I looked at the picture with little interest. "So?"
"Do you remember that, Duo?"
"Of course I remember that!" I said indignantly. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"You're not well," she said. "And this has a lot to do with it."
"It has absolutely nothing to do with anything!"
"Yes, it does." She paused , taking a long glance at her photograph. "You still love him."
"Does that matter?"
"Naturally. I'm not willing to take a suicide for an agent."
I leaned back in my chair, playing casually with the ends of my braid. "Now that's just an assumption. Who says I'm a suicide?"
"Look at your record, Duo. You've tried to take your life more than twenty times since his death."
"So? People get depressed when their loved ones die. It's proven, scientific fact."
"Suicide is not normal, Duo."
There was a resounding silence.
"I'm sorry, Duo..."
"Where'd you get that picture, anyway?" I asked, changing the subject. Acting like it didn't matter.
Une's eyes gleamed. The light in her eyes might even have been a tear. "It's a newspaper clipping."
"We made the newspaper? I don't recall that." I paused, my chair tipped at a dangerous angle. "So... I'm not getting the job?"
"No."
"The Preventers is my only option. No one else would employ me."
She bowed her head. "You have all the skills required...but like I said, we don't employ suicides."
I looked at her sympathetically, although it should have been the other way around.
"Can I at least have the picture? I burned all the ones I owned."
Une tried to smile. "Sure."
Walking out of her office, I glanced down at the photograph.
There we stood, arm in arm, both with a smile on our faces. He looked beautiful.
I miss Quatre.