"We're really excited you're taking on this project," Daniel says.

"Of course! I'm really excited to do it." She flips through several pages in her notepad, doodles and illegible scribbles spread from margin-to-margin, and scans the job packet delivered to her earlier that day. "So what are the next steps? Does Har— I mean, does the band know that I'm going to be the one covering this?"

"They've all been looped in. Don't worry. We made sure to check before we even offered it to you. They're really excited to have you join them again. You got the packet, right?"

"Yep. Looking at it right now. Hotel accommodations. Basic itineraries. Contact information. Pretty straightforward. Looks like I have to meet them tomorrow afternoon at the office. Anything I should know before then?"

"I think you're all set." Daniel flips through his own notes, making sure he hasn't missed anything. "Sounds like you have all the info I have. We cleared your travel and job schedule for the next three months just in case. We'll figure that out at the meeting tomorrow though. Could be longer."

"Three months?" She sits on her couch, startled by the length of time. Three months of being around him again. She questions whether she's ready to dive in head first. Whether she's strong enough to be around him and not give in. Give into his charm. The smile. She stands here, toes curled over the edge of the cliff, ready to jump. Funny how history repeats itself. How life turns into a skipping record in an attempt to teach the living a necessary lesson. But what is fate trying to teach her? She's living in an ongoing fable, building the plane as she flies it.

"Yes. At the very least. I hope you're not changing your mind. We assumed you'd be happy about the reunion. C'mon! You're Goldie!"

"I don't go by that anymore, remember?"

The masses didn't know "Goldie" outside of The Orphans. Goldie was the persona she built while involved with the band. Now separated from them, she didn't want to go by the name any longer, and it's taken a tumultuous amount of effort and time to rid herself of the nom de plume. But here she is, still correcting like she would a new teacher during first roll call.

"Sorry, Michelle. You know what I mean though. Do you want to do this? Speak now or forever hold your peace." Daniel falls silent and awaits her response.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Danny." She can hear her editor yell "IT'S DANIEL" on the other end of the line as she hangs up the phone. She knew that'd frustrate him. Warranted punishment.

Jimmy stands in her kitchen nearby, cutting her sandwich he built. He smiles, proud of the perfectly cooked bacon, made just the way she likes it. Not too crunchy but not too soft. He puts the plate on her lap on the couch and sits beside her, a similar plate for him in his hands.

"What was that all about?" He asks, biting into half of his BLT.

"Nothing. Just getting some details from my editor about my next job."

"I heard... Three months with them, huh?" Jimmy shifts to look at her. He and Andrew were the ones that comforted her when things ended badly before. Every hypothetical situation plays in his mind. Her being hurt again. Her coming back, crying from heartbreak. His inability to fix it. He shudders at the thought of her being put through that once again. He wishes she was 10 years old. Wishes that he could simply tell her she's forbidden to do it and protect her.

"Yeah." She drops her head and picks at the toasted crust. "It'll be okay, right?"

"That's not my place to say. What do you think? What do you feel in your gut?"

"I — I — I think I've been fighting the inevitable. I think I have to see where it goes. I've been away from them for so long but I still feel this push towards them. Not even a push... a pull. Like I have no choice. They have one end of a rope wrapped and knotted around their waists and the other end is wrapped around mine. I don't know. I sound stupid, I'm sure."

"You've said A LOT of things in your life, sweetie, but I can honestly say you've never EVER sounded stupid. You're just a thinker. You're perceptive. If you were to ask me, it takes a special type of person to accept a situation like this. Sometimes, maybe, things are simply outside of our control. You're accepting that. I commend you, baby girl." He kisses the top of her forehead, the hairs of his mustache scratching her skin. "Now come on! You're supposed to get drunk with your dear old dad tonight! I don't want any distractions! You gotta be in it to win it."

She laughs uncontrollably and leans back, taking another bite.

"I cannot believe I have a dad that's encouraging me to get drunk with him!" Mouth full, she giggles and spits chunks of sourdough crumbs onto her shirt. She starts to choke on a stray piece of lettuce.

"Jesus Christ, Michelle," Jimmy joins in, hitting her back. His eyes water from laughter. "First time eating? Get your shit together and eat the rest of that sandwich. I don't want to spend my last morning here taking care of a hungover lightweight."

"Hey! I've drank rockstars under the table before. You just wait!"

* * *

She stirs her whiskey on the rocks with the thin plastic straw. Her mind wanders into memories. The sound of the ice hitting the sides of the glass bring a buried thought to the forefront of her head.

"When in doubt, always order whiskey on the rocks." Harry sips from his glass. The dive bar is quiet, save the off-tune karaoke singers. "How are you liking it here in the U.K.? Now you know the genesis of our genius!"

Harry gets up from his stool and stands behind hers, wrapping his lanky arms around her small frame. He buries his head in the crook of her neck and takes in a deep breath.

Their plane landed just a few hours before and Harry couldn't wait to take her to the bar that he and The Orphans have spent so much time in, fake IDs and all.

"You're being awfully touchy feely," she says with a chuckle.

"I'm really happy is all. Can't believe you're here." He leans back and looks toward the stage. "And I also can't believe what we're witnessing right now."

Mitch and Matt drunkenly sing "I Got You Babe" by Sonny and Cher. Their arms are strewn over the other's shoulders as they rock back and forth in sync. Jonesy and Niall sit in the empty seats in front, cheering on their friends and singing along.

"My boys! I got you, babe!" Goldie drunkenly yells.

"Oh my god, you're adorable." Harry kisses her cheek and tightens his hold around her. "I never want to let you go. Would it be cheesy for me to say 'I got you, babe?'"

"I got you to hold me tight..." she adds.

"I got you, I won't let go," he continues.

"I got you to love me so," they sing in unison. They begin to laugh as he snuggles closer to her and watch as their friends go on.

She feels moisture drip down her cheek. She's considered herself an emotional drunk since leaving the band. It's been embarrassing from time to time, and thus the reason she rarely drinks since leaving.

"Michelle... Hello? MICHELLE?" Andrew yells over the loud brass of the jazz band performing at the bar. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. My eyes are dry." She wipes her face and chugs the rest of her drink. "Is Jimmy enjoying himself?"

"I think so," Andrew responds. He nods toward the back of the bar.

Jimmy is laughing with an attractive older woman beside the stage, mercilessly and tirelessly. He'd been stuck in the quiet areas of their California beach town for a long time, but he finally feels comfortable in the busy club in Brooklyn. It's taken nearly 3,000 miles for him to experience his resurgence. He's not necessarily a widower here, although that's a title he'd always hold onto to some degree. But it doesn't define him.

"I don't want to break that up but I have a — a — a — what the hell is the word I'm looking for?" She stumbles as she looks toward her dad. She laughs at her inability to find the right word.

"Meeting?" Andrew says, laughing.

"MEETING! You're so smart, Andrew. How'd you get so smart?" She hugs her friend and shifts all her weight on him as she tries to stand.

"Let's take you home," Andrew says, holding up his tipsy friend. "Is it okay if I crash at your place? I don't feel like getting a taxi back this late and, of course, my dorm mate has a girl over again tonight."

"OF COURSE! SLUMBER PARTY!" She yells at the top of her lungs. "DAD! DAD! HEY! DAD!"

"Okay, Hunter S. Thompson." Andrew escorts her outside the bar and her dad follows closely behind. The crew piles into a cab. Jimmy fidgets with a ripped piece of paper.

"What you got there, dad?" Goldie asks.

"I GOT A NUMBER!" Jimmy lifts his arms in celebration. "Her name is Eleanor. And she's beautiful. And I like her a lot. And I think she likes me too. Is that okay, Shell?"

"Jimmy! Of course it's okay!" She leans over Andrew's lap in the middle and lays down her head. Andrew smiles at her position and strokes her blonde hair behind her ear as she falls asleep. He turns to Jimmy, who is also asleep while sitting straight up.

"I'm gonna call him," she mutters between snores.

"Call who?" Andrew asks while maneuvering her out of the taxi. She doesn't respond.

They belligerently walk up the stairs to her apartment. Andrew lays her in the bed and places a cup of water on her nightstand. She hums the tune of "I Got You, Babe" by Sonny and Cher as she drifts off to sleep. "Michelle? Are you awake?"

She nuzzles into her pillow.

"Michelle... I'm so happy to be in your life again," Andrew comments, pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she replies. "I got you, babe."

She seemingly starts to doze off as Andrew leaves the room, a smile on his face, under the impression that the comment was directed towards him. He eventually passes out on the floor of her living room while Jimmy falls asleep on the couch a couple feet away from him.

As the snores persist, she tiptoes to her kitchen, grabbing the bottle of vodka from her freezer, a Snickers bar, and then goes to her living room to yank the cords and coiled line of her one phone. She hugs the goods close to her body as she goes back to her bedroom.

She spreads the paperwork from Rolling Stone ahead of her and continues the song as she searches for the number.

"And when I'm sad, you're a clown. And if I get scared, you're always around." She shuffles through the papers. "AH-HA!"

She presses her index finger into each digit, dialing her fate.

"Hello? Harry?"

* * *

Author's Note: DON'T GO TOO FAR! GET READY FOR A DOUBLE UPDATE.