The Closer (18+) ✓

| 11.2 | a partnership proposal

I should be mad. I should have kicked him, clawed at him, screamed the world's worst profanities in his face and stormed away. It would have been the right thing to do, though not the most decent but I couldn't bring myself to lash out my fury at him anymore. Perhaps, it was this place that had cast a spell on me. Its serenity was like a piece of what I'd been searching for a long time. I needed a break which is exactly why I had planned to come here myself one day. Although I couldn't recall ever mentioning my plans to Hans, I take it he had his own agenda in mind as he took the lead, directing me further into the gentle, swaying crowds and farther away from where I should be.

"Are you hungry?"

I shook my head.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

I shook my head again.

Hans sighed and grabbed my hand. I found myself holding on tighter than I should and I stared, somewhat in anger and self-revulsion at the way my fingers sought his, slipping into the cracks of his own. Yes, I had missed this and I hated that I had. There was nothing to miss about a lying, deceitful excuse of a relationship.

Firm and crisp, I met Hans' questioning gaze head on with a direct question of my own. "What are we doing here?" I stopped walking, my heels skidding loudly against the tarmac which earned a few looks from the passers. We must have looked like quite the pair, him in his suit meant for business and I in my fairly rumpled office wear. It was obvious that we didn't belong here, not tonight anyway but as most people go on with their own lives, not one pair of eyes dared to linger longer on us before continuing on to whatever fun they had planned. I could only wish I could be that carefree as I stared up at Hans, feeling uneasy knowing I was still unable to let go of his hand.

"Why have you brought me here? I don't get it. One second, you're kidnapping me from an evening away with my best friend, throwing me into your car and yelling at me and the next we're at National Harbor, pretending there's nothing wrong." His hand clenched tightly on mine as if Hans could make out the fact that I wanted to run away. I wasn't even angry anymore. I was just emotionally exhausted.

"I'm begging you now; just take me home, and please, please leave me alone."

Something passed over in his eyes. I couldn't place what it was. Regret? Hurt? Guilt? But whatever that fleeting emotion had been, it wasn't enough to convince him as all Hans did was take a step closer and grab both my hands in his now, squeezing them in a silent plea.

"You have every right in the world to hate me, okay? I know that." He paused, tongue swiping out to lick his lower lip. Hans did that when he was nervous. "But please, Tris. All I'm asking for is one chance. I don't deserve it, but if you would just give me tonight to...to redeem myself, I promise you won't regret it."

Don't make promises you can't keep.

Those bitter words lined the tip of my tongue but I bit them back and found myself giving Hans the slightest nod, going against every bit of my better judgment. Relief rushed into his eyes and I felt him visibly relax, the muscles in his hands loosening.

"Thank you," he whispered, and with one small grateful smile, the first one I'd seen in ages, he turned around and whisked me away in the direction of the pier.

It was all a rush. I wasn't sure what to focus on - the situation at hand (literally, with the way Hans and I walked among the crowd, we could easily have been mistaken as a couple), or the surrounding life of National Harbor. A part of me was glad that I had rejected the last round of shots that Helena had offered me for I would certainly have not been sober enough to soak myself in the setting if I had. Restaurants and shops popped up in my vision; children with cotton candy and mothers racing after their little boys who skipped away too far; couples fine-dining along the waterfront with glasses of sparkling champagne. It was like being part of the wrong dream. I hadn't seen myself in a picture of joy and folly such as this one, but rather dank, gray gloom.