Secrets and Lies

5. Shadows of the Past

July 7th, 1961

         "Jim, stop; that tickles!" Christine laughed as she pulled him back up from underneath her skirt. She grinned down at him adoringly as he laughed with her. "Just because you can grow a beard does not mean you should," she teased, stroking his face with her thumb.

    "Well, I either grow it now or I have to wait until I retire to do so. Besides you enjoyed it last night."

    "You mean when you had my legs splayed open so wide I thought you would dislocate them?"

    "You enjoyed that too."

    "Never said I didn't. Now, let me be, I need to finish this before tomorrow so I can return it to the library."

    "What are you even reading?"

    "A paper by G.S. Callendar on the subject of global warming based off of carbon dioxide readings."

    "Sounds tedious," James teased, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse as he nipped at her neck.

    "To a Neanderthal like you perhaps. I find it fascinating"

    James just smiled pushing her back as he pulled the book she'd been reading from her hands to kiss her. It was a deep kiss, a possessive one that poured every ounce of his feelings for her into her mouth. "I'm going to marry you, Christine..." She felt him capture one of her hands, sliding something over her ring finger. She lifted her hand to find a woven blade of grass there. "A placeholder until I can ask you for real," he explained as he kissed down her neck, unbuttoning her blouse as he did.

    Christine smiled, running her fingers through his hair as he kissed across her cleavage. "This is the best birthday gift you could have given me... I love you."

    He smiled up at her, moving to hold her close his lips taking claim of hers once more as they laughed; lost in the warmth of their love for one another beneath the oak tree.

July 7th, 1982

           The sun poured in through the bay window, illuminating the perfectly placed display of crystals, geodes, fossils, and vials of sand and dirt from around the world. Tiny rainbows washed over the cream-colored walls, soft music playing from a radio on a small table near the bathroom door. Christine showered, trying not to think of James. It was not an easy task. For the past three weeks now, she'd been watching the calendar with a deep sense of anxiety, a growing desolation that she would soon be stuck on a boat for a week with not only her ex whom she had once hoped to spend her life with and his other ex who she had a feeling he might still like. Because it wasn't enough that she still cared about him.

    That was the key though. She still cared about him. You could care about someone and not love them. It happened all the time, hell that was what had happened between them, right? They'd simply labeled their feelings wrong, nothing more. Or at least that was what she'd been telling herself year after year as she had worked her ass off to make sure no one could or would ever leave her behind again.

    She turned the scalding water to cold, rinsing out her curls; she loved the shock to her system that woke her up better than anything in the world. And oh, how she needed it as a far too familiar song came on. She knew every word and could dance to it even without music. It was a song that would always pull her back to a better time and place, to a time when she didn't roll her eyes at any and every display of affection. The Platters, Only You... Their song.

    Turning the shower off, she scrunched her hair in her towel before drying off, turning off the radio as she passed on her way to the bedroom. She wasn't in the mood to take a trip down memory lane, though as she opened her jewelry box to pull out some earrings for her lunch meeting a reminder heavier than that song was lifted out as well. Hooked on her earring was the grass ring, far more delicate now than it once had been.

    Carefully, Christine unhooked it from her earring back and set it gently down in its designated corner. She set her earrings on the dresser, closing the box after one final glance. How had things gone so wrong...

    The familiar chirp-like ring of her phone pulled her back from the precipice she had been mentally teetering on. And she was even more grateful for the voice she heard on the other end of the line that answered her hello.

    "Hey, gorgeous," the deep voice with a slight hint of a Scandinavian-influenced mid-western accent greeted her.

    "Alan," she smiled; "How are you?"

    "Fine, fine. You packed yet?"

    "Of course," Christine lied as she looked over at the empty suitcases lying on her bed still needing to be packed. "You?"

    "I have some equipment to ship out today now that the dig sites cleared out. Looking forward to seeing you again."

    "I'm looking forward to seeing you too. It's been a while."

    "It has; would you hold it against me if I said I'd missed having you in my arms?"

    "Only if you disparaged me for missing you in my bed; it's been so long since Utah."

    "Well, we'll have a couple of days to spend together before you officially become my boss," Alan teased; "plenty of time to take you someplace for a belated birthday dinner before we have to act like nothing more than colleagues."

    "Don't remind me..."

    "Of which, your birthday or that we'll have to act like platonic colleagues?"

    "You arrive tomorrow still, yes; where would you like to go once you get here? You know I'm fine with anything." She was once again attempting to avoid the relationship conversation that he was not so subtly attempting to have. It was never just a friendly dinner, never just sex; it always had to be more and she wasn't ready or interested in more. And it didn't help that that damned grass ring had made itself known once more.

    "It's your birthday... Italian? Or there was that great little sushi place right along the coast."

    "It won't be my birthday tomorrow; it'll just be a regular Thursday. Either is fine..." Christine chewed on her lip, her mind returning to the afternoon James had given the little grass ring to her.

    She could still remember how she'd walked into school every day that week wearing it. She'd been heartbroken when it had fallen apart and while James had offered to make her a new one, she had wanted that one. Thankfully he had been able to fix it, though he had never understood why it had mattered so much to her. He probably never would.

    "Christine?"

    "Hmm? Oh, I'm so sorry, Alan; my mind is a bit scattered right now."

    "Yeah... You sound... occupied. Do you want me to call later?"

    "No. No, I'm sorry." She sighed, falling back into her bed; still clutching her towel to her naked body. "I just..." hate my birthday? Enjoy sex with you but need you to understand that that's all it can and should be? "I suppose I'm still worried about going back there."

    "You don't need to be, Honey. You'll have me, Andrew, Monty, and that Conrad guy." The smallest hint of dread lingered under his calm voice as he mentioned James and all she could think was how she felt a similar feeling.

    "If you think that calms my nerves any, you're numpty."

    His laugh was her favorite; second favorite but she wasn't about to admit that. Admitting it would mean she still harbored feelings for James; admitting it would make it real... "Well, what about all those former military personnel John has tagging along for safety?"

    Christine scowled. "Money-hungry mercenaries. They have no respect for what it is we do, what we're trying to do, or what we could accomplish with the knowledge that could be handed to us on a silver platter."

    "You're always such a delightful ray of sunshine, Honey."

    "And you are always abhorrently supportive of my pessimism," she smiled. Why couldn't she just love him the way he seemed to love her? "When do you get in?"

    "Three. Flight takes off around eleven and I have an hour layover in Denver. You still picking me up or do I need to taxi to your place?"

    "Taxi in if you please, that way I can be naked and laying in wait for you," she teased.

    "Dessert before dinner, I like the sound of that." She could hear his grin, and it offered her a sense of relief. "See you tomorrow then, gorgeous?"

    "Mmhmm. I'll cook something."

    "No offense, but after last time, I think I'd just prefer to take you out," he chuckled hoping to keep the mood light. Christine had no disillusions about her cooking skills, but she was trying.

    "Fair enough. Should I be ready to catch a late lunch or early dinner instead then?"

    "Nah, I'll stuff myself with peanuts on the flight; tied me over until I've shown you just how much I've missed you."

    She couldn't help the smile that overtook her. "Sounds perfect. See you soon." She hung up before he could mutter something romantic like he always did. Rising, Christine moved back to her dresser, opening the top drawer to gather her undergarments and stockings, her eyes falling on the jewelry box once more. She hesitated before opening it up only to slam it shut once more. "Damn you, Jim..." She muttered. This was going to be a long day.

    She dressed quickly, just needing to get out of the flat for a bit. She'd head to the docks, check on the supplies that had been ordered, and make sure everything was in order. If nothing else it would keep her busy for several hours. And if that didn't work to take her mind off this horrendous day and all of the other things fluttering about in her mind, she'd simply go to the Hammond Foundation headquarters to see if anything else needed doing before Monday. It was foolproof, or at least she hoped it was.


           Andrew Hawkins, a tall, muscular man of forty-two, stood silently as he inventoried boxes of equipment; Francis Rourke watching him carefully. He cataloged it all diligently with the same care and focus he had once given to his military career, not caring anymore about the blatant scrutiny Rourke viewed him with than he had his superior officers in the Infantry. Racism was alive and well still, no matter what the papers wanted you to think.

    "You nearly done there, Cadet?"

    Andrew rolled his shoulders back but did not answer Rourke. He knew he was only being referred to as 'cadet' because Rourke couldn't get away with something more obvious. Since their first meeting nearly three years ago, Andrew had detested Frank Rourke. At fifty-six and six-foot-one, the former boxer turned Command Sergeant was nearly as formidable as Andrew, though he had started to go soft in the middle. He was an arrogant S.O.B. with a penchant for much younger women if the rumors about his ex-wives were true. Even if they weren't, the man's actions toward Doctor Shannon were enough to have Andrew strongly side-eyeing InGen's head of security.

    "I'm talking to you, Cadet."

    "I'm not your cadet, Rourke. Let's clear that up right now. I will not be intimidated. Not by the likes of you.

    "Sore spot, huh," Rourke smirked. "You know who's in charge around here, don't you?"

    "I do."

    "Then you're going to change that attitude and respect me. You got that, cadet?"

    Andrew's nostrils flared, but he did not move otherwise. "Attitude reflects leadership."

    That was not at all what Rourke wanted to hear. He got up from his nearby folding chair and stormed toward Andrew, malice in his eyes. "Why you smart-mouthed, stubborn- Why Doctor Shannon, what a pleasant surprise." The way the security officer's tone changed you'd have thought Hammond himself had stepped into the supply room. Andrew smirked, peering around the aging former commander to wave at Christine.

    "I was just at the docks checking over the supply stocks," Christine explained, her voice emotionless as it usually was, but her face unable to hide her frustration. "There are three crates of nothing but guns, tranquilizers, explosives, and Christ knows what else. There are six of you, plus a demolition expert and an engineer; there is no possible need for that amount of ammunition. Where is John, I need to speak with him immediately."

    "Afraid he's out to lunch with that Wu fella and one of the higher-ups from MONARCH. I can take a memo if you'd like to leave one."

    The sickly-sweet approach Rourke attempted to use with her only seemed to further her disdain. "I trust you about as far as I can throw you, which is admittedly not as far as I would like. I'll wait."

    Rourke simply smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "Suit yourself, Shannon. And if you need someone to help you displace that rage, my door is always open."

    Christine snatched his wrist as his hand came up to brush her hair out of the way. Behind her, Andrew had already turned, his fountain pen poised and ready for throwing. "You forget yourself. Don't let it happen again." With a huff, his pride once again wounded by the young environmental scientist, the former boxer headed off to his offices. "Christ, I hate that man," she muttered as she turned toward Andrew noticing his pen. She gently patted his arm; while she did not need him to step in and defend her, she appreciated that he cared enough to be willing to do so.

    "He thinks you're weak and that I'm incompetent."

    "That's because he has no power over us and that unnerves him."

    "Most weak men are indeed unnerved by powerful women."

    "He can run his portion of this without my interference but if he forgets who's in control, I'll remind him right quick," Christine smirked as she picked up a clipboard and began to help Andrew sort through all of the supplies that had been ordered, brought up from storage, and collected from the facility for the expedition per the requests of the several scientists accompanying them.

    "I have no doubts, Doctor Shannon."

    "Christine, Andrew. I don't want to ask again."

    "And while I appreciate that, my momma would take a spoon to my hind quarters she ever heard me not refer to another by their title, especially one such as yourself, ma'am."

    She couldn't help but smile, though it was a bittersweet one. "Your mother raised a proper gentleman; you're truly one of so few good men, Andrew. I am quite blessed to call you friend."

    "As I am very blessed to know you, Doctor Shannon."

    A comfortable silence settled between the botany student and his colleague. The two had often enjoyed this aspect of their relationship; neither needed to fill the silence as they often did with others. For Andrew, this was a comfort he had previously only had around other African Americans and while Christine wasn't perfect, she tried. What mattered most to him though was when he corrected her on any ingrained beliefs, she didn't argue or attempt a false apology; she simply acknowledged that she had more work to do and if she needed to, she asked questions and listened to learn. To him, it made her not only an outstanding woman but a genuinely good human.

    "Oh, I nearly forgot; happy birthday." She offered him a weak smile, a clear sign she didn't want to think about it. "Did he call?"

    "Yes; he'll be here tomorrow and we're going to-"

    "Not Alan. James."

    Her heart sank. It was bad enough that she was torturing herself with this day the way she had every day for the last nineteen years. Not once had he ever called, sent a letter, a telegraph, anything. She had had to rebuild her entire life after him, in more ways than one. "No. I didn't expect him to."

    He could sense the pain in her voice despite her attempts to hide it. With three sisters, it was just something he picked up on without trying. "There's still time."

    "It's been nineteen years, Andrew. He's likely still reeling from even seeing me again. And given our last few conversations, I can't say I blame him."

    "Did you tell him?" Christine's pen slid from her hand at his question and Andrew immediately regretted asking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I had no right to-"

    "It's fine," she muttered dismissively. "An opportunity to do so hasn't come about, so no... For now, it's just a... terrible secret still."

    Hesitantly, Andrew moved toward her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort the stoic scientist. She stiffened, still unsure of affection that wasn't sexual; something he hated for her almost as much as she hated it. A part of her wanted to turn and allow him to comfort her in a brotherly manner, to sob and demand to know why she wasn't good enough. She knew it would do nothing to calm the deep-rooted pain within her though.

    Christine's mind wandered over the last nineteen years; imagining all of the milestones they should have achieved by now, of all the missed opportunities. She took a deep breath to calm herself as her mind tortured her with everything that could have been but never was. Had he felt this tortured as well or had it been easy for him to move on until she'd reappeared? He'd looked genuinely surprised to see her; was it because he had never expected to again or because like her, he'd been living with so many regrets, so many things left unspoken?

    "I'm fine," she lied; a skill she was regretfully getting better and better at these days. "Do me a favor, when John returns, tell him I need to speak with him. Tell him it's urgent and that it has to do with the Islands. I think I'm going to just write today off and hope that tomorrow is better."

    Andrew nodded in understanding as he took the clipboard from her. "Alan comes in tomorrow then?" She nodded. "I bet you're looking forward to that. It's been what, eight, nine months since you last saw one another?"

    "Eight months, two weeks, and three days."

    "But you're not counting."

    "No. Never counting." He smirked back at her, happy that even in her state she was still able to kid around. "I'm not in love either."

    "Mhmm."

    "I'm not. I don't believe in love anymore, remember?"

    "No, just mind-numbing, no strings attached sex."

    "I never said it was mind-numbing. It's not bad, but not mind-numbing..."

    Shaking his head, Andrew gave Christine a playful smile. "Could always take James up on his offer." If a look could have killed, he'd have been eviscerated. "I'm just saying. You did say he was the best you ever had..."

    "I'm not having this conversation with you again. I appreciate that you care, truly, but this is... It is far more complicated than you understand and I've probably told you more than anyone. I wish it could be simple... That we could talk and be friends again. But... We can't go back... We can't just pick a different ending. We had ours. And we have to live with it."

    "No, you don't... I don't believe you two would have been brought back together if you weren't meant to be. Sometimes fate smiles on us, Doctor Shannon."

    "And sometimes fate does nothing more than remind us why something didn't work in the first place. This is one of those times," she sighed, clearing her throat to keep her voice from wavering. "I'll see you tomorrow. If you'd like to join Alan and me for dinner, we're going out for either Italian or sushi."

    "I'll pass, but thank you. Doctor Shannon? Call him... Even if you can't tell him, at least open that door and see what happens." Christine nodded halfheartedly. It would be hard to open a door she had nailed shut like a coffin.

          Four hundred and forty miles away, James sat on the same beach he'd sat with Christine almost a month ago watching the water, the sun high in the sky as it slowly began to sink toward the horizon. In the past week, he'd spoken with Mason more than he had in the last four years, met her new partner, and reassured Houston that he would make sure San came home safely at least two dozen times. He imagined he'd do it at least a dozen more in the remaining four days before they shipped out. He'd be arriving in San Diego on the tenth, Mason and San in tow. He'd received the list of staff attending the expedition and it seemed they were indeed the only ones employed stably by MONARCH; everyone else was either an employee of InGen or contracted through outside means. It didn't give him any reassurance.

    From his pocket, James pulled the piece of paper on which Christine had written the numbers of both Andrew Hawkins and Montgomery Moliére alongside her own. It was her birthday. She was thirty-seven... He'd officially missed nineteen years of birthdays. Or had he?

    James got to his feet and hurried to the nearest payphone. Dialing her number, James waited... and waited. He was just about to hang up when there was a familiar scraping of the receiver lifting from the cradle.

    "Hello?"

    He smiled; the sound of her voice was still his favorite sound in the world. "...Trouble... Happy Birthday."

    On the other end of the line, Christine squeezed her eyes shut, her lip quivering as she teetered on the verge of tears. She quickly collected herself, her voice void of emotion as she politely thanked him back. "Are you prepared for Monday; you haven't forgotten have you?"

    "Never. Four o'clock, north wharves of the San Diego Port."

    "Spot on." He could hear the smile in her voice, the image of it still locked in his memory.

    His mind took a stroll down memory lane for a moment. He could fondly remember the sunsets that had bled into nights wrapped in one another's arms, dancing under the stars; waking up tangled up together, still drunk on the feeling of the other. Her mind did the same, except her memory lane was cast in the dark gloominess of a storm. Instead of seeing fond memories, she could only see all of the reasons why it hadn't worked, why it had been so easy for him to leave without a word and it broke her heart.

    "Hey, uh... What are you doing tonight? It's a bit of a distance, but I could be there before midnight... It'd still be your birthday, we could-"

    "Jim, stop," Christine said softly, her voice almost pleading. "Why... Why do you insist on trying to be more; on trying to pick things back up?"

    "I just thought-"

    "No, Jim. No, you haven't thought. Because if you had you would have paused to consider my feelings in all of this, that there is no opening a door you slammed shut in my face and burned down." Her voice quivered as James began to immediately regret calling. "I... I had to rebuild, had to relearn everything after you... For years, I have beat myself bloody trying to understand; why I wasn't enough, why I wasn't worth an explanation, why every promise we had ever made one another meant nothing to you. And when I stopped feeling sorry for myself, the feeling of betrayal set in. I loved you, Jim. I loved you more than life itself, and you left... It's over. It's been over. I made peace with it, now it's your turn."

    "Christine, please..."

    "You were... You, you were a wonderful experience, Jim. But it's an experience I don't want a repeat of."

    She hung up then, tears streaming down her face and she lowered her forehead to rest against her hands as she prayed for guidance, resilience, and a solution. In another life, she would be in his arms still and they'd be just as they were; their promises unbroken, their love as strong, if not stronger than ever. But this wasn't another life... And she couldn't change anything, no matter how desperately she might have wanted to.

    Four hundred miles away, James stared blankly at the receiver, the dial tone humming in his ear. He wished that he could take it all back, that he could right all the wrongs and heal all the hurt he had caused her. It was too late though. She didn't love him, the pain was too great and he, despite all of his strength, was unable to make her see that even though he had left he had never stopped thinking about her, not even for a day.

    To Christine, they had been a wonderful experience. To James, they had been everything. Now they were nothing but shadows of the past, but held in place by the secrets they kept and the lies they told not only themselves but others. As he hung up the phone, James had to blink away his own tears as his memories lingered on Christine and all of the things that could and should have been, but never would be.