A/N: This story was inspired by a song (Passenger - Let her go) heard on a Wednesday morning in my tiny office at work. As some kind of tribute and because it fits, I put some of it in this first chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my thoughts, these are they.

Thinking

Detective Sergeant James Hathaway was on his way to the shopping centre on Queen Street. It was a Saturday, so no time for murder. Actually, there hadn't been a proper murder case in over a week. Lewis and he had been stuck at their desks for most of the time and it weighed on the both of them, even more so because they were mid-December with Christmas coming soon. Lewis had the extra burden of Val's death on the 19th, which was... today. This sudden awareness made Hathaway stop in his tracks. How could he forget that? Someone bumped into him and forced him back to reality.

"Sorry."

The other guy just mumbled "idiot" and walked on. Hathaway gave a little sarcastic smile and started walking again, mentally noting that the guy had said what he himself thought. He wasn't one to forget these things but with work being slow, Lewis being grumpy and Christmas up ahead, it felt like there was a big grey cloud hanging over his head. And he had to be amiable at Christmas, being invited by a college friend and his wife who knew he'd otherwise be alone. He liked the pair of them and their kids but he valued his time alone, especially at Christmas. Their kids were the reason he was out now, trying to find them some gifts. He hated shopping but it had to be done. Best get it over with, he thought.

He looked to his left. This shop seemed suitable. He sighed before grabbing the door handle. Seeing a woman coming towards the door, her head turned to the man behind her, he held it open. She turned her head back and passed through the door.

"Thank you."

Hathaway was astonished and incapable of speaking. He stared, his mouth almost falling open. He just stood there, gaping at her with the door handle still in his left hand.

"Thanks, pal."

The man she'd been talking to in the shop now joined her on the pavement and took her hand. With that, she realized she too was staring and turned her head. The man started crossing the road, not wanting to spend more time on Hathaway's staring gaze. He knew he had a beautiful wife but this guy must be king of exaggeration, staring at her like that. The funny thing was he felt there was more to it. So he crossed the road, not looking back. His wife on the other hand, did look back, mid-road. Hathaway had followed her with his gaze and met her eyes for the second time now.

"Have you suddenly lost interest in me?"

He woke her up out of the cloud that covered the chaos in her head. She disconnected her eyes from Hathaway's and put them on the man next to her, holding her hand.

"What? No, of course not, Aaron."

She looked down, having reached the other side of the road. They turned right, which left her in Hathaway's sight. She could still see him out of the corner of her eye but didn't dare to turn her head again. Aaron felt the tension his wife was trying to hide and figured a question was reasonable.

"Do you recognize him?"

She sighed. Fair question but not a really sympathetic one.

"Not likely" she answered, turning her head towards him. "I just got the feeling I've seen him before."

Aaron looked at his wife with this caring look of his and smiled.

"Maybe from the party at your parents' house, last week? Lots of guys like him walking around there" he offered.

She smiled back at him.

"You're probably right, as usual."

No, he was not right. She might not remember but she felt there was more to it. She'd known this man, she was sure of it.

Hathaway followed her with his gaze until she rounded the corner that put her out of his sight. All this time, which felt like ages but in fact was no more than a minute, he stood there, holding the door open for whoever was passing through it. He got more "thank you"'s in that minute than he'd had all week. But he didn't hear any of it. And now she was gone. He blinked, swallowed and let his bated breath escape before he turned his head towards the shop, the place she had come from. There was no sign of her having been there. Of course not, that guy earlier was right, he was an idiot. Finally he walked in.

A couple of hours later Hathaway entered his flat carrying two large gifts for the kids and a smaller one for the parents. It seemed it had taken him forever to find appropriate gifts and he still wasn't sure that they would be. The cloud hanging over his head had dissolved but was replaced by thick fog, caused by the mystery of Elenora Hartly. He kept trying to figure out why she hadn't recognized him. He hadn't changed that much since university. She'd only gotten more beautiful. They had been friends, good friends. Never more than that but that couldn't be the reason she pretended not to recognize him. Actually, she hadn't pretended. He hadn't seen any trace of recognition on her face. Maybe she'd blocked out the memory on behalf of the man she was with. Because she was clearly with him, married maybe. This was turning into a really bad day.

Hathaway shook his head as to shake off the thought of her. His stomach made a noise; he should make himself dinner. For a while this took priority over thinking of her. But she kept popping back up: when he stirred his soup, when he poured it into a bowl, when he sat at the table to eat it, when he brought a piece of bread to his mouth. Her chestnut hair, her calm but melodious voice, her startling brown eyes, her soft smile, which he hadn't seen today but had seen so many times before. Maybe he was idealizing her from that image and she had looked very different this afternoon. No, that couldn't be. One of his skills as a police officer was observation; he'd never get that wrong.

While doing the dishes, he realized he could check that. There was a photograph of the two of them in one of his kitchen drawers. He hadn't thought of it for ages but the minute he saw the envelope with his name on it, he knew what was inside. He poured himself a glass of Scotch and sat down on the sofa, taking the envelope with him. He turned it over, sighed and took a large drink before pulling the photo out.

It showed two people, a man and a woman, freshly graduated for they still had their cap and gown on. They grinned broadly; his arm lay comfortably around her shoulders, holding her close.

He took another large drink, emptying the glass.

That had been the last day he'd seen her. He had let her go.

Staring at the bottom of your glass

Hoping one day you'll make a dream last

But dreams come slow and they go so fast

You see her when you close your eyes

Maybe one day you'll understand why

Everything you touch surely dies

Staring at the ceiling in the dark

Same old empty feeling in your heart

'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast

Well you see her when you fall asleep

But never to touch and never to keep

Hathaway eventually fell asleep, a less than fruitful sleep.

Elenora Norton was lying in her bed, staring at the so familiar ceiling. Her husband, Aaron Norton, turned the lights off and snuggled up to her. He caressed her bare shoulder with his fingers, moving them to her collar bone and down from there. His lips followed the path taken by his fingers.

"Aaron."

He stopped to look at her. It didn't sound inviting and the glare she shot him wasn't either. Despite that, he tried again, caressing the part of her chest her top left uncovered. But he got no other reaction than the same deadly glare. He abruptly turned away from her and put his back towards her. He always got what he wanted.

She knew he was pissed off, even without looking at his back. Not meeting his intentions was a serious offense as far as Aaron Norton was concerned. Normally, she would have turned towards him after a while and let him get his way, because she'd feel guilty for refusing her husband and felt like she owed it to him. But tonight was different, tonight she wouldn't give him what he wanted. She needed time to think. And while he dozed off, still a little angry, she just lay there, thinking, trying to put back together the pieces of a puzzle she knew she could no longer solve. It was gone, all of it. Or not?