Banner: Crashdown_51
The Perfect Stranger (AU-No Aliens; M/L; Mature)</center>
Author: Crashdown_51
Summary: For the love of a child, a phrase Elizabeth Parker became familiar with after receiving a letter from her eight-year old son, Riley. It's what made her realize, that she was capable of doing anything for him, including what she reserved one day out of her life to do. But it's that one day, the one day she hoped to be forgettable and short-lived, that ends up taking her on a downward spiral of deceit, fear, and heartache.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.
A/N: Another fic! I know I know. I got this idea from a movie I was watching a few weeks ago (which is only going to be the basis of the first two chapters of my fic, after that, it's all me
). And I can't even post this fic without thanking Jazzy, who's helped me with every square inch of this fic, from helping me pick out the title to unknowningly becoming my beta, lol.
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Chapter One
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"It'll be okay. It'll be okay." It's all I could tell myself for support as I nervously looked around the dark bar.
With the exception of the two bar flies at the end, and the bartender, who was pre-occupied behind the register drying off the rack of beer mugs, the bar was pretty secluded. Taken, it was two in the afternoon.
"It'll be fine," continuing with my bantering, this time rubbing the smoothness of my locket before I notice that my absentminded rocking back and forth on the bar stool, attained the bartender's attention.
It's the second time I had ever stepped foot into a bar, and the Lucky Shamrock happened to be the bar that was graced with my presence both times. It was owned and run by Lucky Leon, a heavyweight old man, probably in his late 50's, who had a terrible limp that he would desperately try to hide whenever someone had their immediate attention on him.
"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" He asks while walking down the narrow path behind the bar, drying a mug with an off-white dishrag.
Smiling in courtesy before I look down at my fingernails, I realize that I have managed to pick and peel away the Passion Purple fingernail polish that I had put on this very morning from the apprehensive position I managed to put myself in.
"Shouldn't worry, Liz," he whispers as he lifts my chin in order to get me to look at him, "you're doing a good thing here."
"I really hope so", I mouse out and then lower my head again to wallow in my helplessness.
The feeling was rare to me, being helpless, that and the longing for a drink, a cigarette, anything to occupy me from the burden of waiting and worrying. I have already served 8 years of waiting and worrying in my life, but it was always the same person I invision in my mind to give me the strength to survive, Riley, my son.
Pulling out his latest letter from my purse, I look over his shakey but legible writing and smile on how intelligent he sounds for an eight year old.
<center>'Please come, just for a day. I promise I'll never ask for anything else.' </center>
I knew the day would come. It was more a wonder of why hadn't it come sooner.
If only things would have been different for us.
While tucking the letter back inside its wrinkled envelope, the jingle of the door chimes causes me to immediately hold my breath in panic before I lift my head to see a middle-aged blonde man, at the entrance, stomping the snow off his shoes.
For that brief moment, I was in Riley's shoes, and everything became oblivious to me, everything but the vibration of the man's shoes tapping against the hardwood floors.
The heel.
The complete sole.
The toes.
One step after another, making his way towards me as slow as I have ever seen anyone walk.
"It's not him darlin'," Leon spoke.
Much to my dissappointment, right? He reminds me so much of Kevin.
Despite it, I still evaluate the man, watching him as he sits on the bar stool opposite to the duo bar flies, leaving me flat dab in the middle.
"He'll be here soon," Leon assures me before he squeezes my forearm for support.
Nodding in acceptance, I returned my sights to Leon and watch him hobble to the blonde customer to get his drink order.
"Ten more minutes Liz," I vow to myself, "ten more minutes."
Ten is what I waited, and ten more was what I promised myself again when he still didn't show up. By then, Leon had become as tense as I was and brought it upon himself to call around to see what was the delay. Watching him intently, I couldn't make heads or tail of what he was whispering on the phone and thought to myself, 'if only Riley were here'.
It was my thoughts of Riley that momentarily distracted me before I finally realized someone was standing behind me when I heard they cleared their throat. 'It's him', I thought, feeling my heart start to palpitate as I turned half way, to see a tall brunette sitting down to the right of me.
I expected a guy in a suit, that or a leather jacket, never did I imagine him wearing something as simple as a pair of jeans and a Kordaroy jacket over some warmers and flannel.
"You're Liz, right?" He asks in a cool manner that made me tense up in my stool and my eyes narrow on his lips. It was presumable of me to think that Leon had mentioned my name to him when they had spoken, but it was still unexpected to hear. "It won't go away," he spoke again, with a rough tone that made me blink out of my tranz.
Furring my eyebrows, I shake my head lightly in confusion and ask with hesitation, "what won't go away?"
"My scar," he answers back defensively.
"Scar?" I repeat before he turns completely to face me.
I didn't notice it before, but now that he mentioned it...it was a deep scar, definitely emergency room worthy and definitely not new.
I tried hard not to stare, but I just couldn't help but let my eyes gaze upon the jagged life line that was etched down from beneath the cover of his hair, over the horizon of his eyebrow to the bottom of his cheek, where it started to camoflauge itself with his very early five o'clock shadow that complimented his features nicely.
Looking away before I cross the thin line between looking and gwaking, I clear my throat and reply, "I didn't notice," before looking to him again.
He simply sat there, looking at me skeptically.
It's when we both turn to see Leon infront of us when he coughed to get our attention.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asks the stranger as I quickly glance over his features again, noticing how stiff he was.
"No thanks," he replies indifferently and then turns back to face me while I give Leon a lost look, that he doesn't acknowledge and simply walks away again.
It was, to my understanding, that Leon knew him. He never said they were "friends" per say, but I couldn't help but wonder why he would recommend him in the first place, if there wasn't some form of secure acquaintance between the two?
"It's better this way," he states, explaining himself right away before I have the chance to ask, "I don't know you, you don't know me. That way, we can go our separate ways without there being any..."
"Any what?" I ask, looking at him with curious wonder as I tilt my head to the side.
"It's just better this way," he repeats point-blank.
His coldness unsettles me. It's what brings my attention back to his scar to wonder what happened or more like what he did to deserve such a permanent reminder. No doubt it was something shameful or he wouldn't be so insecure and defensive about people looking at him directly, which explains the hair.
Don't get me wrong, it's groomed, but meant to be used to cover his face mostly.
It reminds me of Leon...and myself.
We all have something to hide.
Everyone does.
It's just his knowledge of how to handle my situation that makes me suspicious enough to ask, "have you ever done something, like this, before?"
"No," he answers calmly, "but when you're in my line of work, it's better to not know anyone or about any place, that way when you leave-"
"You can leave it behind conscience cleared," I interrupt with my head lowered.
"Because you never knew it was there in the first place," he shrugs, almost as emotionless as his creedo, but it was by that very creedo that I have been living the majority of my life. "What's his name?"
The questioned startles me.
I didn't know why, but I felt this nagging need to evaluate him further to see if he could be deemed worthy enough to know such fragile information.
While looking at him skeptically, I found myself rubbing the smoothness of my locket again, that had unknowingling managed to appear between my fingers, and immediately thought of Riley. 'This is for him,' I thought to myself, 'It all is. This cold small talk. This meeting. My embarassment. It's all for him.'
"Riley," I finally respond with a sudden rush of hopefulness. "He's eight," I add as I start to rummage through my bag and pull out his letters, "he writes a letter every 3 weeks."
He unaffectedly nods and then looks to the letters that I realize I'm still clutching on to possessively in my hands.
It was almost a near minute before I muster the will power to hand them over to him and the restraint to watch him put them in the inline of his coat pocket. But when I finally do, I quickly look away to compose myself and then readdress him with a knot in the center of my throat, that I try and clear out with a cough before I speak again.
"He's an A student," I enlighten him as I open my locket and then lean towards him, as he does towards me to see. "Riley is very intelligent. He's as normal as any other kid his age, despite what people think." Pausing, I see his eyes look up from the locket to mine, insinuating for me to elaborate. "Riley's deaf," I confess, lowering my head to look at the contents of my locket. Two oval shape pictures of me and Riley imitating the spaghetti scene from The Lady and the Tramp. "Is that going to be a problem?" I ask softly as I watch the locket slip out of his finger tips when I slowly pull away.
"How do I talk to him then?" He responds instead, letting me know he was still interested.
"Um, he reads lips," I answer with a smile and nod as I pick at my nails once again, adding, "extremely well," at the end of my statement before a tense moment of silence settled between us.
It was within that moment that my smile slowly disappeared, thinking on the reason of why I was telling him about Riley in the first place.
"You don't know how much this will mean to him," I dolefully admit before looking to him, to see him bare the same indifferent facial expression he's worn throughout our entire conversation."I-I don't have much," I stammer as I strip my finger of my wedding ring. "I don't know how much it's worth," I confess as I quickly hand the ring over to him and then look away to hide the tear that rolled down my cheek, despite my attempts to stop it. "But I get paid tonight," I add before I face him again, "I can give you some more then."
He nods artlessly and then stands up, pulling out a hat from his pocket and adjusts it to the side so it hid the majority of his scar. "I'll be there by one."
I nod quickly and answer, "yeah, that's fine," before he nods to confirm and then moves towards the door. When he opens it, the door chimes jingle once again and I stand up, shouting, "wait," with my hand extended.
He stops, standing with his hands on both the door handle and the frame of the door. I can see him shiver from the gust of cold wind that evaded it's way inside, before he looks to me from the brim of his shoulder.
I wanted to explain my reasons, to ask him why he would even consider helping me in the first place, but I chicken out and decide to say, "thank you," instead.
He doesn't smile, he doesn't nod, he says absolutely nothing, all he does is look out into the snowy scenary before he glances back to me and then leaves.
