A/N: So, after writing "Betrayal" I was listening to some music and "She's Not You" by Elvis came on and it inspired me to write another story in the Alternative Universe I had created where Michael's in witness protection, not dead. This is the result. Hope you like! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

She's Not You

"Oh Jim," she murmured quietly in his ear and Michael, once again, cursed the nostalgic impulse that had made him choose 'Jim' as a cover name. Nearly every time someone said it he had to stop himself from looking for Jim Taggart.

Not to mention that when a woman whispered it like that it was just downright creepy.

Though he had to admit that much of the problem he had with women was not the name they called him or the lie he had to tell about who he was. It was much simpler than all that: none of them were Jackie Reid.

Sometimes he would find someone who would sound a little bit like her, look a little bit like her or even make him laugh the way she used to. But they never were her and so it never really went anywhere.

He had been undercover for almost two years now and still he thought about her nearly every day. Her name was still on the tip of his tongue whenever he would be out with a woman; fortunately he had only actually said her name once or twice.

What hurt the most though was the number of times he would catch himself looking for her to share a joke with and realise she wasn't there. Or the number of times he stopped himself halfway through dialling her number because he just had to hear her voice.

The woman in his arms pulled back slightly and he looked down into her blue eyes, so different from Jackie's dark ones. "Jim, are you even listening to me? Sometimes I feel as though you're miles away from here," she wrapped her arms a little more securely about his neck. "Come back to me, Jim," she whispered playfully.

Come back to me

How could he come back to her when he had never really been with her? Jim Wentworth was the man dancing with her, not Michael Jardine. Michael Jardine would always be miles away in Glasgow with Jackie, hell, he'd even settle for Robbie or Stuart, anyone from his old life.

He looked back down at her, reminding himself once again that this was his life, his only life. Michael Jardine was dead; buried somewhere in Glasgow. He was Jim Wentworth; he was dancing with her.

He smiled at her, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, not that he was aware of the fact, and pulled her a little closer. "I wasn't anywhere, but here," he told her, "this is where I want to be," he added, kicking himself for the lie.

She smiled and rested her head back against his shoulder. Michael bit back a sigh as he rested his cheek against her hair and tried not to think about what Jackie was doing at that moment.