Something He Can't Quite Remember

Coffee Really Doesn't Help Memory Loss

Author's Note: So, here we go guys. This is when it gets interesting. Ideas for how to take it next are appreciated. I have some ideas... but I'm not sharing them until I can find some way of.... well, sharing them I guess.

Right. That didn't make sense. Ignore me.

But not the story. As a completely un-prejudiced source, I think it's OK.

MANHATTAN ISLAND, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Hero Pierce was a girl who felt very out of place. She'd travelled from London very lightly, with only a small black rucksack containing one of her false passports, several hundred dollars in cash and a change of clothes. She'd come to find James directly after leaving JFK, and wore only a crumpled blouse, old leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans. Next to his impeccable suit she felt very underdressed. They were stood in the lift in awkward silence. She'd been surprised when James had burst out of his office and shook her hand, introducing himself in several hurried words, given an excuse to the PA and swept her into the elevator. Mind you, she thought he'd gone underground when he'd left, she presumed because Jones hadn't found him he must be deep under cover. And he was, in a manner of speaking. He'd just gone up, rather than down. Made himself so obvious he would only ever be overlooked. He hadn't even bothered to change his name, create a new identity.

'So who are you then?' James said abruptly, and Hero looked at him in surprise.

'My name is Hero Pierce,' she said hesitantly. They were alone now, why was he maintaining this charade? 'I've got a message for you, from Paul Jones.'

'The name isn't familiar...' he said, frowning, and Hero couldn't help staring at him incredulously. He smiled at her. 'But I'll listen to whatever proposal he may have.'

Hero was utterly confused. 'It's, er, not exactly a proposal...'

'Indeed?' James replied, raising an eyebrow. Hero jerked her head in annoyance.

'Ugh. I'm explaining this badly. Could we... get a coffee or something?'

James gave a snort. 'Miss Pierce, I don't think I've known you quite long enough to go out with you.'

Hero could have screamed in frustration.

'I'm not asking you out, you imbecile. I have something to tell you.'

'Tell me now then, Miss Pierce,' James replied coldly.

'I can't. I need you in a public place, so you don't freak out,' she said, knowing that would be his reaction to the news Jones wanted to kill him.

'I can promise you I'm not easily fazed,' he snapped.

'This will bloody well faze you, Mr Carter! Just wait, would you?!' Hero cried, storming out of the lift the moment the doors opened.

'Buzz Amanda and tell her to clear my schedule, Miss Templeton!' James called to the receptionist as he jogged out.

When they reached the nearest coffee shop, Hero looked at her best friend of three years and realised she didn't recognise him. James had gone from a scrawny, mousy haired, awkward teenager to a handsome, confident man with money, charisma and wit. Even his eyes, that flashed grey and blue and green had changed. They were no longer filled with passion, frustration, and the vivacity for life that had first captured her attention. These eyes were full to the brim with charm, yet underneath them was a crippling boredom that surprised her. How was he so relaxed he was bored?

'So, Miss Pierce," he finally said. Hero stared, disbelieving. This polite, suited, handsome man sipping his espresso could not possibly be her James. For one thing, James had always drunk his coffee milky. Another, he never called anyone by their surnames. Not even Jones. Hero realised he had been talking.

"What was that, sorry?" she asked, shaking herself out of her reverie.

He smiled good-naturedly. 'So, this Mr Jones has a proposal for me? What's he interested in?'

"He's interested in your head on a plate, Mr Carter," she stated, sneering at his overly formal methods of address. She knew she shouldn't be angry at him, but they were quite clearly on familiar ground once again and she completely didn't understand his unwillingness to stop pretending. She knew him.

His face had gone slightly white, as if he wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. "Dear madam, I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about." James was bewildered. Hero saw it in his eyes, and suddenly hated him. It looked like he'd been pretending for so long he'd started to believe his own lies. How could he have forgotten her? He had been so... in love? He can't have been. If he had, he would remember. Surely... he would remember her.

"But you-" she began but couldn't continue, she was so infuriated. Instead she merely gazed at him open-mouthed, utterly in denial about what she saw in front of her.

"I'm terribly sorry. I have no knowledge of such an event, a man named Jones, or indeed, you. If you have a business proposal, make an appointment with my secretary. I'm sure she would be happy to accommodate you." James said patiently, but a mocking patience, and Hero felt momentary relief. He didn't like not being in the know, even now. Then her anger returned in full force.

"You don't even recognise me, do you?" she cried. "I last saw you a year ago, when you ran out of my life with everything I'd ever worked for tucked under your arm, and you don't even recognise me?"

And, her anger spent, she deflated, wondering when it had happened. When had she started caring so much about him that she couldn't bear the thought of him not remembering? Looking at him leaning towards her, terribly concerned and kind, all she wanted was to hear him come out with some of his old jokes, utterly incomprehensible to anyone except those with the 'highly attuned mind only bestowed on the select few,' as he put it, or one of his hundred-mile-an-hour explanations of his impossible theorems that left her more confused than before.

He didn't. "Please," he said coolly, looking completely at ease, and yet concerned. "I don't think there's anything I can do to help you, unless your Mr Jones has an order?"

"I don't need your help, idiot," she said, and James smiled awkwardly, "and 'my Mr Jones' does not want to place an order," she sneered. Her hazel eyes were hard as she said, "You need mine. Didn't you process it? He has a bounty on your head, James, you are literally wanted dead or alive. Quickly, before Jones catches up. It won't be long now, he only uses the best."

James suddenly realised, in a moment of comprehension, that she was telling the truth. "Miss Pierce... if I said that I believed you, would I regret it?"

"You never called me Miss Pierce before, and you won't now. And you shouldn't need to believe me; you should know what I'm bloody on about! It's your own fault!" she said, resting her head in her hands.

"Please, calm down!" he exclaimed. "I'm terribly sorry, but I don't remember. Hero, it was, wasn't it. I promise you, I don't remember. But I will believe you. Tell me what it is I need to do."

"I'm sorry, James. But now I've met you, you'll be all the more easy to find. I think running is your only option. Meet me at Grand Central at nine pm tomorrow. We shouldn't fly from New York, that was how I arrived. We'll get a plane from Washington."

"Where are we going?" he asked, already regretting this idea.

She stood and began to walk out of the cafe. Just before she reached the door, she turned and gave him a wide smile.

What do you say to going home for a while?" she said, and disappeared down 5th Avenue.

Stunned, he turned and stared at the seat she had vacated, trying to convince himself that she was some weirdo pulling a joke, which should have been easy. It wasn't. He picked up the white card she had left on the green-painted table, and smirked when he saw that it was his own business card with her number scrawled on it.

He didn't go back to work.