Author's note: This story was previously published as "Some Nights" and was removed earlier this year.

For those that have read it before removal: You may notice lines and whole sections removed, not added. I've gone line by line today and edited this story until I felt better about it. Now it has been completed, and the ending is much better than the one I thought of last year. If you can't tell where I edited, then bless you for being good natured enough to overlook my grievous mistakes.

For those that have not read it: I hope you like this version. I prefer it.

Unlike most of my stories, this does not have a soundtrack. I don't think I could remember the old soundtrack if I tried. In all honesty, I wrote the new additional scenes completely at work without music.

I hope you like this dear readers. I know I like this version much better than my previous version.

I will admit to having one too many drinks that night when I went to bar with my work friends. I also admit thinking it was a good idea to walk home at three in the morning arm in arm with a guy that I knew had a girlfriend. Four years younger than me, he smelled like cologne, cigarette smoke, alcohol and his kisses tasted like the promise of incredibly good sex. The keys didn't seem to want to work with the lock to my apartment when his fingers were dancing along my ribcage, just under my breasts. Nor did my brain seem to want to function when he brushed my hair aside to land searing kisses and not so gentle nips along my neck and shoulder.

We didn't even make it to my bedroom. He had me balancing on the arm of the couch, one of my hands under his shirt stroking muscles that fluttered under the scrape of my nails. My other hand buried in his dark hair if only to keep his lips on mine that much longer. It gave me a nearly primal thrill when he moaned into my mouth. It felt even better when he dragged my hips to his so I could feel the hard lump of flesh that said yes, he wanted me, and he was ready whenever I was.

I remembered he had a girlfriend half way between his pants coming undone and my bra and tank top hitting the floor. His mouth closed over the juncture between my neck and shoulders, biting hard, sucking harder to leave a mark for everyone to see in the morning. I almost pulled him closer. I wanted to. My libido threatened to break my sanity apart if I didn't just give in. I really wanted to say screw it. Say that I did not care and did not give a damn about little miss twenty-one years old and away at college. She'd get over the break up and I would get to have the guy I'd been flirting with for the last two years.

The button and zipper on my jeans was undone. He had begun to lean in for another passionate kiss when I turned my head and pushed him away.

I think that I might remember the way he looked at me in that handful of minutes afterward forever. It's been two months, about three thousand miles and every time I close my eyes I can see him looking at me. First with lust hazed confusion. He tried to pull me back to him. I remember the feel of his fingers gripping my hips and the tugging force of his biceps. Most of all I remember wanting to give in. For all my bravado, I've got a submissive streak and the fact that he could make me move despite not wanting to made me shiver to my core. What made it worse was that I wanted to give in so badly.

From somewhere I managed to gather my wits, shove my libido's wants to the side and press on his shoulders until he got the message. I will never forget the way his eyebrows drew together, furrowing his forehead as the lust finally gave way to confusion. Hurt, plain and painful, made its way across his rugged features. He finally let go of me and took a step away, then another, and another until he stood against the wall watching me with dark hooded eyes.

I put in for a transfer the next day.

They had two job openings, one in Atlanta, Georgia or one in Portland, Oregon. Both were steps up in the company. Unfortunately the one in Atlanta took me too close to some members of my family that I did not like. Nor did they like me but that's beside the point. The point is that I took the job in Oregon. I'd never been that far west or that far north before. Call me sheltered. Or poor.

It took almost a month for the transfer to go through all the proper channels. That might have been the longest month of my life. I tried and used every trick in the book I knew to avoid talking to him or about him. I'm not really sure how I managed to avoid even seeing him the whole month but I did. I pulled it off with almost flying colors.

The day before I left they threw me a goodbye party at work. Everyone that could show up did. Including the one person I really didn't want to see. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I had to stand there hearing my boss talk about what an amazing employee I had been. How lucky the Portland office was for getting me. How everyone would miss me. I raised my glass when they toasted to me and my future success with sparkling cider in plastic champagne flutes from Target. I smiled while I received hugs and platonic kisses on the cheek. Multiple congratulations and empty threats to tie me to my desk to keep me from escaping distracted me from the next pair of arms to wrap around me.

Color me shocked. He hugged me tightly and much too long. The kiss he placed on my cheek came far too close to my lips. It was uncomfortably quiet around the two of us when he finally let me go. I think I had the grace to blush. Or maybe that was me turning beet red from the embarrassment. Either way I didn't like the way some of my work friends were looking at me afterward. None of them knew what happened between Josh and me that night. He had gone outside to smoke a cigarette a few minutes before I'd left.

Joshua saw me walk out of the bar alone and insisted that I call a cab. When I refused because I could walk home faster than a cab could get there, he'd insisted on walking home with me. The alcohol made reality a little fuzzy after that. I only know that at some point I'd confessed being a little bit in love with him and then he'd kissed me. He'd kissed me like a drowning man kissed the ground once back on solid land. His arms had wrapped around me, his fingers in my hair, bruising my waist where he gripped me…

Who could I have told? The gossip mill at work generated faster than the one in my family.

Believe me, that is saying something.

Of course I never saw the other shoe getting ready to drop.

I'd been in my new position in the Portland office a little less than a month when the axe came down. A hostile takeover that had been in the works for almost six months finally came to fruition. Pink slips littered every floor of the building. Everyone who held a position that was deemed unnecessary by the new company got a boot to the proverbial ass and a pitiful severance check to tide them over until they could get unemployment or another job. I kept my head enough to ask for a written reason for the loss of my job as well as a few dozen copies of a recommendation letter from my current boss. Who, incidentally, happened to be keeping his cushy desk job and salary.

That is how I ended up walking past a newly opened pub/micro-brewery with the pitiful contents of my desk under one arm. I'll admit to looking too much like I should have still been in an office. Black pencil skirt with grey stitching, black low heeled eyelet embroidered Mary Janes, and lavender blouse to offset my grey eyes. I'd taken my hair down from the French braid I'd had it in so it fell in messy waves around my face and half way down my back.

I actually stopped to do a double check on my makeup in the window of the pub. I had been close to tears as I cleaned out my desk and I would have hated walking around with smeared mascara without knowing it. The curtains were drawn in the window but the red and white HELP WANTED sign stood out like a beacon. The words 'inquire within' printed with neat blocky letters in black magic marker. The door to the pub stood open. I peeked in just to see how long the wait on the line would be.

To my surprise, no line. Hell, there weren't any people inside beside a tall, leggy blonde and an equally tall man with deep mocha coloring and a baritone to match. Warily I cast around for the horde of people that should have been trampling me for a job here. I expected that at any moment a stampede of the unemployed to elbow and shove me out of the way so they could take a shot at an interview with both or one of the people within. When I became absolutely certain that no one was coming or going for that matter, I stepped inside.

The two were undoubtedly a couple. They had to be. His arms were wrapped around her waist and hers were up under his shirt. I felt a little like a voyeur but hell, they had the sign in the window and unless I wanted to blow my meager saving to keep my apartment while I looked fruitlessly for a job in my field I need to get with the program. Or back on the horse. Whatever.

I cleared my throat and when that didn't seem to work; I knocked loudly on the wooden door frame and said, "I saw the help wanted sign in the window."

That worked.

The two detached themselves from one another. The blonde, pretty, blue eyes, milk and cream skin, pouty lips that were a little bruised from her earlier attention grinned like a mad fool at me. The guy started laughing a bit, embarrassed and blushing. He smiled a wide, toothy smile at me for all of ten seconds. Then he looked me up and down and the smile turned from adorably flustered to edged with concern and sympathy.

"Can I help you miss?" He asked. I couldn't place the accent.

I jerked the thumb of my free hand at the sign in the window, "I saw the sign. Are you looking for wait staff, bartenders, hostesses?" Granted I'd only been a waitress and occasionally a hostess throughout my teenage to college years but he didn't know that. I hoped and prayed to any higher power listening that they weren't looking for a head chef. I can cook and believe me I cook well but the handful of days I worked in the kitchens at the restaurants I'd been employed in I couldn't seem to fathom eating after getting home. The sight of food disgusted me.

He looked a little confused by my question. Maybe because of the way I was dressed. Business attired woman asking questions about a job that she, more than likely, would be overqualified for.

Here, here, but a job is a job and the tips I would earn in a place like this could cover my $595 rent and then some. I knew that from experience. How do you think I paid for college? I waited patiently for him to say something in low tones to the pretty blonde woman. She in turn gave him a look that clearly said 'to be continued' before heading off toward a pair of glass double doors near the bar.

When he finally turned his attention back to me I could see him calculating the best way to tell me that I'd be too expensive to employ. So I beat him to the punch.

"Look," I said dropping my box on one of the polished wood tables, careful not to knock any of the upturned chairs on it off. "I just got laid off. I need work. I'm new in town and frankly I cannot break my lease to go back to New York because it's way too fricken expensive. I've been a waitress, a hostess, short order cook and I've bussed tables. You don't have to train me, just set me up with a few menus and let me know which tables are mine. I'm good with the public and I'll work until I drop." Not to mention the pay cut I would be taking.

"I need a job sir," Christ that hurt. He had to be at least four or five years younger than me. I'd never addressed someone younger than me in an interview let alone when basically begging for a job. "Believe me I have enough references that will tell you I am an excellent employee." And a little bit of a smartass. Short tempered. Intolerant of stupid people. I dug in my box for the copies of my resume that I managed to run off before one of the others tried to take off with the actual copier/fax machine. I held it out to him feeling a little ridiculous. I'm sure I looked a little ridiculous.

He looked uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. He still strode forward with his long legs and took my proffered resume out of my hands, grabbed a chair off the table and set it on the floor. Then he grabbed another and set it a couple feet back and asked me very politely to have a seat.

Gratefully I sat down. I didn't realize until he walked up to me exactly how tall he actually was. I felt like a dwarf. I'm five two on a good day and in these heels I'm barely hitting five four. Sitting didn't actually help my feelings of inadequacy all that much considering he had to turn his long legs out a bit to keep from hitting my feet with them.

He looked over my resume like someone who never actually interviewed an employee before. Meaning he actually started reading while I sat there wanting to fidget out of nervous habit. Keeping my hands neatly folded in my lap took an immense amount of self control. Interviews though, ugh. I've always hated interviews because you have to wait on the other person's reactions, thoughts or suggestions. I sat there a good three or four minutes while he read over the two pages of my resume.

Finally after what felt like an eternity he turned his attention from the paper in his hands to me, "You were working with Sullivan and Morgenstern before this?" That sounded a bit like curiosity mixed with doubt.

Why would he doubt that? I shrugged. "Apparently another company had begun to buy them out at the beginning of this year. Everyone who wasn't deemed necessary to the company's survival got the axe about an hour ago."

Both of his eyebrows went up, "that sucks."

"Like student loan payments in a recession."

He laughed a deep sound, his smile reached his eyes. "I hear that," he flipped my resume closed and rolled it up, met my gaze and asked me plainly, "What do you know about restaurants?"

I blinked at him, a little surprised. Honestly I'd expected a polite 'look I would love to hire you but the owner wants what the owner wants' speech. I said the only thing I could really think of at the moment, "I've worked in them since I was sixteen. I used to be an assistant manager at a local Denny's in college." Technically my title could have been considered unofficial but he didn't need to know that.

That made his smile grow even larger. "Good cause I don't know anything about running a bar or a brewery or a restaurant."

I couldn't help it; the words just tumbled out, "you're the owner?"

He gave me a grin that said he was and my tone of disbelief clearly amused him. He stroked his chin and goatee a little with long fingers, "too young?"

Embarrassment stained my skin a pinkish color, "little bit."

"What I lack in age I make up for in witty commentary."

My turn to smile. I could learn to like this guy. I held out my hand, "Faith Greyhem."

He took my hand and shook it firmly. Muscles. Lucky blondie. "Alec Hardison." After a beat, "it's probably a pay cut for you, but I need a general manager. See, my friends and I have a," he paused as if looking for the right words then said, "side business. It can take up a lot of my time. I figure that I am going to need someone to help out with the hiring and the menus and the office stuff." He opened my rolled up resume again just to give it another once over. His head bobbed in a thoughtful nod. "I think you're qualified."

And speechless.

He met my gaze, "When can you start?"

I swallowed past my disbelief, the sheer good luck and the giddy joy bubbling in my chest. I tried to keep my face calm but I felt my eyes crinkle in a dead giveaway of happiness and relief. "Is right now good?"

He leaned back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

Once upon a time a very, very long time ago I was married. His name was Andrew, Andy to almost everyone. Dark haired, dark eyed and warm skin. I loved looking at the difference between my paleness and his slightly darker self. He gave me a promise ring when we were too young to do anything with it and too naive to realize what it meant between us. We were married just after my eighteenth birthday. He went into the army and I went away to college. Life back then had been good, but then with Andy it always was. We'd been almost inseparable since childhood.

I buried my husband when I should have been wearing a cap and gown. I was 21. He was 23.

Somehow I managed to hold myself together until one of his squad mates handed me the folded flag. Then my world broke and I shattered into pieces.

As absent and secretive and distant as he had to be during those four years, I still couldn't imagine my life without him. There would be no more surprise visits. No more talk about planning for after college. No more talk of children in the future. None of it mattered now. None of it made a difference while they lowered his body into the ground.

He'd been a part of my world, a large part of my world since the day his mother put him in my pay pen. Andy told me he would love me forever when we were just children playing games in the backyard. He was the first boy I loved, the only one I'd loved. The idea, the very prospect of facing the rest of my life without his smile, his laugh, without his hand to hold…I lost my mind for a little while.

One of his squad mates took me home. He stayed with me and I let him. Later I found out he didn't have anywhere to go anyway.

Those first few days remain hazy in my mind. I remember being in bed a lot at first. Vaguely I can recall faces of friends and family who must have stopped in to see me. I don't know what they talked about, and I don't even know if I even spoke. I remember voices but not actually understanding what they said. Saying that I was a mess is an understatement of massive proportions. If I were to compare myself to a glass window it would be a fair assessment to say that even now, pieces of me are still missing.

I do remember someone making sure I ate at least once a day. The same someone harassing me to get out of bed and shower. I argued with him. Incoherently on occasion.

Under normal circumstances it should have been my family caring for me. My family might have taken care of me if I had anyone besides my grandparents. My mother died giving birth to me, my father died overseas around the time I turned six. My cousins, the ones in Georgia, weren't my favorite people. If we'd been on better terms sure, they might have been the ones watching out for me, but somehow it fell to him. A stranger I only knew when Andy brought him home because the man had nowhere else to go.

He shipped out for active duty and I forced myself to not be a mess. The next time he checked in on me I'd gotten better. The time after that I was almost whole. The time after that…I'm not going there. It bothers me too much.

I say all of this now because life, fate, destiny even has a strange way of coming back. Of catching up with you when you least expect it.

I don't know how long I stood outside double glass doors watching the handful of people inside with a mixture of curiosity, surprise and disbelief. Curiosity because these people seemed like such a motley crew of mismatched personalities, from an academic point of view they were interesting.

My boss, Alec, wore a dark blue Keep Calm and Don't Blink t-shirt with the TARDIS atop it in white. I knew that I liked him for a good reason.

Sitting on (not at) the table directly across from him was blondie. Who I'd been told was named Parker. No last name. Just Parker. She struck me as a little bit wild, but if Alec dug it, hey, it's their relationship. Her legs were folded neatly under her and once again, she wore entirely black. I wish I knew how she did that side braid. I've tried my hand at side braids all my life and failed miserably.

Closest to the door sat an older man, early to mid 50's. Irish skin and blue eyes. Wearing a dark brown jacket similar to the one I bought my grandfather last fall from J.C. Penny.

Next to him a dark haired, elegant woman with medium skin and fluttering hand movements. Thin frame, not as lanky as Parker happened to be but absolutely a figure any other woman would kill for. She wore a pair of designer shoes that must have cost upwards of three hundred dollars and a deep brown silk wrap dress cinched at the waist by a ribbon thin gold and rust colored belt that I think I saw in an ad for Gucci. Her outfit could probably have paid my rent for two or three months.

Jealous? Me? Pfft.

Next to her, furthest from the door…

That's where surprise and disbelief come in. Disbelief because I never planned on seeing Eliot after the fight we had. I'd hit him, shoved him, screamed at him and he took it all with a straight face and the red imprint of my hand on his cheek. I tried to hurt him as much as he hurt me. He walked out of my life and I never saw him again.

Until now.

He put on about ten pounds of solid muscle in the last few years, gained a couple of scars and his hair had grown longer. The leather jacket looked good on him, the work boots I remembered as a staple in his wardrobe still present even after all this time.

Besides, I would know that face anywhere. I'd kissed that mouth until we'd both needed to give in to breathing. I'd been devoured by those eyes too many times to count.

I swallowed and debated the merits of bolting right there and then. Say good bye to the job and run screaming like the chicken I am from Portland all the way back to New York. I almost would have too if the older man hadn't noticed me standing there like a stick in the mud.

He said something I couldn't hear and motioned me in.

My heartbeat leapt into my throat.

My brain told my legs to move but they felt rooted there on the hardwood floor of the bar. I could barely think let alone breathe. When Alec took only a handful of steps to reach the door with those incredibly long legs of his, I still couldn't seem to fathom up words. Ideas. Thoughts beyond 'oh sweet holy mother Mary, this is going to suck.'

When my wits came back to me, and Alec reached me I shoved the short stack applications with attached resumes into his hands and talked about those. "Those are the people I've interviewed today. The top three are the best choices in my opinion. There are a few potential bartenders in there, but no one I'd trust outright to make a drink." One of them had a mullet and wore a plaid shirt over a stained wife-beater. Excuse me for having something called standards.

The muscles in my hand cramped a little from how tightly I gripped my jacket. "I'm going to head out. Did you want me to write down my hours until you get the time clock working?"

He looked a little confused for a moment then a grin broke out on his face. "My bad, I forgot to tell you that you're salary."

Despite the inner turmoil I felt a smile creeping up the sides of my mouth. Salary? Every job I've ever held required me to fill out a time card of some kind. Not including my last job that is.

As I began to excuse myself Parker came to the door, this look in her dark blue eyes that I really couldn't quite read. "Did you have a chance to meet everyone?"

I blinked at her. Everyone? A sinking feeling started in the pit of my stomach. "No, but I really have to-" Please don't let her mean everyone in that room. Dear god, I know we hadn't talked much but, please, please don't let her mean the other people in that room.

She did though. She did mean them. Parker, deceptively strong despite her long, lanky appearance, maneuvered me into the room.

Suddenly I wished that I did run back to New York or even Missouri to my grandparents. I did not want to look up and see him staring back at me but what choice did I really have? I felt eyes on me, not just his.

The older man with the slightly unkempt hair; Nathan Ford. He directed a polite smile at me, but it didn't entirely reach his eyes. His accent had overtones of the north east, but nothing solid. It felt almost like he was examining me.

The very well dressed woman; Sophie Devereaux. English accent that sounded slightly off, like she might have grown up somewhere besides England.

And, last but not least…

I found my voice before Parker and Alec could manage the very last introduction.

"Hi Eliot," it sounded like a whisper in the room but suddenly the silence was deafening in its intensity. A pin could have dropped and it would have sounded like a boulder hitting the hard wood.

If he was at all shocked to see me he hid it far too well. Blue eye that often reminded me of clear summer days trained on me. I felt my skin burning with a blush of embarrassment. Maybe he didn't remember me as well as I remembered him? I didn't know if it would have been possible. Even before Andy died Eliot had been to my grandparent's ranch. For two years I'd seen the man come in with Andy and leave with Andy like they were brothers. In essence they were I suppose. Brothers in combat and the like.

I seriously doubted he wouldn't know my face.

His voice was exactly what I remembered, a little rough, a little southern, "Faith."

"How's your sister?" I asked. The silence and the shared glances were beginning to bother me.

His mouth formed a tight, flat line. "She's good."

I nodded numbly, "And your nephew? He's what, almost a teenager now?"

The flat line of his lips quirked at the corners, "Just turned thirteen."

I kept nodding until I felt like my head might fall off. I probably looked like an idiot. I felt like one. I pivoted on the balls of my feet, my sneakers squeaking against the wood. I looked up at Alec who looked as surprised as I had felt earlier. "So um, I'm supposed to be off tomorrow and Sunday. I'll pick up interviewing people on Monday." I inclined my head at Mr. Ford and Mrs. Devereaux, "it was nice meeting you." I dared a glance at Eliot.

Then I walked out of the room as fast as I could without running.

The minute my feet hit the pavement outside I let my hands shake like they'd wanted to since I walked into that room. The tears threatened to burn their way out of my eyes and I felt like falling apart again would be a fantastic idea. Instead I made my feet move in the direction of my apartment.

I did not look back.