The summer night was heavy with the aftermath of the rain. Mosquitoes flitted about annoyingly, cicadas trilled, and the frogs croaked.

Molly fanned herself. Sweat made her gray tank top cling to her skin. She hadn't had any intention of leaving her air conditioned house that day. It was too damn hot. But Barney had called her. There had been an underlying concern in his voice. Molly wouldn't describe it as panicked. Barney Ross didn't do panic. He was too level headed.

Gunnar had dropped off the radar after the last mission. Barney wanted to know if she would go check on him. At that point, Molly had asked, rather impatiently, "Why don't you do it?"

Barney had replied, with infinite patience, "Because he's not going to want to talk to me."

Molly had wanted to ask what had happened on the last mission, but she didn't. She wasn't part of the team anymore. Knowing what they were doing would only make her yearn for the days that were past.

"Alright. Fine."

It took her forty five minutes to reach the swampy bayou, where Gunnar lived in a shoddy shack straight out of a horror film.

"Gunnar," she pounded her fist on the door. There was no response, but his truck was parked in the front. "Gunnar, come on, it's fucking hot out here."

Molly opened the door. A box fan was running in one corner, filling the room with a hot breeze. There was an old, musty couch and a small refrigerator in the main room. Off to the left, there was a kitchen with barely enough room to move. Through the kitchen was a small closet that passed as a bedroom.

"What are you doing here?" his words were slurred. He was sitting in the doorway to the bathroom, a bottle of Grey Goose sitting limply in his hand. Molly carefully stepped over an old pizza box and sat on the unfinished wood floor.

"Barney's worried. You've been radio silent for the last week," Molly said, wiping sweat from her brow. And we all know what happened last time. That part went unsaid. They both remembered the solitude and surliness that had led up to the explosion during the Vilena job.

"I'm clean," Gunnar told her bluntly. Molly nodded.

"I know." He wouldn't go back to it, not after what Barney had done to him, after what he had nearly done to Yang.

"I'm alive, Little Wolf, go home," he said, taking another belligerent swig of vodka. Molly frowned deeply at him.

He wore a pair of holey jeans and a stained white t shirt. His prominent brow was shiny with perspiration.

"What happened?" she asked gently. His watery blue eyes met her clear brown ones.

"You remember when you and Billy fought? I took you to the hospital for that concussion?"

Molly blinked in surprise. That night was rather blurred in her memory. She didn't try too hard to remember it.

"Yeah," she crossed her legs Indian style and let her hands rest in her lap.

"You asked me if I had ever been in love…" Gunnar trailed off. Molly frowned. "It was just stupid college bullshit," his voice rang clearly in her head.

"Yes," she nodded.

"I saw her face," he told her. "We were running around Belfast. Rough part of town. And, there she was, in a bakery window."

"You saw your old girlfriend on the last mission?" Molly's brows shot up. Gunnar shook his head and took another long drink without wincing. Molly cringed. If he was too far gone to taste the vodka, it was pretty damn serious.

"No. This girl. She was about thirty years too young. Same red hair, same green eyes…"

"What was her name?" Molly asked gently.

"Alice Donaghue," Gunnar sighed, an unfamiliar hint of sadness to his voice.

January 12th, 1976

Boston, Massachusetts

Gunnar nearly slid on the icy sidewalk. Snow was piled halfway up the store fronts. The streets were not overly crowded this early in the morning. He ducked into the diner. There were a few people eating their breakfast and reading the morning paper.

"Gunnar," Mrs. McLellan was a woman with silver hair and expressive dark eyes. It was well known that her Irish roots protected her from the gang that ran the block.

Housing was cheap in the Irish neighborhood, off campus. It was all Gunnar could afford, even with his scholarship.

"Mrs. McLellan," he eased onto a barstool. She poured him a cup of coffee.

"You look tired," she noted sternly. Gunnar rubbed the back of his neck. Mrs. McLellan reminded him, almost uncomfortably, of his own mother, still back in Sweden. "When was the last time you slept?"

It was hard to sleep here. The noise was almost deafening. Car backfiring, people shouting, guns going off.

The bell over the door jangled and Mrs. McLellan looked up, surprise flashing over her face.

"Oh, Alice, dear, you look awful." Another mug was filled with coffee. A young woman with a head full of vivid red hair that, if Gunnar was being honest, was closer to orange than red, sat down.

Snow was melting on her black pea coat. She grimaced deeply and wrapped her hands around the coffee mug.

"I heard a horrible ruckus last night. Was anybody hurt?" Mrs. McLellan asked in a hushed voice.

Iridescent green eyes lifted and rested suspiciously on Gunnar. He colored and looked down at his black coffee.

"Connor got bruised up, but nothin' serious," she had a thick, Boston accent. She pronounced Connor like Kan-nah.

"They need to start keeping you home," Mrs. McLellan said, frowning deeply. The red headed woman reached for the sugar. Her knuckles were busted and scabbed over. Gunnar forced himself to look away.

"Ah'm fine. Ya worry too much," she sniffed. Mrs. McLellen clucked disapprovingly, but said no more.

Present Day

New Orleans, Lousiana

"So, she was your true love?" Molly's voice was heavy with sarcasm. Gunnar scoffed. He had moved to his couch. Molly was busying herself with tidying his house. Two garbage bags already sat by the front door. The windows were pried open to let some of the slightly cooler night air in.

"Nah, I don't believe in that bullshit," he took another drink of vodka, "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he mused. Molly's face softened as she surveyed him.

"What happened to her?"

Gunnar bowed his head, supporting it with one deeply wrinkled hand.

"She died."