InsaneJournal

I am sick of sinners always making out they’re saints
Who: Jocelyn and James
What: the new tenant seems strangely familiar...
Where: 2nd floor
When: October 10th, morning

Starting fresh was great and all, after years of actual hiding (at least he didn’t have any children - at the safehouse, the community you were dumped into before Witness Protection found you a new location, the children there were encouraged to write their new names over and over, for practise so they didn’t forget) but it meant an empty flat to essentially fill from scratch. James had a few cartons of things, sure, breakable kitchenware and mementos and some DVDs he could pack away and drive over - but for the most part, he was relying on his savvy Craigslist, eBay, and thrifting skills to find new bigger pieces to work on.

Today he’d picked up a wine rack - reclaimed wood and handmade, perfect for one of the kitchen walls - and was just coming back to the building with his find in tow. First he stopped to have a cigarette outside, reveling in what had been his only comfort and consistency the years he was separated from Nishka, from the rest of his friends, from when he couldn’t even tell his mum and dad where he was. Ash sprinkled across the cement as he flicked the filter, smoke twisting like a garter snake.

Then it was time to go in, so he stubbed out the bad habit and walked across the lobby toward the lift, the wooden wine rack under his arm - but not comfortably so. Luckily he was only on the second floor.

Jocelyn saw a figure entering the elevator ahead of her, and rushed to slip inside before the doors could close entirely, carefully juggling her coffee and pastry from the convenience store down the street. She reached over to push the button for second floor, only to notice that it was already lit. She glanced over at the other passenger in the car...and nearly dropped her coffee.

“Holy shit…” she whispered, eyes wide in astonishment. “James?” This last bit a little louder. She had only really met him the one time, when work had taken her to Chicago for a few weeks of filming, but she remembered the man who had broken Nishka’s…

Nishka.

Oh. Crap…

Glacial eyes shifted toward the young lass who said his name - and James didn’t recognise her right away, but give him a moment. Eventually it came to him - he’d gotten better at remembering faces over the years, especially while bartending. It helped to recall his regular customers - who had manners and tipped well, who didn’t, and so forth.

“Josie, is it? It’s nice to see you again,” James smiled, baring the pearly gates when he extended his hand for a shake. After shifting the wine rack to one arm, so he’d have the room. His expression and general demeanor remained cordial, even after the demand about Nishka came forth.

“Jocelyn,” she corrected, her voice suddenly as icy as his eyes. “Does Niska know you’re here?” she demanded, ignoring the offered hand.

Well, that was cutting right to the chase, wasn’t it? He had to respect a lady that ballsy.

“Ah, she does, in fact,” he shared. “We ran into each other a bit ago. That whole situation’s a bit complex - why I ended up leaving, that is. I’d rather explain in...not the lift. Want to stop by my place? I can make that an Irish coffee,” he nodded toward the cup she carried. It was never too early for such things.

The petite woman took a deep breath, visibly centering herself. Well, if he’s still in one piece, that meeting can’t have gone too badly… she thought. Her expression softened ever-so-slightly. “Fine,” she relented, as the elevator opened onto the second floor.

James led on to the door marked 205, setting the rather unwieldy wine rack down to rummage for his keys. Then he let them in - slowly but surely, the place was coming along nicely. He had a few other leads on Craigslist he wanted to check out - something for the balcony, maybe, just some nice chairs and a table. A place where he could smoke.

“Irish coffee,” he started, taking out the bottle of whiskey - Bushmills Red Bush, aged for a minimum of three years. Utterly delicious, too. “Drunk through the cream, you know.” On the counter, he left the proper additives (sugar being one of them) - Josie (er, sorry, Jocelyn) could decide how much she wanted in her spiked adult beverage.

As for James, putting on a pot of coffee for his own consumption sounded grand so he got that started. “I’m sure Nish mentioned I’m a psychiatrist?” Or he was. He had been. In what felt like another life, one yanked out from under him very quickly.

Jocelyn took a long sip of her coffee, making room for the offered ‘additive’ and poured a healthy shot of the whiskey into her cup. “I’m sure it must have come up, back when you were together.” The ‘before you left her and broke her heart’ was unspoken, but very much implied by her still-chilly tone.

The only reason he’d asked was because it was a lead-in to his next point. It was still odd to be actually telling people this (well, Nish had been the only one he’d told thus far) since he was literally a whole different person for the past few years - one that had to reinvent himself and constantly look forward, in addition to watching his back. At least he could rest easier now, a little, knowing that his testimony had helped put a criminal behind bars for many years - but that didn’t stop the bad dreams, not entirely.

“One of my clients had a father who ran heavily in organised crime circles,” he went on, reaching in the cupboard for basically the only mug he had right now. “My client, the man’s son, was killed. I had to go into Witness Protection after that.” He didn’t particularly want to rehash everything, put it all out there on a platter - that was the gist of the situation, and it was the truth, and as much as he wished it didn’t turn out that way, wishing (in hindsight) was about as useful as an oar on a speedboat.

He found the creamer in his fridge - this shit would probably kill him faster than the cigarettes would, oy. But it was oh-so-tasty. “Everything happened very quickly. And of course, in the program, you’ve got to just drop your whole life and go.. I lied to Nish so she would be safe, and I left. There was never anyone else. All I did when we were separated was pretend to be someone I’m not and serve drinks at a bar,” he said.

Jo sipped at the spiked coffee as she listened to James’ explanation, one eyebrow slowly raising as he spoke.

“Witness protection,” she said, flatly. It wasn’t a question, and it was clear that she didn’t quite believe him.

He didn’t quite care if she believed him or not. What Nishka had been through, what he had been through - it wasn’t a joke, or something that could be taken lightly. “Yes,” James replied, pouring his coffee into the mug. There was a bite of whiskey added as well, just because. “It was a bad situation all-around, but I had to leave. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if I didn’t.”

No one had been killed while in Witness Protection, the government could boast those statistics. But if you left when you weren’t supposed to - it was a huge risk. He recalled the story of one fellow who sneaked out and returned to his home to attend a funeral. Poor fucker was blown up to smithereens in his own car - it had been rigged right away. “I also wouldn’t wish having to go into the program on anyone,” he added, sipping his (spiked) caffeinated ambrosia.

“All right,” she said with deceptive mildness. “So you’ve finished your service to the state, and you’re going to, what? Just waltz back into her life and pick back up where the two of you left off? It nearly broke her, James. My big sister is one of the strongest women I know, and Rob and I nearly lost her, thanks to you.” Her voice was more heated now. “So forgive me if I’m not thrilled to see you.”

Jo hadn’t moved far from the doorway since she arrived in James’ apartment, and now she shifted until her path out was clear. She shot James a look. “She’s finally found someone else who makes her happy, James. If you ever cared for her, you’ll leave her alone.” Bile finally spent, she left, returning to her own apartment and the work that awaited her there.