Blacklist [h.s]

twenty three

Grace

As I fumbled with my key card in my hand, creating a few extra seconds for Harry to come down the hall, my heart raced in my chest waiting for a glimpse of the black floral pants. I huff when I realize he's not coming and beep the door open. I step in to a small living suite with red blankets to match the hotels logo. It felt comfy in here. Off to the left, the door that connects to Harry's room. His must be identical to mine.

It had a kitchenette with a small stove, a dining table and a floral couch. The bedroom was separate from the living area. I notice a stack of clothes sitting on the bed. and kick off my heels  to see what it is. I pick up a note on top titled "Gracey" and immediately know that it was from Harry. I pick up a sleek long sleeve black lace dress and raise my eyebrows. He must have planned this pre-fight.

"To celebrate,

Love, Dad"

My heart drops at the signing and I immediately realize this was not from Harry. Was this some kind of sick joke?

I flip the note over to find a restaurant at the top of the hotel listed. Maybe that's where Harry went. I immediately pull off my clothes and pull on the dress, adjust my hair, pull on the black heels next to the dress and run out the door. I press the button to the elevator a million times and wait anxiously for it to open. I had no idea what was going on. My heart was pounding in my chest.

The elevator was taking too long so I opted for the stairs, skipping one at a time up to the 25th floor. I've ran more than this at Quantico, granted it wasn't in a dress and heels. I was breathless and a little sweaty by the time I got up to the top. I push open the heavy metal door and hear the hum of a live band and chatter down the hall. I make sure I look put together and not like I just ran up way too many flights of stairs for me to count, I flatten out my dress, push my hair out of my face and take two seconds to catch my breath (it was more like five minutes, but who cares) before gathering my composure enough to enter the restaurant.

When I approach the host, they know exactly who I am.

"Grace?" They ask. I nod. "Follow me."

At this point, I don't question Harry's mysterious ways and how he has somehow hijacked the inner circle of the system, while alluding authority everywhere. I was hoping and praying that I had just misread the card, or they delivered the wrong one, trying to think of anything rational or irrational otherwise to calm the pit building in my stomach. 

The blonde hair woman leads me through the restaurant, everyone is dressed in suit and ties and black and white dresses. I was thankful for the long dress, but not the heels, after being on such a long flight and, you know, running from the police and crazy fucking killers in a warehouse.

The woman is two steps ahead of me so it takes me a minute to catch up to her. She stops at the door of the balcony and motions for me to go out.

I'm not prepared for what's next. After spending five minutes in the hallway trying to catch my breath, I've suddenly lost it again when it hitches in my throat at the site before me. 

My supposed to be dead father is standing in front of me. Granted, he's s little more gray and his beard is more full, but he's alive and standing in front of me. I don't know what to do, a part of me wants to run into his arms and feel his embrace and another part of me wants to turn around and pretend like this is all some fucked up dream. That he didn't pretend to be dead and abandon me all of these years. I had no idea what was real and what was fake anymore. Was the blacksite real? Was I another stupid piece of his fucking game?

My knees feel weak as I stare at him in front of me. Warm tears start to fall down my cheeks and suddenly I'm on my knees staring at my father's worried face. He steps out from behind the table and hurries to me, joining me on the ground and wrapping his arms around me. I close my eyes and find myself burying my face into the fabric of his suit jacket, wetting it with tears. He's wearing the same cologne that I've tried to remember for years. Just as the scent of pine leaves and spice flood my nostrils, the memories of all the times I spent grieving my father, fighting for a better life than him, succeeding and having it all torn from me come flooding back. Sobs wrack my body, breathless, wailing sobs. For the first time in years, I'm feeling my dads embrace again. I've grieved and grieved and this whole time, he's been alive.