The standard disclaimer applies: All characters are property of Dick Wolf and NBC Universal. Not mine, not making money.
At night, he lies awake, staring at the city lights reflected on the ceiling. Outside on the street below, the hustle of nightlife in a busy European city carries on. Horns honk; passersby speak in languages that he cannot understand. He closes his eyes, reaching for the respite that will not come.
At night, he is left alone with his thoughts. There is no rich scenery to distract him now. He sighs against the expensive linen sheets, thinking of the life he left behind. In some ways, he is now so detached from it that the last twenty years seem like only a dream. But in others, it is still all too real, haunting him.
At night, he imagines himself in the office where he spent most of his time. He can see the objects that decorated it; the awards and law books. He can almost reach out and touch the weathered wood of his desk. The smell of Hogan Place rushes through him, even though he is thousands of miles away.
At night, he remembers the flourish of his signature on the resignation letter. He is on a sojourn that many people can only dream of, and yet it is not enough. He wishes of a way to turn back time, so he could stop the tragedy that occurred on that street from happening. He wishes the protection he'd promised had been sufficient.
At night, he tries to block Claire from his mind. But it is futile; there is just no escaping her dark eyes and crooked smile. He has seen many beautiful women in his travels, but none of them can compare. He wonders where she is at this very moment, what she is doing, and whether she ever thinks of him.
At night, the tears creep in. He can hold them at bay with museums and sidewalk cafes and expensive wines, but it only works for so long. His eyes sting; he buries his face in the pillow as though avoiding the intrusion. But he can't avoid the sadness. It permeates him, coloring every action he takes.
finis