She had been in his dreams more frequently of late, and it was beginning to worry him. It was not the same as when he lost Shannon and Kelly, it was a different kind of grief. But he had thought he'd put it behind him, to a certain extent. It had been over five years after all. He was sure Ryan would've had something to say about it, if they ever talked about that kind of thing. Not that they did anymore. They didn't really talk, period.
There was no mistaking that particular shade of red hair that she had possessed in her life, and in his dreams, it seemed to glow brightly for him, like a tapering flame around the fairness of her skin. That skin that was dusted with freckles, including the one just beside her hip, darker than the others. It alluded to her, fit her perfectly, described her so well. Her little hands, which were so delicate and nimble, cold and warm, and oh so soft against his calloused ones.
How her sharp green eyes, framed by impossibly long, dark lashes, were capable of so many emotions, and it was those he remembered the most. How they were dark and smoky when they were alone, bright and sparkling when he made her laugh. The wide-eyed hurt he rarely saw in them, but only a handful of times when her mask slipped unintentionally.
How that one time he saw her cry all those years ago, when they had been younger and a little more reckless as he wished that they had been when she became Director, her tears had clung to her lashes like spider webs, glittering in the soft glow of the streetlight like crystals on a priceless chandelier. And all that he had seen in them from the first time those cobalt blues locked onto her emerald greens.
The sheer determination to prove herself.
The pride.
The truth.
The lies.
The passion and the lust.
The pain and the sorrow.
The loss and laughter.
The love and hate.