That first morning, after, he had had trouble concentrating. His thoughts had been scattered focused on everything she had told him and his imagination filled in what she hadn't. Then there had been the staring. Orwell, Jamie, he corrected, it probably wouldn't stick. The name didn't suite her. No, she was his Orwell; more scattered (inappropriate) thoughts.

So he had stared at her and let his mind spin, trying to reconcile who she was with who she was. There had been a few awkward moments to be sure, she would look and his eyes would crash into her. The tension hadn't prevented him from staring.

How could she be Orwell, his Orwell, and also be Jamie, his Jamie.

"You look like a man drowning in heavy thoughts," Max slapped him on the shoulder, stepping next to him. The view off the dilapidated pier wasn't much but it was a needed change of scenery. For days he had holed himself up in his 'gym'. This was the first night he hadn't passed all the hours combing the streets as the Cape.

Slipping out before Orwell got back from wherever she went every Thursday night; he had made his way to the Carnival. Raia and Rollo had welcomed him with loud voices and a too full cup of what Rollo liked to pass off as alcohol. The moonshine was closer to battery acid than a drink, but he had drunk his share and welcomed the accompanying buzz. Too soon though the room had started to spin and he had abandoned the festivities.

"How's it going Max," Vince was in no mood for company, much less inquisitive company but Max didn't look eager to leave.

"I'm well my friend," Max leaned forward, resting his arms on the unsteady railing separating them from the harbor. "It is you who looks a little rough around the edges."

Vince cut a look over at Max. He hadn't been sleeping all that week or much, "Can't sleep."

Unsurprised Max nodded, "And where is our lovely young Julia this evening?"

Cringing, Vince rolled the name over in his head, 'Julia' he had blurted it out that afternoon when the two areas of his new life had collided. 'Julia', 'Jamie', and 'Orwell' how was he supposed to know who she was?

"She's out," as excuses went it was weak. Max turned towards him, Vince could feel the assessing gaze.

"Trouble in paradise," Max asked. Well so much for a carefree evening. There a part of him the slightly drunk part that wanted to tell Max what was wrong; just spill everything about Orwell and Fleming and Jamie.

The part of him that was sober enough to know that it would be a disastrous managed to keep his mouth shut.

"No one is ever what they seem are they," Vince murmured unable to stop the flow of words. Glancing over Max let his eyebrows rise as his curiosity was piqued.

"I suppose none of us here are really who we are," Max waved his hands out before him. "What separates us from them is that we do not hide the fact that we live a life of illusion."

That made sense. Weren't they all covering up for something? Wasn't he hiding Orwell from the carnival?

"But what happens when the illusion crumbles and what's left is-"he struggled for the right word-"unexpected."

With a grimace Max looked back over the water, "I am surprised at you Vince. Honestly how much of the Cape, was already in you. Illusions, the best illusions, are the ones that wear so much more reality as to seem real. So what's to say that the illusion isn't more real than the reality?"

The illusion could be just as real; the thought stripped away the last bit of haze lingering from the alcohol. Was he so successful as the Cape because the Cape was part of Vince, or even more shocking was he successful as Vince because the Cape had always been there?

Was Orwell just a front for Jamie or was that lost girl just a part of the puzzle that made up Orwell.

Did it matter?

"That girl of yours is hiding something." Max had not asked the question; Vince supposed he knew it to be a fact.

"Yeah," Vince agreed. The weight of the past week had finally settled on his shoulders.

"None of us are perfect Vince," Max grinned, Vince couldn't help but give a weak smile in return.

"But that one," he shook his finger, "That one secrets or no, she's a good one."

Everything she had done for him, meant to him, summed up to perfection. "Yes she is," Vince agreed without hesitation. The assessment surprised him though, Max had never given the impression that he liked or disliked Orwell.

"She's kept you alive more than once," and that was an irrefutable truth, "And I don't know what she's hiding-"

Vince felt the lie, just a hint of it, Max Mallini the clever bastard knew more than he implied. Not surprising really. Max always seemed to know more than he let on.

-"But I imagine it would not change anything she's done because really who are we if not someone made up of the actions and answers every day of our lives."

This was why Vince had come to Carnival. A part of him had known he would find answers here. Max had never been one to hold his tongue and while often unsolicited; his opinion had more often than not been spot on.

"I suppose you're right," Max laughed nodding in agreement

"Yes Vince my boy I am," the slap to his should this time ended in a squeeze to his shoulder long enough to show the affection that could sneak out of Max when the mood suited him.

"Thanks Max," the friends he had made, while not the sort he had ever imagined having, was proving the best he had ever had.

"You're welcome my friend, now get home and fix whatever is wrong with your girl."

That wasn't the first time Max had alluded to her as his but this time it meant something. Orwell, she would probably always be Orwell to him, was his more than he cared to admit. She shouldn't be his, shouldn't, but was. The long walk back gave him time to clear his head. There was just enough alcohol in his blood to warrant handing his keys to Max who was kind enough to promise to not lose them for very long.

"Hey," he had expected her to be asleep; it was way later than even some of their longest excursions ran. But the soft glow from the monitors lit up her profile; she had waited up.

"I didn't think you were coming back," she stood moving to his board, eyes on the tenuous connections he had made. There had been just enough doubt in her voice, he knew she deliberately not said tonight or at all, and that pissed him off. Angry at himself for spinning her in even more circles, the shame burned up his throat, if she would just look at him he was sure she would see how sorry he was. Her back was firmly turned away from him though; he was not getting off that easy.

His jaw clenched, he should and would grovel if need be. "I'm sorry you thought that, I'm sorry you doubted me," he sighed, "It's not like I haven't given you a reason to this week, but still-"he moved further into the room-"I'm sorry."

A heartbeat and then another and finally Orwell turned towards him, the long desk separating them. For all the staring he had done in those first twenty-four hours he not looked closely at her since. She'd lost weight, weight that she couldn't afford to lose, the dark circles under her eyes made him wince.

He had done that, had pushed her away and she had suffered. There was so much he couldn't fix in his life, but this, them he could fix. Leaning forward, resting his fisted hands on the table he gave her a sad smile, "I really don't know how you put up with me."

Shaking his head with a chuckle he counted it a small victory that her eyes had gone wide with shock, she clearly had not been expecting that. He pressed on encouraged, "I mean we say things, we mean them, honesty and trust and all that good stuff and what do I do huh?"

Playing down everything was the only way he could think of to keep his cool. There too many emotions churning up his gut, this was too important for him to mess up. For the first time since she'd told him, he looked at her and she looked right back, no flinching, chin rising with her pride he knew she was daring him to break it off to push her away; she was clearly preparing herself for the rejection even after his candid words.

Not once did his gaze falter he did however shrug, "I don't think I'll ever get used to calling you Jamie."

Vince dug deep, deeper than he had in a long time, he blamed the not quite there alcohol, but he managed to just hold in the laughter. Her expression was priceless though, the jaw was opening and closing, she clearly couldn't decide what to say and seeing her so flustered was nothing short of wonderful. Too put together was the creature before him.

While she was still off guard he moved around the table and closed the distance between them. Still reeling she said nothing as he took her gently by the arms. A lock of hair fell across her cheek as he turned her. Without hesitating he brushed it aside, he couldn't ignore how she reacted to the touch, leaving his hand on her cheek he smiled when she leaned into him.

"You're my Orwell," he had done it, put it out there, and there was no going back. Big eyes looked at him, shock and something else swam in the glassy gaze, but it was the truth. She was his, in every way that mattered, Jamie, Julie, Orwell, whatever name she was his friend, his partner, simply his.

Orwell blinked up at him; Vince might have let his heart skip a few beats when he saw the tears slip down her cheeks.

"Honest?" there was more she no doubt wanted to ask, but so much was summed up in that one word.

Vince nodded, "Honest. You're here with me, you've got my back and I've got yours one hundred percent. That's all that matters."

Later, much later he knew he might come to regret the words, that promise, but Vince quieted the little voice of warning; if and when that became a problem he would deal with it then. Right now he was living as best as could day by day.

The arms that wrapped around his waist and held on tight might be far more pressing problem. That worry he also pushed aside; he was getting good at denying the hard things. Instead he wrapped his own arms tight around her; she was so tiny.

"You can still call me Orwell," it was muffled against his chest but he caught the gist of her words. Chuckling, he leaned back enough to peek down at her. The first real smile he had seen on her in some time brought out his own.

Still smiling, she licked her lips, the action did not go unnoticed, and the little voice he had successfully locked away for months was quick to break open its lock whispering of the doors that still had yet to be opened between him and the girl in his arms. Those doors had to stay closed they had too.

Too late that little voice whispered.

"I'm glad you came home Vince," had she known what Pandora's Box she might have maybe accidentally opened her response might have been different.