Title: Move Along
Summary: K+
Genre: Romance, of course
A/N: I don't know why I wrote this. It's been on my computer for ages now, and I think now's the time to get rid of it and post it, lol.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, NW's pregnancy would have been written into the script. 'Nuff said.
Two years had passed.
It was a long two years, filled with nothing but work and he found himself sticking to the essentials; only living for the day. He almost didn't care anymore.
If not for those occassional reminders of what was waiting for him, he was sure he would have gone home and dove straight for the tequila. Alcohol did a lovely job of numbing the mind when enough was consumed.
So far, he hadn't touched a drop. She wouldn't have wanted him to drink himself to death because of her. She wanted him alive, it was all a part of her master plan. A plan which he still wasn't quite sure of, but he was looking forward to it all the same.
The other day he received a parcel at home; it had no return address, but it had been sent from somewhere in New York City. He didn't open it at first, weary and suspicious since he didn't know anyone in New York City save a few contacts he hadn't spoken to in years. He hid the box at the back of his closet, where it was far enough out of sight yet never too far should he forget it.
After a few days of staring at the brown wrapped box, Harry decided that it couldn't hurt, the worst case scenario would be that he'd die of anthrax poisoning, and at the moment, he wouldn't mind if he did.
There was a white envelope with his name scrawled on the front in distantly familiar handwriting. His heart began to race, blood pumping faster through his veins, as he tore the end of the envelope off. He yanked out the inside of it and was disheartened to find only a postcard with a picture of the Empire State Building on it. When he turned it over, he found a cryptic message frantically scribbled in neat cursive on the back:
Almost time. I'll contact you.
There was a pause in the lines, as if she couldn't decide what to write, and then he saw the last three words.
I miss you.
He slumped back in his chair, emotionally drained and inadvertently angry at her, for putting him through this. He shook his head and steeled himself for another day.
The next clue was equally if not more confusing, and if he didn't peruse his memory, Harry was sure that he wouldn't have caught on.
A bouquet of purple and blue roses had been sent to Ruth's "grave." He still visited it, not as often, but he made sure to stop by every once in a while when his schedule allowed it. The unusual combination of flowers were artfully arranged, and only an expert would have known that blue roses signified hope while the purple was a symbol of eternal love.
The only reason he remembered was because he once dated a florist, years and years ago.
He knew intuitively that she sent them. The tag that came on the bouquet read, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
He smiled wanly, the words of Oscar Wilde briefly echoing in his mind and suddenly he could hear her voice again, as if she was beside him, whispering them in his ear. He left the cemetery, knowing that it wouldn't be long before he saw her again, face to face.
TBC???