"Are you ready Ethan? Just a sprint to the finish line now, I suppose." Bree's eyebrow cocked in question as she looked to the man beside her from the corner of her grey eyes. She did not really expect much of an answer, but she would have settled for a smile. For better or worse, one way or another, some inexplicable something existed between them, some connection Bree could not even begin to understand. She doubted Ethan did either, no matter how intelligent or "lucky" he seemed. And his reaction when he saw Matt there on that river landing only sealed the deal on that matter in her mind.
The click of her calf-high boot heels on the polished granite of the Richmond FBI entryway resounded in a staccato rhythm through the high, spacious foyer. She fixed the Persian-patterned scarf of many colors about her neck, lying over the dove grey sweater and a black knee-high skirt. She nodded and smiled at pretty Stephanie, the receptionist who waved a quick hello before directing them toward the metal detectors and bag X-ray.
"Hi Allen." Bree laid her purse and bag on the conveyor, and stepped through the metal detector.
"Agent Scully!" The good-humored security guard apparently never tired of his ancient joke, no matter the only thing she ever had in common with the actress Gillian Anderson was the auburn hair and the purported FBI badge. He gave a cursory glance toward the screen at her bag, noting the gun of course, the credential case, the pens, paper - all in order. Allen ran his hand through his still thick grey hair, those spectacularly bushy brows furrowing curiously. "Now wait just a second there - aren't you supposed to be on vacation still there, Scully?"
Bree collected her things on the other side of the conveyor with a shrug and a smile. "You know how things go Allen," she quipped with a shrug of her shoulders and a lop-sided grin. "No rest for the wicked. Keeping my nose to the grindstone. The truth is out there. Pick your cliché - and he's with me." Bree nodded toward Ethan.
"Agent Mulder?" Allen asked with a wide, friendly grin, waving for Ethan to head through the metal detector himself after Bree.
"Not exactly, Allen" Bree said with a bright twitter of laughter, wondering what the security guard's reaction would be if she told him, in all truthfulness, that Ethan was far more an X-file than a Mulder.
Bree's office was on the third floor and, in truth, calling it an office was really a bit of a misnomer. Her office was really more of a glorified cubicle, with three and a half walls and a wrap around desk situated so she could face out her "door." She had precious few bits of personal paraphernalia in this bare bones space anyway - she spent as little time behind her desk as humanly possible.
And so there was standard issue office furniture, comfortable enough, functional enough too - nothing fancy. A picture of Bree cuddling with Riddick, one of Michael and Lyndsey, and an old picture of their Mom and Dad, smiling and laughing about something off-camera, something she had been far too little to remember, but this was how she liked to think of her parents.
A plastic placard affixed outside her cubicle proclaimed her 'office' to passers-by - mostly other agents who, in truth, did not hide their curious stares at all, recognizing Bree's bogey man in an instant but wisely saying not a goddamn thing now that he was here in the flesh. But the RAC had put it out before her arrival - not a damned word from anyone, things were happening here were beyond the pay grade of most of the people here.
"Go ahead Ethan, have a seat here, and I'll go see if the conference room is ready. All right?" Bree quickly reached into her desk, grinning as she pulled out a couple wrapped pieces of toffee - Werther's Original. She would always be a sucker for those little candies, and Ethan had come far enough with her now, why the hell not? Yeah, he rated a bit of her private stash if he wished. Bree patted her office seat for a moment before slipping by Ethan, and heading back toward her boss' office.
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O.o... Why in the world would you say that Dot? I happen to think you're very, VERY cool - then again, I'm not very cool myself, so that might not mean a lot... >.>
Galina did not lift her head from the ground, so much as tilt her chin until she could see Souma, and meet his gaze. Though he was out of arm's reach, Galina's hand still glided over the soft green grasses toward him. She heard Souma speak and, somewhere in the back of her thoughts, she had heard him call her name. She even heard Souma's question, and knew very well this single word encompassed so very many "why's." But even if she wished, Galina simply did not have the breath left in her for them all.
Still, she would try. Breath was precious right now. She would spend hers best she could.
Galina gasped and grimaced, her fingers curling into a tight fist with the agony of the attempt before they unfurled once more, along with the small breath she had taken. "No one... hurt. No one dies... Not Raigo-sama. Not Ai… Not you. A little… A little stolen money. And no one had… To die."
She might never be sure Souma understood what she was telling him, that she was truly answering him the very best she could, trying to share her motives, her reasons that she had not always understand so well herself when it came to Takahiro Souma. But their walk in the gardens after tea was long over, and Galina’s breaths were so shallow. Pained. The time for grand explanations had passed. No matter. Souma was smart – no, brilliant. He was so confused at the moment, so perplexed and unsure, and she could still read that in the set of his jaw, in the curve of his brow.
But Souma would untangle the fuller sense of her words, Galina was sure, when she was gone.
"Hase...kura. Hasekura... Soshitsu,” Galina said, her voice cracking for a moment, barely rising above a whisper. With no small effort of will, she gathered her strength to repeat that name again, to be sure Souma heard her. “Hasekura… Soshitsu. He… He is the lynchpin. If you… Pluck him free… All else in… In the web I built… It unravels just so. He is… A broker. Not… Not a brave man. Probably… Will not have to torture or… Or kill him… Or his family. Just please… Do not hurt Yury. My… My brother. Yury. You will… Let him go, yes?"
Galina let her gaze roam over Souma’s face for a moment longer, somehow managing a small, ephemeral smile before she allowed the dead weight of her eyelids to fall. The pain intertwined with the exhaustion felt like steel chains of hurts that bound her to the ground. Yet even so…
Even so, this was a lovely sight to hold in her mind’s eye, far better than a memory, seeing neither hatred nor indifference in his gaze. Her worldly affairs had been put to some order, and she may have afforded some small shield – she prayed – for her brother. She had divulged as best she could, the very reason she was ever here in his family’s home. In these last moments before she lost herself entirely, Galina finally struck at the heart of Souma’s question, with all the delirious strength and breath she had left in her to give.
"I kissed you once… While you slept... “ she confessed so softly.
“Do you know… Know any stories, Souma?" Galina could feel the frigid cold creeping into her limbs, and she was helpless to stop its advance. She shivered in the warm Spring sunlight. “I do... Do love… Love art… Books too… Reading… Stories. Will you... Tell me... Tell me a... A story, 'fore I... Sleep?"
Still, she would try. Breath was precious right now. She would spend hers best she could.
Galina gasped and grimaced, her fingers curling into a tight fist with the agony of the attempt before they unfurled once more, along with the small breath she had taken. "No one... hurt. No one dies... Not Raigo-sama. Not Ai… Not you. A little… A little stolen money. And no one had… To die."
She might never be sure Souma understood what she was telling him, that she was truly answering him the very best she could, trying to share her motives, her reasons that she had not always understand so well herself when it came to Takahiro Souma. But their walk in the gardens after tea was long over, and Galina’s breaths were so shallow. Pained. The time for grand explanations had passed. No matter. Souma was smart – no, brilliant. He was so confused at the moment, so perplexed and unsure, and she could still read that in the set of his jaw, in the curve of his brow.
But Souma would untangle the fuller sense of her words, Galina was sure, when she was gone.
"Hase...kura. Hasekura... Soshitsu,” Galina said, her voice cracking for a moment, barely rising above a whisper. With no small effort of will, she gathered her strength to repeat that name again, to be sure Souma heard her. “Hasekura… Soshitsu. He… He is the lynchpin. If you… Pluck him free… All else in… In the web I built… It unravels just so. He is… A broker. Not… Not a brave man. Probably… Will not have to torture or… Or kill him… Or his family. Just please… Do not hurt Yury. My… My brother. Yury. You will… Let him go, yes?"
Galina let her gaze roam over Souma’s face for a moment longer, somehow managing a small, ephemeral smile before she allowed the dead weight of her eyelids to fall. The pain intertwined with the exhaustion felt like steel chains of hurts that bound her to the ground. Yet even so…
Even so, this was a lovely sight to hold in her mind’s eye, far better than a memory, seeing neither hatred nor indifference in his gaze. Her worldly affairs had been put to some order, and she may have afforded some small shield – she prayed – for her brother. She had divulged as best she could, the very reason she was ever here in his family’s home. In these last moments before she lost herself entirely, Galina finally struck at the heart of Souma’s question, with all the delirious strength and breath she had left in her to give.
"I kissed you once… While you slept... “ she confessed so softly.
“Do you know… Know any stories, Souma?" Galina could feel the frigid cold creeping into her limbs, and she was helpless to stop its advance. She shivered in the warm Spring sunlight. “I do... Do love… Love art… Books too… Reading… Stories. Will you... Tell me... Tell me a... A story, 'fore I... Sleep?"
Ask and you shall receive... Awesome Kuro! 
Oh no, it was just fine with this group, all wrapped up for now, or easily summarized later. The only reason I brought them back to the landing, was because I remembered you said you wanted for Ethan to see Matt was all. FBI later sure...
eta: I'll try to get a post tonight, but I'm a bit behind elsewhere and frankly, a little sick at the moment and beat to hell, so probably tomorrow unless I get a second wind.
eta: I'll try to get a post tonight, but I'm a bit behind elsewhere and frankly, a little sick at the moment and beat to hell, so probably tomorrow unless I get a second wind.
all the tin foil! All this thread needs now, is black helicopters overhead! heheThe return walk to the landing where she'd left Jerod and Matt was almost blessedly quiet. The strangely mismatched but fatefully linked pair made their way back up the miles of river that the water had hurled them down, and for the life of her, Bree could not think of a single thing more to say. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms tightly, one over the other, about her chest, in a sparse defense from goose bumps rising all over her skin, thoroughly chilled without a towel to dry off on this cool Oregonian day.
It was not lost on Bree in the least, that during the entirety of their first brief, incredibly strange conversation, that Ethan had kept her at the proverbial arm's length during the entire exchange. Whatever kept their interaction stilted and awkward was, she was sure, something more he did not want her to know, yet another secret [secrets?] he most desperately wanted to keep to himself. But Bree did not read minds - nor numbers, obviously - and she had to content herself that whatever else he held close, it was not apparently criminal.
Or at the very least, she had no proof that it was, which was more-or-less the same thing. And there was nothing that said the two of them had to be friends at the end of all this - hell, they didn't even have to be friendly. Yes, his request to stop through Denver for identification raised all kinds of red flags in her head, but considering he knew very well the FBI were coming after him, perhaps it would not be so strange that he'd have secured his true identification far away, on the off chance he was arrested or stopped by authorities for any reason at all - even a speeding ticket.
Then again, wouldn't Ethan be able to foresee something like that, a speed trap, if...
Bree groaned, unfolding her arms just long enough to let her fingertips massage her temples for a moment. Trying to figure out how all of this actually worked would give her a headache like no other, and she was just too damned exhausted for the effort. The wave of relief that washed over her when she saw the landing where they were meant to launch, Jarod and Matt and a few other family friends milling about around the raft, Jarod's strong face darkened with worry as he spoke animatedly with his middle brother Josh.
"Jarod!" Bree called his name, waving and then jogging the remaining distance before she threw herself into his arms.
"Damn it Bree," he said tenderly, a relieved smile that promised he wasn't really mad at all. "I was about to call in the National Guard!"
She let her head lie against his chest for a moment before she spoke, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I went into the river," she murmured softly, "We both did." Bree lifted her head to look to Ethan, waving him closer with her one hand.
"You... What!?" Jarod's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they swept between Bree and this green-eyed stranger.
"Jarod, this is Ethan."
"Ethan... ?" His brow furrowed for a moment before widening in genuine shock. His lips pulled back over his teeth in something very like a snarl, both his hands wrapped around Bree's upper arms as if he would pick her up and pull her away to safety from some rabid dog that had followed her home.
But Bree only put one palm gently on Jarod's wide chest, the other tenderly bringing his handsome face to hers. "No. No, it's all right Jarod. I'll explain to you later, but I promise, it's all right. We were both in the river. He saved me - I saved him too. But I'm afraid I've got to cut our vacation short. I'm so sorry, but there are simply things I have to do... "
She stood to her toes to kiss Jarod lightly, and his arms slid easily around her slender form as he pulled her to him tightly. His dark eyes lifted over her shoulder to glare at Ethan, his mouth a thin, disapproving line.
For his part, Matt leaned against a nearby tree trunk and maintained his usual silence, brows furrowed curiously over his hazel eyes as he took in the whole of this strange, strange scene.
It was not lost on Bree in the least, that during the entirety of their first brief, incredibly strange conversation, that Ethan had kept her at the proverbial arm's length during the entire exchange. Whatever kept their interaction stilted and awkward was, she was sure, something more he did not want her to know, yet another secret [secrets?] he most desperately wanted to keep to himself. But Bree did not read minds - nor numbers, obviously - and she had to content herself that whatever else he held close, it was not apparently criminal.
Or at the very least, she had no proof that it was, which was more-or-less the same thing. And there was nothing that said the two of them had to be friends at the end of all this - hell, they didn't even have to be friendly. Yes, his request to stop through Denver for identification raised all kinds of red flags in her head, but considering he knew very well the FBI were coming after him, perhaps it would not be so strange that he'd have secured his true identification far away, on the off chance he was arrested or stopped by authorities for any reason at all - even a speeding ticket.
Then again, wouldn't Ethan be able to foresee something like that, a speed trap, if...
Bree groaned, unfolding her arms just long enough to let her fingertips massage her temples for a moment. Trying to figure out how all of this actually worked would give her a headache like no other, and she was just too damned exhausted for the effort. The wave of relief that washed over her when she saw the landing where they were meant to launch, Jarod and Matt and a few other family friends milling about around the raft, Jarod's strong face darkened with worry as he spoke animatedly with his middle brother Josh.
"Jarod!" Bree called his name, waving and then jogging the remaining distance before she threw herself into his arms.
"Damn it Bree," he said tenderly, a relieved smile that promised he wasn't really mad at all. "I was about to call in the National Guard!"
She let her head lie against his chest for a moment before she spoke, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I went into the river," she murmured softly, "We both did." Bree lifted her head to look to Ethan, waving him closer with her one hand.
"You... What!?" Jarod's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they swept between Bree and this green-eyed stranger.
"Jarod, this is Ethan."
"Ethan... ?" His brow furrowed for a moment before widening in genuine shock. His lips pulled back over his teeth in something very like a snarl, both his hands wrapped around Bree's upper arms as if he would pick her up and pull her away to safety from some rabid dog that had followed her home.
But Bree only put one palm gently on Jarod's wide chest, the other tenderly bringing his handsome face to hers. "No. No, it's all right Jarod. I'll explain to you later, but I promise, it's all right. We were both in the river. He saved me - I saved him too. But I'm afraid I've got to cut our vacation short. I'm so sorry, but there are simply things I have to do... "
She stood to her toes to kiss Jarod lightly, and his arms slid easily around her slender form as he pulled her to him tightly. His dark eyes lifted over her shoulder to glare at Ethan, his mouth a thin, disapproving line.
For his part, Matt leaned against a nearby tree trunk and maintained his usual silence, brows furrowed curiously over his hazel eyes as he took in the whole of this strange, strange scene.
VICTORY! WOOHOO! 
I will try to have a post up this evening. I won't be around at all tomorrow, though if I can't get to one tonight, I should be just fine for tomorrow evening!
I will try to have a post up this evening. I won't be around at all tomorrow, though if I can't get to one tonight, I should be just fine for tomorrow evening!
When Ethan finally laughed, a genuine laugh not tinged with bitterness or barely repressed anger, Bree finally felt something inside simply... Let go. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't the murderer or the mobster or the criminally-connected villain of her nightmares. He was just... A guy. A guy who could do some extraordinary things, but just a guy nonetheless. And Bree laughed too, even shaking her head incredulously at Ethan's dire predictions of doom and despair and death.
"Well damn, I bet you're a ton of fun at parties, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle, stretching her arms overhead until she felt the satisfying pop of her spine, unfolding her cramped legs until she could feel the muscles loosen and lighten.
"I already told you Ethan, I'm not going to arrest you. Did you miss the part where I'm not concealing a gun or cuffs?" she quipped as she pulled her legs up beneath her, almost springing to her feet as she looked down at him. The smile never wavered. "I'm tired of chasing you Ethan. I'm done. I was wrong. I never in a million years could have guessed just how wrong, but I was. Victor wasn't my friend, he was my source - but he wasn't a bad guy either. He screwed up - a lot - and he didn't deserve to get shot. But there isn't a jury in the world that would convict you for taking a step."
Bree stood to her feet, the water shoes on her feet already dry. She looked to the blood-stained shirt Ethan used to stanch the bleeding, and decided to write it off with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I won't either. Still... " The corners of her lips made a mischievous little twist, an impish light in her grey eyes just beginning to shine, suggesting just a hint of the woman who had been, before the day she met a green-eyed man.
"Come with me if you want to live," she growled as she held her hand out to Ethan where he sat, her voice deep and low in the absolutely worst imitation of Arnold Schwarzenneger's accent of, quite literally, all time. Bree chuckled warmly, wagging her fingers to him again.
"No really, come with me. Seriously, if you'd like to have your life back. I'm not arresting you, and I'm not going to hunt you down if you turn and disappear this very instant. But right now you are a wanted man in Washington state - hell, nationwide really. I can't just walk into my boss' office and offer up a mea culpa or two, say I had a 'come to Jesus' moment and realized I was wrong, and could you please call off the dogs we set on Ethan? Christ, they already think I'm going batshit crazy anyway - no need to add fuel to that bonfire."
"But if you want law enforcement across the United States to stop looking at you funny everywhere you go - hell, if you'd just like to go into a Dunkin' Donuts again without wondering if the patrolman at the counter with a dozen sprinkled and glazed is looking at you funny? I'm going to need you with me, Ethan. I'm not asking you to tell my higher ups what you've told me, about the... The numbers. The probabilities you see. But they'll need to see you, to hear you with your own words, your own reasons. It's not a perfect solution, but it's the only one I have to offer to get you your freedom back, so you can stop looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. When we're done, then you can turn, go, disappear - whatever you like."
Her hand was still outstretched, her fingers beckoning Ethan one last time. "What do you say?"
"Well damn, I bet you're a ton of fun at parties, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle, stretching her arms overhead until she felt the satisfying pop of her spine, unfolding her cramped legs until she could feel the muscles loosen and lighten.
"I already told you Ethan, I'm not going to arrest you. Did you miss the part where I'm not concealing a gun or cuffs?" she quipped as she pulled her legs up beneath her, almost springing to her feet as she looked down at him. The smile never wavered. "I'm tired of chasing you Ethan. I'm done. I was wrong. I never in a million years could have guessed just how wrong, but I was. Victor wasn't my friend, he was my source - but he wasn't a bad guy either. He screwed up - a lot - and he didn't deserve to get shot. But there isn't a jury in the world that would convict you for taking a step."
Bree stood to her feet, the water shoes on her feet already dry. She looked to the blood-stained shirt Ethan used to stanch the bleeding, and decided to write it off with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I won't either. Still... " The corners of her lips made a mischievous little twist, an impish light in her grey eyes just beginning to shine, suggesting just a hint of the woman who had been, before the day she met a green-eyed man.
"Come with me if you want to live," she growled as she held her hand out to Ethan where he sat, her voice deep and low in the absolutely worst imitation of Arnold Schwarzenneger's accent of, quite literally, all time. Bree chuckled warmly, wagging her fingers to him again.
"No really, come with me. Seriously, if you'd like to have your life back. I'm not arresting you, and I'm not going to hunt you down if you turn and disappear this very instant. But right now you are a wanted man in Washington state - hell, nationwide really. I can't just walk into my boss' office and offer up a mea culpa or two, say I had a 'come to Jesus' moment and realized I was wrong, and could you please call off the dogs we set on Ethan? Christ, they already think I'm going batshit crazy anyway - no need to add fuel to that bonfire."
"But if you want law enforcement across the United States to stop looking at you funny everywhere you go - hell, if you'd just like to go into a Dunkin' Donuts again without wondering if the patrolman at the counter with a dozen sprinkled and glazed is looking at you funny? I'm going to need you with me, Ethan. I'm not asking you to tell my higher ups what you've told me, about the... The numbers. The probabilities you see. But they'll need to see you, to hear you with your own words, your own reasons. It's not a perfect solution, but it's the only one I have to offer to get you your freedom back, so you can stop looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. When we're done, then you can turn, go, disappear - whatever you like."
Her hand was still outstretched, her fingers beckoning Ethan one last time. "What do you say?"
Bree buried the laughter - slightly hysterical, utterly inappropriate - that tried to well up when Ethan railed off a string of questions. For a guy who could 'see' numbers, he sure did have a strange idea about the definition of "one." She'd asked her questions though and, at the very last answer, she truly believed the green-eyed man. Yes, he may have stepped aside, let Victor eat that bullet - but he didn't want her dead. No, she couldn't escape the impression there were certain vital pieces she was still missing, still didn't even know how to ask about - but Ethan hadn't tried to kill her.
That, at least, was no small thing.
"I started 'chasing' you, because that is what I do. I'm an FBI agent - Victor was my source. My informant, right up to the second that half his head was vaporized. For all I knew Ethan, you were a mobster, complicit in some way I had yet to figure with Victor's murder. Hell, I even wondered if you might be a hit man yourself."
"I couldn't just 'let you go.' That's also what I do. 'Letting you go' was never an option, not so long as I could somehow, some way, follow that trail of crumbs that always seemed to lead me to you... " Bree's voice trailed off, her brow furrowing in thought as she chewed her lip.
No, that wasn't entirely true. Yes, investigative work led her to him the first time. In Chicago, it had been a tip from that dirt bag "night manager." True, both encounters had their own surreal endings as Ethan traipsed out of the Seattle PD jail, or stepped off the roof of a 15-story building; but at least she could point to a reason, a clue, a piece of information - however flimsy or unlikely - that had sent her in one direction or another.
She hadn't been searching for Ethan today. As a matter of fact, it would be fair to say coming to Bend with Jarod had been the 'Hail Mary' of all ways to run as far from Ethan as she possibly could, in every conceivable way. The weight of all the impossibilities had been crushing her confidence beneath boulders of doubt, sapping her faith in her very sanity.
She hadn't been searching for Ethan today at all and yet, here he was. Here she was.
Bree suddenly realized, she hadn't the least idea how she managed to keep finding him. Not really. Those crumbs that led to him had always been miniscule at best, not fit to feed a sparrow.
"But... I honestly don't know how we keep coming together. Not really. I wasn't looking for you today - far, far from it. Maybe we're just... Damn, I don't know. Lucky?" Bree almost snorted the laughter out her nose, shaking her head. "Unlucky?"
Over her dead body was Bree going to voice the other option that came to mind, one that made about as much sense as nebulous, fickle luck; or a man who could somehow 'see' numbers and possibilities and chance.
That perhaps the two of them were, somehow, meant to come together, again and again and again.
That, at least, was no small thing.
"I started 'chasing' you, because that is what I do. I'm an FBI agent - Victor was my source. My informant, right up to the second that half his head was vaporized. For all I knew Ethan, you were a mobster, complicit in some way I had yet to figure with Victor's murder. Hell, I even wondered if you might be a hit man yourself."
"I couldn't just 'let you go.' That's also what I do. 'Letting you go' was never an option, not so long as I could somehow, some way, follow that trail of crumbs that always seemed to lead me to you... " Bree's voice trailed off, her brow furrowing in thought as she chewed her lip.
No, that wasn't entirely true. Yes, investigative work led her to him the first time. In Chicago, it had been a tip from that dirt bag "night manager." True, both encounters had their own surreal endings as Ethan traipsed out of the Seattle PD jail, or stepped off the roof of a 15-story building; but at least she could point to a reason, a clue, a piece of information - however flimsy or unlikely - that had sent her in one direction or another.
She hadn't been searching for Ethan today. As a matter of fact, it would be fair to say coming to Bend with Jarod had been the 'Hail Mary' of all ways to run as far from Ethan as she possibly could, in every conceivable way. The weight of all the impossibilities had been crushing her confidence beneath boulders of doubt, sapping her faith in her very sanity.
She hadn't been searching for Ethan today at all and yet, here he was. Here she was.
Bree suddenly realized, she hadn't the least idea how she managed to keep finding him. Not really. Those crumbs that led to him had always been miniscule at best, not fit to feed a sparrow.
"But... I honestly don't know how we keep coming together. Not really. I wasn't looking for you today - far, far from it. Maybe we're just... Damn, I don't know. Lucky?" Bree almost snorted the laughter out her nose, shaking her head. "Unlucky?"
Over her dead body was Bree going to voice the other option that came to mind, one that made about as much sense as nebulous, fickle luck; or a man who could somehow 'see' numbers and possibilities and chance.
That perhaps the two of them were, somehow, meant to come together, again and again and again.
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