Author's Note: I had a few people ask me if I was going to write fic after the third movie, which, let's be real, ended on a total downer and therefore wasn't a huge inspiration.

So my reaction was to stick my fingers in my ears and go 'LA LA LA LA LA' and write an AU where we don't kill off one of our three main characters. Please ignore all the improbability and hand-waving that is involved in making this happen. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride anyway!

Title is taken from Florence and the Machine.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you see, as per the usual.

Like all women, Lenore has pictured her daughter's wedding since Kim was a little girl. Also like most women, she suspects, her imaginings do not match up to the reality at all.

She hadn't thought that her baby would have a baby of her own, dressed in a flower girl dress wider than she is tall. And she'd expected it to be a bigger affair, thinking they would have to accommodate three sets of extended family – hers, Bryan's, and Stuart's.

That list, in the end, had been cut dramatically, and not just Stuart's relatives. When one's very life is on trial, being nitpicked and critiqued for all the world to see, friends and family feel more than welcome to share their opinions, no matter how unsavory they may be. It isn't the way Lenore would have liked to have learned exactly what some of her aunts and cousins thought of her, but at least now she knows. They might have tried to disguise their criticism beneath honeyed tones and concern-laden questions, but their implications had been clear – what had happened to Lenore had been her own fault.

There are members of her family in attendance that she could have cut, too – people she hasn't spoken to in years, who surprised Lenore by RSVPing and are now spending the reception gossiping behind cupped hands about the court case and studying Lenore's neck despite the fact that she'd chosen a banded choker necklace to cover her scar.

Bryan's family is small to begin with, and his relationships with them had suffered just as surely as his with Lenore and Kim had during his years in the CIA, but there are holes there, as well. Lenore can only imagine what some of them had to say – the notoriously difficult ex-wife, getting her due. (She can only imagine, because Bryan would never tell her.)

Kim is happy, though – radiant, glowing, and that at least is exactly as Lenore imagined. And seeing Kim so awash in joy is something that has become rarer in the last few years, making it all the more special. Kim loves being a mother, loves her now-husband, but things have been more difficult in the past few years than any of them had ever imagined.

Kim's happiness is contagious, and even Bryan looks better off than Lenore had expected. There had been a moment, when he had been walking her down the aisle, that she had worried that maybe he simply would refuse to let her go. But it would seem she hasn't given him enough credit. He's gotten better, in the last few years, despite all the trials that have come their way. Perhaps being around, being a fixture in her daily life, has made him less desperate to hold on as tightly as he possibly can. Perhaps it's simply that he likes Jimmy – well, as much as Bryan would like any of Kim's boyfriends.

Whatever it is, Lenore is glad for a bit of peace.

Jimmy's mother had offered to take the baby after the ceremony, to watch her and get her ready for bed up in one of the hotel rooms, but after an hour or two at the reception Lenore wishes she had offered to do so instead.

Kim is enjoying herself and that should be enough, but slowly but surely Lenore can feel the tension creeping up her neck, settling into her shoulders. It's nothing new for her, putting on a long dress and painting a smile on her face. Stuart always had some sort of fancy dinner, a gala, a banquet, an entertainment, and she would be at his side like a dutiful wife. She had enjoyed them, at first, a taste of a life she had never expected to have. It had been like playing dress-up, and she had been swept up in the glamour of it all. But soon the shine had worn off, and they had become chores more than anything, full of empty chatter and meaningless small talk.

There is that same sort of awkwardness with the guests she speaks to at the reception – they chat about how beautiful the wedding was, what a lovely bride Kim made, how big little Amanda was getting and how precious she had looked in her flower girl dress, and then cast around for any other trivial topics to avoid discussing anything that might be uncomfortable.

On the one hand, she's grateful – she's had enough of people prying into her personal life and relationships, but on the other, she's exhausted. At her table, the conversation has moved on without her and she tries her best to smile and pretend to listen, nodding and making hums of agreement when appropriate, while pushing around the remains of the wedding cake on her plate, trying to look busy.

A hand lands on her shoulder, brushing the bare skin at the juncture of her neck, and she flinches, startled. She hates it, but she's forever on edge now, on guard, her nerves skating on a razor's edge.

"Hey," Bryan says, squeezing her shoulder lightly. Sometimes she hates the way he speaks to her anymore, forever with a soothing tone, like she is a spooked animal that needs calming. He treats her like she's fragile, talks to her like she could shatter at any moment, and she thinks it would make her angry if she didn't know the awful truth that some days, she really is barely holding it together.

She can't be angry that he sees her for how she really is, and so she settles for being sad.

But today, she's relieved more than anything for the interruption. Bryan's seat is across the room, with Sam and Casey and Bernie, and so they haven't spoken for much of the reception. "Hey," she echoes with a smile.

"Want to dance?" he asks, tipping his head towards the dance floor before adding with a rueful smile and a self-mocking chuckle, "Apparently, I'm supposed to let Kim dance with her husband a few times at their wedding."

"Sure," she hastily agrees, happy for the opportunity to get up, the excuse to leave. She ignores the curious looks of the friends from work that she is sitting with as she takes his hand. She is pretty sure at this point that everyone in their lives thinks their relationship is strange, and they are probably right, but it is what it is, and she relies on whatever it is.

Even Kim finds it strange, had questioned Lenore outright about it just a few weeks ago. 'I just don't get why you guys don't give it another try,' she had said. 'It's obviously what you both want.'

Lenore had done what she does best, and dodged the question, and changed the subject to something safer, the way she is used to doing. For all the growing up her little girl has done, there are still ways in which Kim is so young. She sees things in such black and white, still, and still doesn't really understand that you can want something, but that doesn't mean it's meant to be.

It isn't that she doesn't still think about it, think about him. But there had been her recovery and Kim's pregnancy, and then the trial during which Amanda had been born, bringing with her all the craziness that an infant carries with them into the world…but mostly it is the fact that even when life had settled into a new normal in regards to the new baby, Lenore doesn't think she'll ever be that woman again, the one who sat in Bryan's kitchen and told him what she wanted. Lenore had survived the attack three years ago but that woman had died, and that woman had been the one Bryan had loved. Now…she isn't sure who she is, what she is, only that more often than not she suspects that she is better off alone, that she is meant to be alone.

She had been shaken after Istanbul, rocked to her core, but it is an entirely different thing to try and come to terms with the fact that a man she had lived with, a man she had married and loved for years, had tried to have her killed. It is easier to reconcile the idea that strangers in a foreign country had wished her harm, and the whole nightmare had seemed far away when they had returned to sunny Los Angeles.

But with Stuart, there are reminders everywhere. She'd left the house, gotten rid of the car, but there's no possible way to simply forget the last decade of her life. And with every reminder comes the realization anew that not only had her husband betrayed her in the worst possible way, but she had betrayed herself, for thinking she knew him, for thinking she knew anything.

She hadn't wanted to be married to Stuart anymore, that much had been true. She hadn't been in love with him anymore, but she had still cared for him, deeply, had still felt her heart crack and fall apart a bit when she came home from Bryan's apartment that night with renewed resolve and told Stuart enough is enough, we need to let this go. She hadn't wanted it to turn ugly, she told him, she hadn't wanted to look back on their marriage with regret. They'd lost their way long ago and it had been time to admit that their paths would never lead back to one another.

She thinks about that discussion, about how he had sat silently and then quietly agreed, something that had surprised her after so many months of rebuttals as to why they should give it one more try, give it a little more time. At that point, everything must have been in place, and he would have thought it wouldn't matter in a few days anyway. And then she wonders about the last few troubling years, and wonders if he ever wanted to work it out, or if he simply needed the marriage for his insurance scam. When had he decided to have her killed? Exactly how much of their marriage had been a lie?

Bryan's hand at her back brings her back to the present, and she takes the opportunity, at their proximity, to examine him. "You still clean up pretty well," she teases, and she reaches out to smooth the lapel of his tux with light fingertips. Despite the hesitance of her touch, she can still feel his laugh, a low rumble in his chest.

"You too," he returns, and he smiles at her before leaning closer, confessing in a whisper, "I don't know any of this music."

She snorts in response, taking his free hand, lazily swaying to the music, following the beat easily enough even if the tune isn't familiar. "Me either," she confides. "Jesus, when did we get so old?"

Bryan quirks an eyebrow. "Probably around the time we became grandparents."

Over his shoulder, she can see Kim dancing with Jimmy, a beaming smile on her face. She doesn't look back at her mother; Lenore wouldn't be surprised if Kim had forgotten anyone else were in the room at all. She's happy for her daughter's happiness but it makes her wistful, too. "I feel like it was just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital. Now she's married and has her own baby. She's really all grown up."

"She is," Bryan agrees quietly, and there's the same sort of melancholy to his voice, tinged with regret that being around the past six years can't erase – sorrow for the missing years between her birth and adulthood, lost in countries far away. "It went fast."

Instinctively, she drops her cheek to press against his shoulder, her face turned against his neck while he absently rubs soothing circles on her back. She'd always liked the way her head had fit there, when they had been married. She'd sprouted like a weed just after she'd turned twelve, and Bryan was the first – and only – man she'd ever been in a relationship with that she had to physically look up at. It still feels the same, to stand with him this way. He still smells the same, that special-occasion-cologne that she used to like so much because it was something that belonged to home, and not to his work.

The wave of longing, of sadness, of loneliness comes unbidden, but not entirely unexpected, and she blinks tears back, glad that the lighting is dim, glad that today of all days no one will ask why she's crying.

"You okay?" Bryan asks gently, and Lenore thinks briefly of how ironic it is that he's the one asking her that, when she knows that he's been dreading this day since the moment Kim was born.

She wants to tell him then, about the call she'd gotten from her lawyer, the unwelcome news he had to offer. It's been weighing on her all day, and is probably part of why she's so restless on a day that should be happy.

"I'm fine," she replies instead, lifting her head back up, smiling but not quite meeting his eye despite the fact that she can feel him scrutinizing her. "You know. Just a big day."

"Yeah…" he answers, in a tone that suggests he isn't wholly convinced.

But he lets the subject drop, he gives her space. That's one thing Bryan has always been good at, giving her space. Sometimes she feels like there isn't much keeping her tethered anymore.

She loves him. She's always loved him, even in the years that those feelings were buried deep beneath anger and resentment and frustration, but she is pretty sure that their time is over. If ever there was a second chance for them, they missed it.

Life is like that, sometimes.

She doesn't remember much of what happened three years ago, something that is probably a blessing to her but had proved a curse to everyone else involved in the case.

She remembers the text from Bryan (or not from Bryan, she would find out much later), and driving out to meet him, wondering all the while why he picked such a strange, isolated place. She remembers walking towards the gas station, the feel of being grabbed from behind by strange hands, and then…nothing. Nothing else, until she woke up in the hospital, unable to speak, her throat bandaged.

Her faulty memory hadn't prevented Dotzler and his team from plying her with an endless stream of questions, ones that she had to answer in writing while she healed. They had asked a few general questions, do you have any enemies, have you received any strange phone calls or visitors lately, but they had zeroed in on Bryan almost immediately. How was their relationship, why was she going to meet him, why had he chosen somewhere so off the beaten path? And then, the questions had grown much more personal. Why had they gotten divorced. Was he ever violent towards her. Was she afraid of him.

They hadn't liked her answers. The picture they painted had not resembled the man she knew at all; it had been as though they were trying to put a puzzle together using the wrong pieces. Lenore had been as certain of his innocence as the detectives – except, perhaps Dotzler who had seemed more pensive from the start – were of his guilt. She didn't have any answers or explanations to offer them as to why Bryan wanted her to meet him at that gas station or how she ended up in his apartment, something that frustrated her at least as much as it frustrated them, but the idea that Bryan would hurt her had been insane, and she had told them as much.

Of course, she had thought the same about Stuart when the life insurance policy had surfaced, and they had changed their focus. She had been convinced everything would tie back to their troubles in Paris and Istanbul, right up until the moment that she had found out who had really sent her that text message, to get her to that gas station.

Sometimes, she wishes she had the opportunity to confront him, although she can't even begin to imagine what she would say. Stuart had visited her in the hospital, before the police had turned their attentions on him, playing the part of the concerned, devoted husband. And she had been grateful for his friendship, for his company, especially when he had agreed – however reluctantly – that the culprit was far more likely to be an enemy of Bryan's than Bryan himself.

The next time she saw him, after learning the truth, had been in court. She hadn't spoken to him, then, and had simply watched him play that same part as he had in the hospital, resting his hands on the edge of the stand so his wedding band glinted in the overhead lights. It had reminded her of why the last few years of their marriage had been so miserable – she never had known what to expect from him, when he showed her one face and then turned on a dime. It had been a battleground built on psychological warfare: changing the bank PINs and house alarms, clearing and closing accounts, cancelling their reservations in China…all had been calculated to unnerve and unbalance her. It had been no wonder, then, that he could so easily hide his financial troubles from her, that she hadn't known about the huge debt he owed…or how he planned to pay it.

Sometimes she wonders if she should have confronted him, if it would have given her some closure, made things a little easier.

But most days, she simply hopes she'll never have to see him again.

The glass doors at the back of the ballroom lead out to a wide patio. It's still Los Angeles, so the air can't exactly be called fresh, but it's private and cool out now that the sun has set, and it's nice to have some quiet for a few minutes, leaning against the railing, a glass of wine resting on the ledge.

It's quiet enough that she hears the footsteps approaching, and so she isn't completely surprised when she feels a tux jacket being draped over her bare shoulders. She's warm enough without it, but the gesture is appreciated.

Bryan leans against the railing beside her, his forearms extended and hands lightly clasped. For a long moment, they look over the rolling hills in silence until he finally asks again, quietly, "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

She shouldn't. It isn't normal, or probably even healthy, to rely on an ex-husband to act as a confidante. But she's an only child with parents who have both passed, and her circle of friends had largely consisted of friends to her and Stuart both, who had melted into the woodwork when things had gotten ugly. She refuses to burden Kim with her worries, and so the sad truth of it is that she simply doesn't have many other choices, of who to talk to. She simply doesn't have that many people who would care.

"Stuart is up for parole in a few weeks," she says quietly, sharing the thought that's been nagging at her all day – in truth, since she got the news. She hates that she's casting such a grim shadow over the day's festivities, hates that she is yet again using Bryan as a shoulder to lean on, but when he looks at her with such concern, it always seems to pour out of her like a tidal wave. How many times during their marriage had she longed to be looked at that way, as though she was the only thing he saw? Of course it leaves her weak now when she already feels so isolated, eager to confide, desperate for intimacy. "And I'm sure he's been a model of good behavior." She looks down at her glass of wine, twisting the stem between her fingers, watching the liquid swirl. "I don't know what to do," she confesses rawly. "My lawyer suggests a restraining order, but that involves giving him information on exactly where I live now so he knows where he's supposed to stay away from. And I keep thinking about Kim, and the baby…" her voice cracks in the middle, and she raises the glass to her lips.

Bryan's fingers brush against her wrist, but he doesn't speak. She looks down at his thumb pressed against her pulse point, and thinks about it stopping. She clears her throat. "You know," she starts, "even….when we first got divorced, and I was so angry at you, I still…I worried about you, while you were at work. I wanted you to be okay." A self-mocking smile tugs at the corners of her lips, free from mirth. "What kind of wife was I that my own husband wanted me dead?"

"No," Bryan swiftly corrects. "This wasn't your fault, Lenny, none of it was your fault."

"He was angry because he thought we were having an affair," she points out.

"We weren't."

"Because you have more honor than that," she reminds him wryly. "I would have, if you had let me."

His fingers slip forward, gripping hers between them, and he looks at her for a long moment. She can practically see the words tumbling around in his head, and finally he settles on, quietly, "It doesn't matter. It still doesn't excuse what he did." His grasp tightens. "I don't want you to worry, though. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, or to Kim or the baby."

Rather than comfort her, the promise makes her stomach sink. "Bryan, don't do anything that's going to get you arrested," she pleads. Charges against him in her case might have been dropped, but the LAPD had been more than piqued at the trouble that Bryan had caused in the meantime, and she has little doubt that they keep regular tabs on him – maybe all of them – now.

"Don't worry," he assures her again, and she doesn't feel better at all. It feels as though they're teetering on the edge of disaster again, and all she wants to do is retreat until her back is against the wall.

She looks over her shoulder, back through the ballroom. The group is thinning; Kim and Jimmy are nowhere to be seen. Sam, Casey, and Bernie hover inconspicuously by the door, obviously waiting for Bryan while trying to give them the illusion of privacy. "Looks like things are wrapping up," she observes. "Your friends are waiting for you."

He nods absently. "You coming in?"

"In a minute," she promises, and she sees him hesitate. "No, really, I'm fine," she adds. "I told Kim I'd take the baby overnight tonight. Jimmy's mother's had her all day. I should head upstairs anyway."

"Okay," Bryan agrees, and shakes his head when she shimmies his jacket off her shoulders. "Hold onto it. I'll get it back later." He pushes off the railing, but doesn't immediately release her hand. "You were a good wife, Lenny," he tells her quietly. He draws her fingers to his lips, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. "I should know."

He lets go, and his footsteps fade until she hears the small click of the door closing behind him.

She's glad, then, that she still has his jacket – suddenly the night seems colder; the silence, deafening.

When she goes to get Amanda, she finds Kim there in her now mother-in-law's room, still in her wedding dress with her sleeping daughter curled up in her lap. "I wanted to kiss her good night," she whispers, and she presses what is undoubtedly not the first kiss against her smooth little forehead.

Watching the two of them together makes Lenore's heart swell, and she leans down to scoop Amanda up. "I'll take her," she says quietly. Amanda whines softly as she is lifted before settling willingly enough on Lenore's shoulder, her thumb sneaking into her mouth. She's in her footie pajamas and she's obviously had a bath, and Lenore can't help but put her nose against her hair to inhale the clean baby smell of her. It's been a long time since Kim was this small, but Lenore remembers every moment of it. Amanda's nearly three now and heavy in her arms, growing every day.

Kim stands, her dress rustling, and Lenore reaches out with her free hand to cup under her daughter's chin. For all the flack that she's given Bryan over the years for being unable to accept Kim growing up, at times Lenore can hardly believe it herself. "You make the most beautiful bride in the world," she says softly, and Kim's smile grows.

"Thanks," she says, and she smoothes Amanda's hair off her face, and it's startling at times just how much of a mother Kim has become. "But you might be the tiniest bit biased."

"It's a fact," she argues with a wistful smile. "You're happy, though? You had a good day?"

"Yeah," Kim says softly, and one look at her face lets Lenore know it's true. "I'm happy."

Hearing that, and knowing that, is as good as breathing hope into the room. It reminds Lenore that of all the wrong turns she's taken, at some point she's made some good choices too, to have a daughter like Kim. And if Kim can take the horrors of the last few years and turn them into joy, maybe things aren't as dark as they seem. Maybe the worst is finally behind them all.

Right now, 'maybe' is enough – 'maybe' is everything.

A/N: There is definitely going to be at least a Part 2 – beyond that, I'm not sure, but Part 2 is already underway, so stay tuned! And despite the hopeful-ish tone of the ending, we're about to take a turn into darker territories, so just be warned about that.

Please take the time to leave a comment if you enjoyed. Thanks in advance!