Disclaimer: I do not own or possess any copyrights in relation to this story, nor am I being compensated in any way … unless you count warm fuzzies from reviews. Sadly my bank does not accept those as currency.

Edited A/N: This is a bit different. I started this as a one shot, and it really works like that I think. Then I started having flashes of how things could go with it. Instead of letting the ideas float away, I've decided to occasionally write them up and add them to this as additional posts, but it's not a connected story, more a series of scenes.

The first post is sad, but hopefully you enjoy it as well.

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Post 1

I sit quietly in one of my big leather armchairs, listening to the ever present drizzle that seems to always be present in a Puget Sound winter. My feet are wrapped in a blanket and propped up on a matching ottoman while I stare into the fire. I'm not sure what I expect to see in it, but it's hypnotic and I can't look away. I don't want to look away, because that means I have to acknowledge what has happened.

I hear other noises, and I vaguely recall him asking if I needed anything. I don't think I replied, and if I did I have no idea what I said, but he hasn't left. I wonder if he will. It sounds as if he may be in the kitchen, but I don't focus on that. Surely he'll need to leave soon, why would he want to be here, with me? His duty is done now.

I think back to the last time I saw them together. Such a pair. They acted like children half the time, and a married couple the other half. I was sometimes tempted to tell them that, but then they stopped being friends and I no longer saw him anymore. I had missed him.

"Michelle, can you drink this for me?"

Slightly startled, I jerk my gaze from the fire and focus on the man with bright blue eyes sitting on the coffee table near me. He's holding a cup of tea. My hand seems to reach out on its own, wavering slightly as it leaves my lap, and then it's wrapping around the cup. Taking a small sip, I feel my eyes fill with tears. It's perfect.

"You remembered." I tell him.

He smiles at me, sadly. "I will always remember doll. I'm sorry I haven't been around. That it took …"

I look back at the fire, unwilling to be reminded that I'm alone in the world now. He seems to understand, because he stops talking. I hear the rustle of his clothing and metal clinking softly as he stands up and walks behind me. It's dark now and the drizzle is still coming down. I say the only thing I can.

"Will you stay? Tonight. It's dangerous to ride in this." I want to lean back into the warmth of his hand when I feel it wrap around my neck, but I don't. The cold inside of me is too dangerous to be thawed.

He squeezes my neck once and trails his fingers across my shoulder lightly before he answers. "I'd like that. I need to make a call, will you be ok?"

I nod and hear the soft clumping sound his boots make as he walks out to the back deck, the one that overlooks Useless Sound. Useless. I feel that way right now. Except now I have something to do, a guest to prepare for.

Slowly standing, feeling the achiness that comes from hours of not moving, I fold up my blanket and place it on the back of my chair. Walking lightly through my large home, I shudder with emotion when I pass the door to the room he always used. Averting my eyes, I open the door that my guest will be in tonight, the room that was always designated for his use.

Robotically putting fresh linens on the bed and making sure there are the proper toiletries in the bathroom, as I know that he wasn't prepared for an overnight stay, my mind starts to drift. I feel selfish, but I can't help but wonder what I'll do now. What will become of me.

Without him, who will anchor me to this world? I haven't left my home in 14 years and 117 days. The only faces I will see now are delivery people and the person who brings me groceries. I haven't even seen his face lately, although I did not begrudge his moving away.

I encouraged him to leave me here. To fly without being weighed down by my past, the past that has somehow stained my future. I desperately want to make sure he was happy, but I don't know if I can ask about him. I'd have to use the past tense and that would be acknowledgement.

The soft steps slow as they pass his door, but continue on to the room I'm in.

"Thank you," he says softly.

My head rises without my consent and my eyes take in his lean form propped against the doorframe. I swallow down the bitterness and simply say, "You've always been welcome. Our friendship never ended."

His eyes drop away from mine, and a flush of shame tints his cheeks. "I know. I'm sorry for that too."

Shaking my head, not sure if I'm saying if it does or doesn't matter, I move to step past him. "If I'm not awake before you need to leave, everything is in the same place."

"Michelle …"

Suddenly I'm pressed against him, smelling the smoke and leather that seems to be their hallmark. Feeling his arms tight around me, my breath starts to catch, but I fight past it, trying to forget what I know.

I take another deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent that means love and friendship and family, before I push against him and walk away. If I cry, then it happened. The words he gave me hours ago will be true. I need to get away from him, but I know he won't let me escape this for long.

For now though, he allows me to walk away.

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Today hadn't started out any differently than most of my days. I do not have a routine, but my life is simple. There are few surprises. I prefer it that way.

I had heard the bike coming from a ways off. My section of Whidbey Island is fairly unpopulated; the winds coming off of the Sound are strong in the winter, making it less attractive. We had bought a substantial tract of land when we built our home 18 years ago as well, so I don't have close neighbors.

Ears pricking, I put down my iPad and walked to the front of the house. Motorcycles weren't uncommon necessarily, not with the island also host to a Naval Air Station, but this sounded both familiar and unfamiliar. Listening to it slow as it neared my drive, my heart suddenly started pounding.

A premonition skittered across my nerve endings as I watched in alarm as the figure got closer and closer. When I recognized the rider my heart skipped a beat and my body went cold. I hadn't seen him in almost five years. He would never just show up.

As he parked the bike, my mind was taking in details that I refused to give any importance to. His slumped posture, sad bloodshot eyes and shaking hands were all hinting at the news he had come to give me, but like a child, I ignored it.

Opening the door, I stared at him, forcing him to ask to come inside. I had missed him, but I knew I didn't want to hear what he came to tell me. Silently stepping back, I led the way to the great room and sat down in my leather armchair. Not looking at him, but instead at the fire, I waited.

The words came, as I knew they would, telling me that he was gone. That Wednesday he had died. He didn't give me any details, but I didn't want them. It was enough. I mulled the words over and over in my head, trying to make sense of them.

My big brother, gone. Dead. I would never see that smile again, or the twinkle in his eyes. He'd never play a joke on me, or gently push me to try and leave this self imposed prison I've created for myself. I would never receive another hug. He would never fall in love and start a family, to have the joy I know it would have brought him.

I couldn't seem to wrap my thoughts around it. So I sat there, trying. Later I felt a blanket being placed around me, but I didn't stir until he brought me tea, hours later.

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Still in my slacks and shirt from the previous day, I was sitting on the back deck with another cup of tea as the sun slowly rose behind me. When I heard his footsteps pause near the French doors, I knew he saw that I hadn't been to bed. Staring sightlessly out at the Sound, I wondered absently if he'd scold me as he used to.

"When is the funeral," I asked, my voice betraying me by trembling.

He stepped closer, lighting a cigarette and resting a hand on my neck. "You don't want to plan it?"

I shook my head, knowing that was beyond my capabilities even if I could have arranged what my brother would have wanted. "He would want a Sons funeral. I know Gemma will take care of it the way it needs to be done."

"Will you go?" The hand on my neck moved slightly as my breath hitched, the thumb starting to rub soothingly.

Licking my lips nervously, I ignored the panic welling in my chest at the thought. "Yes. For him, I will." I wasn't sure I could, but I was going to try. Knowing I'd need help, I forced the next sentence out.

"Will you take me?"

He squatted down next to my chair, although I didn't look at him, I knew he was studying my face. I had never asked him for anything. Feeling his hand on my cheek, his palm warm against the scar, I let him turn my head.

"Of course Michelle. Anything."

Nodding, blinking back the tears, I looked back at the water. Hearing him stand next to me, I wasn't surprised when he said he had to go. I knew he'd be back.

"Tigger … Alex … thank you for coming to tell me in person."

Feeling the kiss on my head, a single tear slips down my face as he murmurs to me, "Kozik wasn't the only one who loves you Michelle."