<i>Eliza Spring</i>, the name didn't ring any bells, not that he had expected it to. Then came the truth, finally, or at least part of the truth, whether it was all of it or not he couldn't be sure. She was some beat reporter, who got assigned a sports column all so that she could try and get promoted. It wasn't the first time someone had tried, but it had been a few years since the last person tried and they didn't make it very far. So far she had made it farther, maybe he was starting to get soft in his bitter drunken stage, or perhaps it was the fact that she was a woman who looked damn good in that skirt. He was still skeptical on her whole 'wanting to help' him bit, that seemed more like a tool to get him to play along.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Fine, sounds good, and good luck."</span>He replied to her statement of needing to make a few calls, and then he let her head out to take the trash and make some calls in private. He had no need to snoop, he didn't care what her source would end up being, but the time did seem to pass and for a moment Mark assumed that she had ditched him. He walked back out onto the back deck of his houseboat, in part to check on Eliza, and the other was to simply sit down and relax if she was gone.<br/><br/>He saw her approach, and grabbed his cane.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Managed to get us in huh? That must have cost someone dearly."</span>Mark chuckled a little bit as he used his cane to walk along the docks and followed Eliza to her vehicle. He didn't plan on talking much, and in many ways he was nervous about going back to the last football stadium he had set foot in. To once again touch the field he had left five years before in an ambulance. There was a nostalgia to it though, and that was what drove him there, what pulled at him to go back to the place that had haunted him. Oh he would have a story to tell, but it wasn't pity he wanted, that was for people who truly deserved it. He wasn't sure he even wanted to be remembered though, he had always been humble in front of the press and media, the grand stage was not for him. Mark loved his records and he liked the attention to an extent, but not when it was focused solely on him.<br/><br/>It had been so long since he had been in down town Seattle he almost forgot how bad the traffic could get. The trip to the other waterfront, near Pike's Place market, toward the stadium would be interesting to see, the changes that happened in the last five years were bound to be plentiful. If she tried to talk to him on the drive he would have none of it, not one single word until they reached the field, then he would talk, and hopefully she would listen.