Things were hard. No, that was an understatement. Things were impossible these days. How Tango made it day to day was a surprise to himself more than anyone else, yet those that were close to him knew just how much he was struggling. Things had been this way for a while now, also. He had found the that one man that made him feel special, that one person that washed away every insecurity he had ever felt, the one that made him feel like he could do whatever he wanted in this world. Though, he had lost that, and how, he wasn't sure. Things had been perfect for almost a year, but when it neared February 11th, their one year anniversary, it had started to change. They grew distant, and while they still lived together, there were hardly any words exchanged. He fought, though. He put everything he had left out on the line, offering to move, to leave TAPS, to push off the marriage even longer, but the day before their one year, Steve left. Just like that. He woke up with the engagement ring on his night stand, and a note that explained that he was still loved, but that he deserved better. His bedroom had become his sanctuary for months, and he had lost enough weight to where he had started to wear loose clothing and nothing but long sleeves to hide that. It worked, for a while.

Slowly, maybe three months after Steve left, he had started to notice just how bad his actions were affecting everyone else. Madi called constantly or stopped by, and she herself looked sick from worry. Grant also stopped by, not as often, but when he had time. He was sure they were trying and make sure he wasn't catatonic or that he hadn't let himself pass. The fact that they felt the need to always check on him is what finally made him start trying again. In fact, before that, he had been hell bent on just letting himself waste away. After all, what was life without that man? Hardly a life at all. He started to try, though. He started doing investigations again, though not the ones that were taped for Ghost Hunters - he wasn't ready for that, and Jason was aware of that fact. He would do the private investigations, and even then, he would break down on almost every case. Without the male there, that banter, that fun air around him, he couldn't stand it, not even when it was Kris or Grant with him. Jason didn't get made at him for it, but he could tell the older male was uncomfortable when he would suddenly freeze, his eyes landing on something that held some subtle reminder to him, just before he would start to stutter, and he would run from the room. The rest could at least comfort him long enough to get him able to talk.

They all tried to get him to move, but he couldn't do that. This house had been his since he was twenty-one, he couldn't just get rid of it because of the memories it held now. The furniture was the exact way it had been the entire time. He could recall the conversation they had on that couch at Christmas, discussing kids and marriage - both wanted by each male. The drum set in the bedroom reminded him each time he glanced into that room of that first time he had tried to learn - sitting on Steve's lap, those strong tattooed arms wrapped around him and those firm hands holding onto his, guiding them. And that bedroom, that was the worst of all, yet the one he spent the most time in. Each time he would lay in that bed, he could recall every touch that got pressed to his skin, the way those fingers could make his insides tingle by simple patterns traced onto his chest. He could almost still smell the other's scent on his pillows, and when he closed his eyes, he could see the other's face still, memorized into his mind - the warmth and depth of those eyes as they stared back at him, the firm planes of his jaw and that simple spot that when he kissed, it made the other go haywire. Those lips, how they seemed to have every power imaginable to make him both relaxed and tense, both turned on and comfortable. He could feel the other's presence on the bed beside him. Maybe that was why he chose to stay in the bedroom - it was easier to feel the other in here than anywhere else, and while he may have been left, he wasn't ready to forget Steve.

Dating wasn't something he liked doing, and for the first year, he wouldn't. No matter how many times Madi insisted on dragging him to the bars and such, he couldn't do it. There were so many blind dates that he stood up because he had a panic attack the moment he thought about trying to let someone else into the spot where his heart used to be. Oh, no, he couldn't let them into his heart, it was impossible - he had given his heart away. All he had left was that empty spot, the void where his organ used to be. He started to slowly try, though. Each first date he spent trying to get to know them. He would make all thoughts leave his mind, and he would concentrate on finding all the good things in whoever he was with. But after that first date, after he was able to go home and ponder everything, it was pointless to go out again. Everything he learned that night, he would spend analyzing in bed. He would compare each person's strengths to his ex-lover: their eyes weren't as bright, or their hands weren't big enough. They were funny, but not as funny as him. They were smart, but there was no way he'd be able to argue with them like he had argued with Steve. They had that sarcastic bite to them, but they wouldn't dare pick on him like the other had . The morning after that first date, he would call them, say that he had had fun, but that they weren't going to go anywhere; that he was sorry they had wasted their time, and that they wished him the best.

While he didn't date, he tortured himself. He would go out, and if the people didn't seem like the relationship type, then he would allowed himself to be invited back to their place. He knew where it would lead every time, and when they started to get intimate, he would simply lay there and let them do what they wanted. It was the same thing after every time he had sex anymore. It used to be a beautiful thing, something he loved to have with his partner. But now? Everytime he got home, he would avoid looking in every mirror as he slowly made his way through the house. He would slowly undress, wincing as his fingers would hit his bare skin, remember what had happened to that skin earlier that day. And when he got to the bathroom? He would throw a towel over the mirror, before turning on the water. Tango let the shower spray beat down hot on his face, turning his skin bright red. Shame washed over him, scalding his skin. He scrubbed harder, but nothing could wash away the residue. He felt dirty every time, and he would rub at his skin until it pained him to do so. When he was finished, when he couldn't stand to have cloth on his skin because of the burning, he would slowly dress, bundling himself up in sweats and socks, before curling up on his couch. He didn't feel worthy of going back to the bed that he had shared so many times before with his love. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but it felt like every single time, he was cheating on Steve.

He didn't talk anymore, which was a major change for him. Even on invesigations, he would simply hold the camera or the recorder, he was never the one asking questions. He only used his voice if it was absolutely necessary. There was only one time he would let himself speak, and that was when he was alone in his bed. He would recount his entire day to thin air, letting himself believe that somewhere, Steve was listening to him, was still interested in what he did, even though he knew it was impossible. When he finally finished, he would always end with the same words: 'I know you left, and that you said you weren't ready for this, but I miss you. I love you. I gave you my heart, and you still have it. I'll always be here, whenever your ready. Goodnight, my heart, my soul, my Steve.' Nothing changed for him for a long while, he followed the same path for years. It wasn't until what would have been their fifth anniversary that he realized he couldn't do it anymore. The meaningless sex, the night talks, the investigations - he couldn't do it. One night, without telling anyone other than a brief call to Grant's cellphone telling him that as much as he appreciated everything that he had done for him, for being there for him for four years and letting he be part of TAPS, that he had to move on. He told him that he would always consider him a friend, and should he ever make it back up to Rhode Island, he would call him again. With that, he packed a simple bag of clothing, got in his car, and just drove.

He didn't stop. He didn't look back on any road he took, only pausing on his journey long enough for gas or more clothing when he found the need. He hardly ate, only enough to keep the pain in his stomach at bay. Taking any road he could have wanted, doing nothing but letting his car lead him, he eventually found his way to Seattle, Washington that following Christmas. There was snow on the ground, and it reminded him, in a vague way, of home. It hurt. Not the kind of homesickness one would imagine, he could do with never returning home, because any chance at a normal life was passed him now. He missed those memories of Steve. It seemed being away from their home had made them fade. The voice he had worked so hard to remember was starting to dim, sounding more and more like a recording instead of the real thing. He could hardly remember the feel of the arms around his waist, instead just like he had seen a picture and was trying to remember - as if the memories weren't his own. It was in Seattle that he made a vow after a random encounter. He had decided to waunder the streets instead of using his car for a while, and he passed by a animal shelter. His eyes strayed instantly towards a grey and black cat, and his heart clenched. It reminded him of Sassy. Walking inside, he asked for any information on the cat, and the news he got made his blood run cold - it was found abandoned, along with another that they associated as it's sister. Being shown the fellow cat, he was almost positive that it was Home Depot. Steve had been here….

The rest of the time spent in Seattle was spent trying to hunt down anything that may point him towards what happened to his ex-lover. Almost five years apart, and he still hurt for him, knowing that his cats weren't with him. It meant something was wrong, terribly wrong. Those cats where the male's children, he treated them as such, anyway. It took a few months, him sleeping in his car most of the time, before he finally got the news that seemed to take away any hope he had had. Grant called, and while he didn't answer, not wanting to hear that voice from back home, he did listen to the voicemail. The crew in Rhode Island had just received a disturbing call - one of their ex members had passed away on the West Coast, in Seattle, and was buried in the graveyard just outside of it. He didn't need a name, and while he was sure Grant only held it back for the curtsey of not wanting to hurt him, he would have only called for one person. That night, he took the path towards that graveyard. He didn't pause when he got there, turning his car off instantly, and went inside, searching for the headstone he was afraid to find. It took most of the night, but he found it, and when he did, he broke down. Every hope of one day having that male come back to him was gone, every wish he had made for the other to be happy was pointless. He sunk to his knees, his tears already streaking his cheeks, his hands reaching out, brushing the leaves from the grave and headstone. His fingers traced the words that were etched onto the stone.

Steve Andrew Gonsalves.

October 23rd 1975 - November 11th 2015

Friend, Trusted Investigator, Lover to Dave

"Continuing his Search for his path to his
Past, even in death"

Seeing his name, and he was sure that it was he it was talking about, made his heart shatter, had there been anything left in there. He hadn't been forgotten. He had never really been left. Every memory wasn't a mistake. It had simply happened, being left, for the reasons he had read in that note - they were meant for each other, but later down the road. They both had things they had to do before they could be there for each other. And, if the other hadn't passed away, he had a sudden moment of clarity, that told him they would have found each other again. That they were going to meet again, and continue the life they had started. Loud sobs started to break through his lips as he clung to the headstone, his body curling into a ball as he let them take over. It was cold, but he didn't care. He had found Steve, he had been reunited with the reason he had been put here, but it was too late. And that, that more than being left, than having his future ripped apart, hurt more than anything else.

He refused to move. Even when his stomach started to complain, he never stood. It started to snow that next day, but he didn't feel it. Words started to leave his words in an endless stream, as if he was recounting the last four years to the other. He could feel a presence around him, but he didn't pay attention. For days he stayed there before he felt it - the icy grip that was starting to take hold of his heart. Curling up on his side beside the headstone, he let his arms turn into a pillow. His knees raised, his body forming a small ball as he continued to mumble. He didn't noticed when he finally stopped. He didn't notice that the world around him was fading into darkness or that he couldn't feel the snow anymore. The last thing he could remember seeing was a tattooed arm reaching out for him, asking for he himself to take that hand. And when he did? He felt himself detach from his body. The last thing he heard was that wonderful voice, saying exactly what it would have said had Steve still been awake: "Mi Vida, I didn't want this for you. You should have fought harder, you should have let me go." He ignored them, just marveling in hearing it, however. Those were the last things he heard before he felt his spirit be enveloped in those arms. The light surrounded them, and he stared at wonder at it. It didn't scare him, because he was safe now. He had his other half, and that? That was all he had wanted.