Faked Grace and Forced Subtlety

The story of Wendy Earhart and Drake Anderson after the TV series

By Cal-Reflector

Author's Notes: A story in five parts that picks up where the series leaves off; a canon continuation written with a lot of imagination. Exposition and basis for Drake and Wendy's relationship prior to and during the OAV and series inspired by the following stories from Rhianwen: A Different Kind of Perfect, A Matter of Time, Moments, and Of Soap Bubbles and Frozen Yogurt.

Dedicated to Rhianwen, who can make a rock and a poodle work as a couple; her husband Bezo who hates Wendy-Drake, and others who might read this… but mostly Rhianwen: May she and Bezo attain a happy ever after as stellar as the one Wendy and Drake share.

Part I. Goodbye, Hello.

Part II. The Past Catches Up

Part III. Drake's Lucky Day

Part IV. Reunion

Part V. The Stage of Our Life Called…

When the letter first found its way to the mailbox of his home that morning, Drake Anderson's initial reaction was of mild alarm. When he left the British Library years ago he moved and didn't leave his new address with his former employer or anyone else at the workplace. He was doubly certain that he didn't share his contact info with her the last time they met nearly a year ago, as Joker's master plan to remake the world crumbled around them. He has since regretted that decision on more than one occasion, but after so many what ifs and missed opportunities over the years, he has learned to cope with loss and accept what he has, which was far more than what most people walked away from that traumatic ordeal with.

The short hand-written memo—not unlike the ones he used to find on his desk when he was still working for the Library, weighed down with a piece of candy—sat on the table in his kitchen, and he next to it until the sun rose and dipped and the ring from Maggie's bike at the driveway roused him from dreaming about the past. They made hamburger helper for dinner and watched baseball on TV together like any Friday night, but after she had gone to bed, Drake stayed up late into the night in his study, pondering the message and thinking about the woman who sent it.

Wendy Earhart, his former co-worker, would like to meet him.

There were a dozen suspicions and a hundred questions in his mind: Was she well? Was she still with Joker? Was the whole thing a setup? Reaching down, he opened the second desk drawer from the bottom, revealing an automatic pistol, but though his eyes lingered over the reassuring polish of the weapon, his hands refused to reach for it. A minute later, he slowly slid the drawer shut, and reached down to the lowest drawer, which was secured with a combination lock that he undid with several rotations. Inside was a battered old watch, a gold ring, and a pair of dog tags; a Navy Cross, a silver star, and three purple hearts; photos yellowing with age, clear files and vanilla folders containing remnants and records of his life and those he had known. Rummaging through the artifacts, he picked up the only framed photo inside. It was a Polaroid of himself and a young woman nearly a foot shorter standing in front of a cinema; she was poking him with a blinking fairy's wand and he appeared to lunge at her with a nail bat. The only thing more ridiculous than their pose and the props was the fact that a man in a furry alien suit had taken their photo. Drake managed a smile at the memory.

Except for the photo, he had taken nothing with him the day he left the Library.

--

“Hello, Drake.”

He spotted her over his right shoulder, dressed prim and proper like a can-do globetrotting woman straight out of a printed ad, just finished with a business trip and looking to unwind after a trans-Atlantic flight. The only difference was that she appeared more beautiful than most women he saw in magazines, or any where else for that matter. She smiled at him, and he turned his attention back to the half-empty glass in his hand as she sat down in the bar stool next to his, a single suitcase in tow. There were few patrons in the secluded lounge at the early hour as the flat screens overhead showed news and sports on low volume. When her drink was prepared, she took a small sip from the frosty tall glass before turning to study the man who sat silent and brooding. “You look well.”

Drake rotated the block of ice in his glass. “How's Joker?”

“Dead.”

She started to chuckle when he spun to face her, stunned, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “I'm kidding. He's being cared for some where safe, but if it makes you feel any better he might as well be dead, given his condition.”

It didn't make him feel better, and she took a larger sip of her drink. He watched her as they nursed their drinks quietly for the next minute or so. “Why did you come?”

“Just had the time. Thought I would travel a bit, see some old friends.”

“Didn't think you would have any friends left after what happened.”

She answered in a quiet voice. “No, but I had friends, or at least I had people who I thought were my friends.” A moment of silence passed as CNN reran a report on Sudan that Drake saw when he arrived an hour ago. “What about you Drake, why did you come?”

He watched the light reflect off the clear amber liquid in his glass before draining what remained, noting that the taste had become diluted from the melting ice. “I had the time.”

“Well, since we both have time, what say we go some where? I haven't been to this city since you… since a long time ago.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.”

He straightened but remained seated. “What's wrong with here?”

“I like airport bars. You can walk into one and be anyone you say you are as long as you look the part.” She placed her hand around the handle of her small suitcase as she surveyed the empty lounge. “But eventually you grow sick of introducing yourself as someone else, and you want someone who knows you, and a place like this… just isn't good for being honest.”

--

She watched the kids clamber in and out of the jungle bars as she walked along the sidewalk, her silky white blouse reflecting the afternoon sun, her jacket left in his car. Making her way on to the playground, she sat down in one of the swings that Drake would have had trouble fitting into. So he stood beside her and the two watched the activity on the playground for a while.

“Is it alright if I ask you a question?” She looked ahead as she swung her legs slowly. He nodded. “What finally made you decide to leave us?”

Drake folded his arms before his chest as he leaned against the swing set's support beam. “Lots of reasons, but I couldn't continue what I was doing and raise Maggie at the same time.”

“I see. May I ask one more question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn't you take me with you?”

Her quiet words landed against his chest like a boulder and sent his mind into shock. “… What did you say?”

Her fingers wrapped firmly around both chains to her side, Wendy lifted her face and gazed intently at her former co-worker. “When you decided to quit the Library, why didn't you ask me to leave with you?”

“I…” A heavy pressure began to mount in the pit of Drake's stomach. “I never… I didn't think you would leave Joker.”

“Why? Because it was plainly obvious to everyone that he was my all and everything?” For the first time that day Drake saw a glimpse of something other than cold composure and indifference in her eyes as her voice rose and then immediately fell to little more than a whisper. “You of all people should have known better.”

The two adults in the now empty playground said nothing for the next few minutes, the only sound coming from the occasional car driving by and the creak from the swing as Drake regained enough control over his emotions to ask his own question without his voice cracking.

“If I had, would you have come with me?”

“I don't know.” Her gaze stayed on the marks her shoes were making in the gravel. “Between the man who gave me everything I could hang my hat on and my best friend whom I thought I was falling in love with, it would have been a tough call… But you never asked, and I never got a chance to see if we could have been. I suppose this would be one of those questions best left for posterity, eh?”

She tried to give him her best smile, but something inside him broke instead.

She found herself pulled up on her tiptoes, trapped between the chest and thick pair of arms that she'd dreamt of on many lonely nights before she gave up dreaming. He felt her delicate pair of hands try and fail to push away then bundle into small fists as her body began to tremble.

“I hate you, Drake Anderson. I hate you for making me hate myself. I've always leaned on someone, and I could live with myself as long as I saw you try to keep your conscience.” The anger soon broke with her voice and melted away with the tears against his shoulder. “I've never been strong enough to make my own way, always needed someone to take my hand… and whose hand was left for me to take when you went away?”

There were no words. Drake only held her as he shut his eyes against the top of her hair.

“And now it's too late. You can't care for someone who has…”

“Wendy.”

Her name came across in a low timber, almost a growl. She would have liked to look up, but even if her face had not been pressed tight against his chest her eyes would have too blurred with tears to see, so she closed her eyes and waited for him to put an end to this closeness—what she always wanted and all she would ever have.

“… It's not over unless you give up, and we haven't even begun to try.”

She felt his arms loosen a bit, and she saw him look at her with sadness and guilt and a little hope on his face.

“I'd like to try… if you'll give me a chance.”

He waited, and waited, and waited as large blue irises looked through and into his own, and the leaden feeling in his stomach didn't lift until he felt a slim pair of arms barely manage to slip around and join behind his waist.

It would be a while before she got her smile back, but she tried her best once more that afternoon, and this time, something inside Drake Anderson's broad chest healed.

End Part I