached up and smoothed her hair back from her face. "I meant what I said before. You don't owe me any atonement, and I don't owe you any forgiveness."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, reading the truth of what he'd said. Then she quirked up the corner of her mouth. "You just want to get back to the…." She waved her hand back and forth again.

"Well, can you blame me?" he asked, mock injury on his face.

"Men, always thinking with their—" She was cut off by his mouth on hers, and she let out a murmur of protest that died away into a contented noise that was embarrassingly like a purr.

This time when they broke apart, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, and she relaxed against him. There was silence for a moment. Then Don asked softly, hesitantly, "This is a little weird, isn't it?"

She blew out a breath. "The part where I'm kissing the man I spent nine months thinking was a murderer, or the part where you're kissing the stubborn bitch who was trying her hardest to put you in prison while being unable to admit she might be wrong?"

"Hey now." He straightened up and took his arm off her shoulders. "That's ridiculous, Javier. For one, you don't exactly have the market cornered on stubborn. That next word, I'm not going to justify with a response. And you can admit you're wrong with the best of them."

She shrugged and looked down at the sage-colored suede fabric of the couch, the spell of a moment ago broken. "Sometimes, it's all I see."

He put a hand on her cheek and turned her face towards his, waiting until she met his eyes before speaking slowly and deliberately. "I see someone who's incredibly courageous and fiercely loyal and smart as hell. And who never, ever gives up." He paused and added in a slightly deeper voice, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips, "And who has the most beautiful mouth I've ever seen."

One eyebrow went up as she fought to keep her voice steady. "My mouth? Is that the best you can do, Eppes?"

The corners of his own lips turned up as he slowly looked her up and down. She swore she could feel the heat from his gaze as it swept over her. "I dunno," he said lazily. "What else d'you want to show me?"

She gaped at him for a moment, then swatted his shoulder. "What am I getting into here?" she muttered.

His answering smile was warm. "I think you know exactly what you're getting into."

"Not really," she replied ruefully. "There's an awful lot I don't know about you."

He spread his hands wide before putting an arm over her shoulders again. "Ask me anything you want."

She regarded him for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I already know who you are," she said, placing her hand back over his heart and looking him in the eye. "I know how strong you are when you've been pushed to your limits, and I know how far you're willing to go for the people you care about. There might be a lot of details I don't know about you, but I know what counts." Then, before she started sounding too much like a Hallmark card, she added, "And I know that you fill out a pair of jeans pretty well."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Mmm-hmm." She looked at him slyly. "Just because I was busy chasing your ass doesn't mean I didn't check it out now and then."

He stared at her for a second before bursting into laughter, throwing his head back. She felt a broad grin spread across her own face. Now that was a sound she wanted to hear a lot more of: Don Eppes laughing.

"Maybe I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm getting into," he chuckled, folding his hand around hers where it lay on his chest.

"Well, I think it's safe to say you've already seen me at my worst," she said dryly. "Unconscious and bleeding is not a good look for anyone."

"Then I guess we're even," he said meaningfully, and she could see in his eyes the shadow of remembered pain from when he was fighting for his life on the floor of the room next door. She leaned forward and kissed him, hard, wanting to wipe that memory out of his mind at least for the moment. He responded eagerly, and for a moment she felt herself being carried away again, lost in the feel of his lips on hers and his hands warm on her back and in her hair. Then their kisses grew gentler, calmer, and she finally let go and leaned back.

He looked at her for a moment. "Meeks is going to wonder what prompted my change of heart next time we meet," he said, taking her hand in his and playing with her fingers.

"Change of heart about what?" she asked, folding her fingers around his so that his hand would lay still and stop distracting her.

He was silent for a few seconds. "About Liz," he finally said.

"What about her?" she asked cautiously.

He let go of her hand and turned to face her. "Being ready to talk about her. I meant it earlier: I did love her, and I do miss her. But…." He trailed off and spoke in a lower tone. "I didn't want you to—to think that I wasn't ready, you know. To move on."

Dina blinked. That's why was stalling with Meeks? Because of me? "She was lucky to have you," she replied, lifting a hand to run her fingers through his thick hair. "I hope she knew that."

"I always thought I was the lucky one," he said quietly, his gaze suddenly going far away.

She drew him into her arms, this time without the passion of their earlier embraces, but to offer comfort and understanding. When they pulled apart, he gave her a rueful smile. "Sorry. Even I know that it's bad form to bring up a previous relationship so soon."

"Not at all." She took both of his hands in hers. "Only once in your life do you get to have a relationship without any ghosts in it, and sometimes not even then. It's not something you have to worry about. Especially in this case."

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a huge yawn. "Sorry," he said again, shaking his head. "Guess I should have had coffee instead of a beer."

She cast a glance at his watch and saw it was well after eleven o'clock. "Early morning tomorrow?"

"Aren't they all?" he asked, yawning again.

"You could stay here." His gaze shot to hers, and she quickly went on, "That is, you already know where the spare bedroom is. There's no padlock on it anymore, either."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Thanks, but I should probably go."

"Oh, okay." She looked away quickly before he could see the disappointment flash across her face.

He reached out and put a finger under her chin, persuading her to look back at him. "I'm worried that it might be too hard to leave in the morning otherwise," he said softly.

"Some people have no willpower," she murmured teasingly.

Don leaned towards her, his mouth hovering over hers. "Believe me, I'm already exerting it," he breathed out before closing the distance between them the rest of the way.

Why bother? that little voice piped up again, but she shushed it. Whatever this was between them, it was hugely complicated, and it was going to take a lot of time to work it out. Still, feeling his lips soft and sweet against hers and breathing in his warm scent, she found herself wishing that he could stay.

"Then you'd better go before I make it so you can't leave," she murmured as she leaned back.

"Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "And how are you going to do that?"

"Well," she started slowly, "it seems to me that I owe you a couple of rounds with my handcuffs."

A second eyebrow joined the first. "Wouldn't that be a misuse of government property, Agent Javier?"

"Come on, like you've never done that yourself," she retorted.

She was astonished to see a little color creep into his cheeks, and she grinned. My, my, my. "I meant the misuse of government property, not necessarily in that specific way."

He paused, a wary look on his face. "Uh, I think I'd better get going before I say something else I might regret."

She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "There's always tomorrow night." In whatever sense of that phrase you want, she thought.

They walked to her front door, where they embraced one more time, Dina half afraid that when she let him go, she'd find that she'd been imagining the whole thing. She voiced the thought before she could stop herself, and he responded with a gentle smile. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, running his hand over her hair. "I promise."

She leaned against the doorframe and watched him walk down the steps towards the driveway. Well, that was unexpected, she thought, replaying the last hour in her head as he drove away. Not that I'm complaining. Not in the least.

Back inside, she turned on the television to catch the weather forecast. The announcer was talking about an upcoming special report, and Dina was only half listening. Then a name caught her attention, and she whipped her head around. "Wednesday is the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Bertha, and we'll have special reports all day about the lingering impacts of last year's largest hurricane, which swept through Washington, DC, to devastating if temporary effect. Our coverage will include a review of the successful recovery efforts along the track of this storm and how Bertha profoundly affected the lives of people up and down the East Coast and all over the country."

"You have no idea," she said aloud, a bemused smile spreading across her face. "You have absolutely no idea."

oooooooooooooooooo

A/N: And….that's a wrap. Please make sure you have all of your personal belongings before exiting the vehicle, and thank you for riding with Z. Reviews are gladly accepted in lieu of a gratuity. :)