three hour layover.

Flight 722 into Chicago O'Hare touches down 11 minutes earlier than its posted arrival time of 7:25am, Friday, February 27th, 2009. The man waiting outside the security checkpoint glances at the nearby monitors every few minutes, but it's still a pleasant surprise when the woman suddenly shows up behind a knot of noisy adolescents.

"Hey there, kiddo."

She's darkhaired, her skin quite pale. She would be utterly lovely if not for a nose a shade too large, with a strong aquiline arch. He looks up over his newspaper and his whole face lights up with a smile. He puts the paper aside. It's the Wall Street Journal, which is all he ever reads.

"Hey."

When he gets up he's inches taller, and she's a tall woman, with elegant limbs that look good even in her jeans, her casual v-necked tee. She does look distinctly underdressed for the frigid Chicago weather, however. When they embrace, and she nearly disappears into his wool overcoat and layers. They squeeze for a moment, then plant sound, exaggerated kisses on one another's cheeks.

"You're early." This, after they draw apart. He looks down; she has no luggage, only a small laptop bag. "Bags still checked?"

"Yep, all the way to JFK."

"I guess I don't get to see it then."

"Not at all. That's what you get for leaving me to take care of everything."

His mouth quirks. "Sorry."

"You're not sorry at all."

"No," his smile is spreading, "I'm not."

She rolls her eyes, and then she grins. They grin at each other for a moment.

"So how long do you have?"

"The layover's about three hours. You should thank me. I took the red-eye out of LAX to get here early. I could've slept."

"I haven't slept yet."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Nag."

"Tch." She doesn't deign to respond. Instead, "I'm starving; let's get something to eat."

"There's a Starbucks over near Terminal 2."

"I hate Starbucks." She follows him anyway.

--

Later, over a caramel macchiato for her and a caffè americano for him, plus three or four assorted breads, she studies him for some time. In the end she smiles, though her brow frowns.

"You look different."

"Do I?"

"Yeah. I don't know what it is. I guess you just look older. I haven't seen you for a while."

"It's only been, what... half a year? I saw you last summer."

"That's a pretty long time for people like you."

He makes a rueful gesture, a small twist of his mouth. "I guess."

"You should really come back to New York more often."

"I go there when I need to."

"You know what I mean. You should come home. Just for a week or two."

"I write all the time." He's faintly defensive now; hears that note in himself, quells it. Evenly, "And I call."

"You know it's not the same."

"I know that."

"You should come back with me. The plane was really empty coming out of LA -- I could probably get you a ticket."

"What, just up and leave, go to New York for a week?"

"Why not? The sky's not going to fall because you're not around for a week."

"My place is here, with my pack."

"For heaven's sake, you haven't been home in almost three years. That's a really long time, for people like you."

"Look." He controls his frustration, makes his voice hard. "Can we just drop this?"

--

Silence for a while, after that.

--

"So what did you get him?" It's an olive branch of sorts.

"A tie clip."

"Oh, come on, I could've done better -- "

"I was joking." She sounds annoyed. "I got him a digital video camera, since his old one broke. At first I thought I could record a clip of you saying hello, happy birthday, all that. But then I thought you wouldn't do it anyway."

He frowns. "I would've done it. I would've been glad to. You should've asked me."

"Well, that and the fact that I was afraid you'd be missing an eye or an ear by now."

He keeps frowning. She sighs.

"That was a joke too. God, you didn't always use to be such a grump."

He looks away, brow knit. He finishes his coffee, sets the little paper cup aside. "Do you have your cell phone?"

"What? Why?"

"Take a video of me."

She looks at him for a moment, dubious. Then she twists around to rummage through her bag, comes up with an iPhone, points it at him. There's a quiet chime, and then she nods at him to start.

He looks at the tiny dark eye of the camera for a moment. Then: "Hi, Dad. It's me. Just wanted to say happy birthday. Many happy returns. I'm sorry I can't be there." A pause. "I love you guys a lot."

--

"I do understand, you know." This is after she's finished the last of her coffee, and she's toying with the empty cup. "It must be difficult, being what you are. Having a family -- I mean a human family, not a pack -- that must make it worse."

He grimaces. "It's not just that. It's also that I have responsibilities here. Duties."

She looks at him frankly; it's the same sort of regard he's turned on others. "Duties so important you can take one week out of a year? Three days?"

He says nothing.

She watches him a little longer, then sighs. "Anyway. I didn't mean to nag. And I do get it." She opens her hand, palm-up on the tabletop. "It's just that we miss you, is all."

He looks at her hand for a moment before putting his hand over it.

"I miss you guys too." A pause. "It's just that it's different now."

"How do you mean?"

"It's just different."

She studies him for a moment. He thinks he recognizes the look; it mirrors him somehow. It's the way she looks at him, and the eyes too. Their eyes are exactly the same, down to the color, down to the shape.

Finally, she begins to smile.

"What a silly thing you are," she says.

He looks at her a moment. Then, slowly and wryly, he smiles too.

--

It's later now. The airport is waking up and filling up with travelers. Conversation ebbs and flows in the small cafe; the area immediately around them is always empty. They're done with their breakfast, and the air has thawed again. The lemon bread was excellent; the cinnamon raisin decent. The banana bread was pretty gross, and no one wanted the last chunk. It sits there, drying out. They're hunched together, staring at some viral video her laptop. Their grins are identical too, though he stifles his behind his fist. The video gets to the punch line and both of them burst into laughter at the same time, startling the woman one table over.

"That was disgusting. I can't believe ms. future crack corporate lawyer defiles her mind like that."

"Oh please, like you're some kind of saint."

"I am. Canonized and all. Look in the books, my name's in there."

She only rolls her eyes, smirking. He claps her laptop closed.

"Blasphemous tripe," he pronounces, deadpan.

--

"Hey," she's eating the last, dried-out bit of banana bread, "I heard Danička's in Chicago now. Danička Musil, Miloslav's daughter?"

There's just the tiniest pause. "Yeah, she is. Apparently we used to all play together."

She snorts. " 'We'? Speak for yourself; the little bitch never shared her crayons with me."

"How do you remember this stuff? I can't recall any of it."

"If you had to color in shades of gray, you'd remember too."

He allows himself a little smirk.

"Always let you have whatever you wanted, though."

The smirk fades a little; his eyebrows flicker up as though to say, bygones are bygones.

--

It's 10:28am. They're walking toward the security check, walking slowly. Passengers stream around them, some briskly, some strolling -- some running because they were about to miss their flight.

"I kind of wish I'd flown in yesterday. We could've gone somewhere."

"It's too cold to go anywhere. Living out in California, you've forgotten what winter's like."

"That and the fact that you're too damn busy, right?"

He thinks of bloody entrails and dirty alley floors. "I was a little busy last night."

"Oh God, I don't want details."

"No," he laughs under his breath, "you really don't."

There's a silence; they smile at each other a moment, he affectionate, she wry, a little in spite of herself. Then she holds out her arms. "OK. Come here."

They squeeze each other, sway from side to side like overenthusiastic children until he laughs again. When she draws back, though, she's serious; she gives his shoulders a little shake, as though he were still a child.

"Take care of yourself, Lukášek. Okay? Be careful."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. Still."

"Say hi to Mom and Dad for me."

"I will. Say hi to Ed and the pack for me."

"I will."

"And Danička."

"Do you want me to steal a crayon for you?"

She grins suddenly. "You're an asshole," she says, affectionately. "And I'm about to miss my flight."

"Yeah. Go, go."

"Goodbye, Lukášek."

"Goodbye, Anežka."

She turns and heads through the security check. On the other side, she turns and waves. He waves back, free hand in the pocket of his trousers. After she turns away, he heads out of the airport terminal.