Alright, I know, I can hear you all wondering about Chasing Hope and Observe This and The Twelve Days of Christmas (although it's almost April. Oops). And I know that you all want me to continue those – believe me, I do too. I have some of the next chapter for CH up, but the plot bunny for that story has been a little slow on the uptake. However, after reading sugah's story Ghosts in the Wind, a character wiggled her way into my mind and wouldn't leave. So, I decided to write her. I've gone back and forth about how I wanted her to be, but eventually I just let her write herself. Chalk it up to all the literature I have been reading lately, but she's a bit different. I'm still not sure my opinion of her, and I am the one who wrote her.

Anyway, I am sorry that I have been absent. Truly, I am. But you must understand that my muse left me for a LONG time and wouldn't come back. All my writings lately have been for school, and I barely have any free time to myself. But I found time here and there (and a muse) to write this. Let me know what you think of it, and if I should continue. :)

Oh, and the homeless man was kind of based off of an actual person from a psychology video that I watched in class that dealt with mental disorders. He had paranoid schizophrenia, and was off his medication.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize, and own all that you do. Hence, the character of Leda Barnes is mine, as are any other characters not affiliated with CBS. Get it? Got it? Good. The title is not mine either – if you are interested, check out the author Shel Silverstein who wrote the children's poetry book "Falling Up".

Wherever runs the breathless sun --
Wherever roams the day --
There is its noiseless onset --
There is its victory!

-- Emily Dickinson

Chapter One: Moonlight

All Leda Barnes wanted was silence.

She rubbed her temple and gave the woman across from her a quick nod, scratching a shorthand version of notes onto the notebook that rested in her lap. She picked up a wad of tissues and handed them wordlessly to the woman. Leda suppressed a yawn in the back of her throat as the woman continued to ramble on, hiccupping every once in a while due to her hysterical display of emotion. Finally, after stealing a glance at the clock, Leda decided to make her move.

"Mrs. Alcott, why don't we try and finish this up tomorrow, alright?" the young woman asked in the gentlest way possible. She pulled out her palm pilot and stared at its luminous screen for a moment before looking back up at the woman whose hysterics had - thankfully - calmed down a bit. "Shall I put you down for 4:45?"

Mrs. Alcott nodded her head slowly, before uttering a few words of thanks. Leda shook her head in the humblest manner and rose to shake hands with the elderly woman. "No, no, Mrs. Alcott. If anyone should be praised, it is you. You have done so wonderfully throughout these past few sessions. I think you've made worlds of progress."

Mrs. Alcott's glassy eyes widened and a smile curled at her pink lips. "You – you really think so?" she asked, twirling a bangle around her shriveled hands. Leda merely smiled and placed her hand on the small of the elderly woman's back, guiding her towards the door. "Oh, yes, yes," Leda replied with a smile. At the threshold of the door, the old woman turned to face the younger one. She placed both her hands atop Leda's.

"You – you are the most wonderful and gracious woman I have ever met. Thank you Dr. Barnes. Thank you so much."

Leda smiled and placed a hand on Mrs. Alcott's shoulder before the latter turned and exited the office. Once the door was closed, Leda leaned against it, and sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair. She stood, back resting against the door and surveyed her office. It was neat little office. Quaint, perhaps was the best term to describe it. The moonlight flooded the tiny room, drowning the two plush red velvet couches in its light and reflecting back to Leda the hint of gold tinge that lined the armrests. The moonlight pooled at the coffee table, gleaming and melting underneath the vase that lay in the center of the table. Leda studied the window, watching the soft gray clouds race along the night sky, freely moving and dancing about, paralleling the actions of the people below.

A streetlamp flickered on, yellow-orange and buzzing as it adjusted to the night. Leda walked over towards the window and placed her palms on the sill, feeling the cool marble resting under her. She stared blankly down, down at the people below her who hurried along the pavement, anxious to be somewhere – anywhere. And Leda desired the same. She sighed once more, a sigh of longing and aching with a desire for freedom. She removed herself from the window and began to walk aimlessly around her office, noticing the tiniest of details in the objects that littered her workspace. There was a pen with no cap. A pen with a chewed cap. A piece of paper crumpled up by the wastepaper basket. She knelt down, and had to push her glasses up to the bridge of her nose to keep them from sliding off her delicate face. As she stood erect once more, she opened the paper, only to find what she was dreading. Rubbing her temples anxiously, she tossed the paper into the can and continued her walk around the room.

Before she could finish her lap, a soft knock was heard at the door, followed by the gentle creak of the hinge. Leda stared at the visitor and smiled tiredly.

"I'm heading home for the night Leda. You want me to swing by and drop you off. You look exhausted."

Leda shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, Jamie, you go home and take care of Delia. Tell her that I said hello." The secretary stared at her boss for a moment, and turned to exit but thought better of it.

"Are you positive? Leda…"

The woman pulled her sleek hair into a ponytail and shook her head again at the woman. "You should go home and be with your daughter. If she's sick, I'm sure that she wants to be with you more than anyone. I'll be alright. I might take a little walk before I head home."

Jamie surveyed her friend once again, jabbing a finger in Leda's direction. "Alright, but you better be careful. There are some nut-jobs out there running the streets this time of night. Just play it safe, and get some sleep, okay?"

Leda forced a smile and nodded, rubbing her eyes wearily. "I promise Jamie. Thank you for – for everything. You didn't have to stay this late. You could have taken the day off."

Jamie shook her head, black curls falling into her eyes. "No, no child. You needed me. You would've had files piled up to your ears by now if I hadn't stayed. You just get some rest. I'm beginning to think these patients are drainin' the very life outta you." Jamie smiled and waved once more before shutting the office door. As soon as the door was closed, Leda began to pack up her papers, placing them into neat stacks on her desk, while taking choice files and sticking them into her bag. She turned and surveyed her office once more. It was orderly and neat, and still basking in moonlight. Her mouth twitched in a proud smile as she pulled her keys from out of her bag and locked the door to her office. She looked around the waiting room, tidying up the magazine rack and brushing a few crumbs into the wastepaper basket before flicking off the lights and stepping out into the hallway. She locked her door carefully and then read the golden calligraphy on the glass window of the door. Clinical Psychologist, Ph.D. Leda smiled slightly and placed her keys into her purse before slinging both her purse and her work bag over her shoulder and walking toward the elevator.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night was hardly clear, and the chances of seeing stars on her walk were slim to none. Her practice was on a good side of town – or so she was told. No part of the city was entirely good. No place in the world was entirely good for that matter. Nevertheless, she was armed with her pepper spray and ten years of tae kwon doe tactics in case anything should happen. She was a naïve girl, sometimes. Leda knew herself to be an optimist – she always saw the light at the end of the tunnel. And she seemed to try to always find the good in everyone. Perhaps it was because no one ever saw the good in her sometimes.

As her heels treaded quietly against the pavement she pondered such a concept. It was widely known that she could analyze people's entire lives within the first few hours that she met them. Sitting down to coffee with someone, she could note their behavior by merely observing their body language. She had a gift, most people would say. But she was never good enough for them. She was never good enough for him. And so it happened that she stumbled into the field of psychology. It was her means of escape, of release, and of closure. But she could not kid herself. Nothing in her life would ever be exactly the way that she wanted it to be. Nothing that she did could ever amount to what they – what he – expected of her. And she knew all about repression. If Freud was alive, he would have psychoanalyzed her 'till kingdom come.

And now, she thought, as she continued her walk, resting her arm against a streetlamp pole lazily as she waited for the crosswalk signal to glow green, well now she was just one giant mess. The light at the crosswalk burned green. She walked on.

She didn't know exactly where she would end up this time. She figured that maybe if she just kept walking, she would end up somewhere where she belonged. But where did she belong? She loved her job, most days. But who truly loves their job every day? Her patients oftentimes wore her out. And of course, they would. They came to her with their problems. Sometimes she would do her best, but it was not always good enough. But she tried. She pressed on. That was all she could do.

But why was she never good enough? Why didn't her father ever say those three words that she longed so to hear? Looking at the sky momentarily, Leda watched the brilliant silver moon shine before it was cruelly obstructed by a passing gray cloud. He was the cloud to her moonlight – he was the one person she desired to shine for, and yet he was the only person who prevented her from shining. It was all complicated. Her life, this life – all much too complex.

She wasn't crazy. Oh, no she wasn't crazy. She graduated salutatorian in her high school class, but only because of Geometry in freshman year. Oh, how she hated Geometry. And pre-calculus. She had hated that too. She was a smart girl – the kind that teachers always praised whenever they handed back essays and tests. But despite the fact that she was not valedictorian, her mother was proud, since Leda had graduated from a rather large Georgian high school – yes, it was an accomplishment to say the least, being salutatorian. Her mother had never gone to college, but she was a woman with a kindly face – a typical southern belle she had once been with her blonde curls framing her delicate face. Her mother was caring, soft-spoken, and reserved – perhaps that was why she stayed with her husband despite his apathy. Leda paused on her journey into the past and thought about her father for a brief moment. But she couldn't dwell in those thoughts too long. They were harmful if dwelt in for too long.

Instead, Leda chose to pause near a storefront window and study her reflection against the pale moonlight. Her auburn hair was tamed in a ponytail, but her full, wispy bangs fell over her forehead. It was night, so her eye color was hard to discern, but even in the light, it varied. She had blue-green eyes, but many times they appeared vibrantly green or a shade of aqua blue. She was proud of her eyes.

And she didn't know why she did this twice a week – why she walked and walked around the city until her legs ached. She was trying to walk away from her fears and to avoid her problems. She was complicated. And she thought it ironic that she was a psychologist. Here, a woman armed with a doctorate had no idea how to decipher the thoughts inside of her own head, yet could readily diagnose PTSD or schizophrenia in others. Why did it make such little sense? And why did she stay with Robert? When he was drunk, she knew he did things – she was sure that he hadn't meant to grab her as hard as she did. She had cried, but he had apologized. She had forgiven him, as always. She knew that he had cheated on her, many times with many women. And still, she called him her 'boyfriend', as if the endearing term actually meant something. All it meant was an excuse to turn down unwanted dates or ward of potential suitors. Leda scoffed aloud. Why was she such an ironic mess? The one thing that she was good at was the one thing she could not do. She could give her patients advice, advice, words, words – but why couldn't Leda take them herself? Why did she ignore her own advice? Why was she walking? Where was she walking?

And it wasn't as if she was depressed either. She wasn't suicidal. She loved her life. It was just that sometimes…sometimes it did not make any sense at all to her. Sometimes she just needed a break from reality to drift into her own world and relax. Yes, relaxation was what she needed. She could go on a vacation, perhaps, once the month was over. Maybe some place in California…or Florida…she had loved Colorado though, so maybe she would go there on her little getaway.

All at once, Leda was snapped out of her world when she felt a tug on the leg of her pants. She whipped around to find no one standing behind her. But glancing down onto the pavement, she saw the culprit.

He was the same man she had passed last Tuesday on her walk. She had nearly ignored him, but his scraggly appearance had left her to fix her eyes upon him momentarily. He had a full beard, untamed with knots and pieces of leaf litter caught in it. His eyes were dark, dim, and hopeless. She recognized those eyes. They were the same type of eyes that she saw everyday – the eyes of her hopeless patients who were searching, struggling for some form of help, for some form of solution to their pains and troubles. But the man on the corner was not a patient of hers. She knew from his eyes though that he had suffered. She could tell. He was homeless and was wearing a shabby gray trench coat with colorful patches and insignia tattooed over it. Despite the warm weather, he appeared to be wearing layers – an olive-colored sweater with a black shirt poking out from behind the tears in the sweater. His pants were dark, covered with either dirt or something else, Leda did not know. He continued to stare at her and would not let go of her cotton trousers. She attempted to gently remove a filthy hand, but that only caused the man to relinquish hold of her pants and instead grasp her wrist firmly. Leda had trouble sometimes with her patients and therefore knew how to talk to them soothingly. She continued to stare down at the man sitting cross-legged among a pile of old newspapers and trinkets pulled from dumpsters. A light breeze blew and the man's stringy hair fell into his face. He used his free hand to adjust the dirty Yankees cap on his head, but would not let go of Leda.

"Sir, please let go of my wrist," she said gently. The man's eyes were strangely hollow and dark, but Leda tried once more to remove herself from his grasp. He only grasped her wrist tighter. Leda bit her tongue. "Sir, please let go of my hand," she said, louder this time. She attempted to wrench her wrist out of his grasp, and almost succeeded in doing so, but her one hundred and fifteen pound frame, it was hard to accomplish. The man's eyes were beginning to cause uneasiness to settle in the pit of her stomach. There was hardly anyone on the streets. She couldn't move. He had her in his grasp. And she was fearful. But she remembered her pepper spray and managed to remain calm. Plus, she could always attempt to kick the man, although she wanted to use that method as a last resort. He was not dangerous.

"What do you want from me?" Leda asked. The man's sullen face scared her. He opened his mouth a moment, looking around the street in a paranoid manner before pulling her a little closer. His breath was rotten and Leda resisted the urge to vomit.

"They want you," he replied, rocking back and forth. He looked around the street as he rocked and Leda narrowed her eyes in an attempt to study him. She was pretty sure that it was paranoid schizophrenia. If he was referring to people as 'they', then it was highly likely that he was hearing voices or seeing figures that did not exist.

"Who are 'they'?" Leda asked patiently. The man continued to look around, mumbling to himself. She was convinced that he was schizophrenic, but was not entirely sure. However, if he was schizophrenic, then he must have been off of his medication.

"What's your name?" Leda asked. The man looked up at her, removing himself momentarily from his dream world.

"John."

"Okay, John, do you have medicines? Did people make you take medicine?"

At the word medicine, the grip on Leda's wrist tightened almost to an almost unbearable point and John began to shake her wrist and scream at her. "I don't want my medicine! They can't make me take it! They're just trying to get inside of my head! They think I'm crazy! They can't make me take it!"

Leda's eyes widened as she attempted to calm the man down, but he would not be silenced. Leda knew that many patients suffering from schizophrenia who were off of their medications often resorted to aggression and it could even lead to suicide, in some cases. Leda tried to calm the man down, but as John reached into his coat pocket for something, Leda knew she could not take any chances and she dug her free arm into her purse to pull out her pepper spray. But before she was able to do so, an arm appeared from seemingly out of nowhere and gripped John's arm. Leda looked up, confused, and felt John's grip on her wrist loosen slowly. Once she pulled her arm away, she noticed two men – one who was handcuffing John, and the other was talking to the arresting officer. Leda studied the man who had "rescued" her, and noticed that he was tall, dark, and handsome.

She laughed.

Her laugh caused the man to look up. With a wave of his hand and a few more words, the officer placed John in the back of a patrol car and shut the door. "Goodnight Detective," he said with a nod of his head, and the man standing before Leda gave a nod as well. She noticed that the man's eyes were blue. She moistened her lips and spoke.

"Well, thank you sir for helping me, even though I really did not need your assistance."

The man's lips curled into a smile. "I don't think the term 'sir' really suits me."

Leda rolled her eyes and shifted the bags on her shoulder. "Well then, what should I call you?"

The man extended his hand. "Detective Don Flack, NYPD." Leda smirked at his pride in the official title that he held. So, she mimicked his motion and placed her hand in his.

"Doctor Leda Barnes, clinical psychologist," she replied, shaking his hand. She looked into his eyes and felt her heart skip. He had such nice eyes. They stood for a moment, shaking hands, before Leda broke the contact and began to walk. Flack furrowed his eyebrows and trailed after her.

"Uh, where are you going?" he asked curiously. Leda sighed and rounded the corner, noticing a bar up ahead. She read the name and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"I'm going to Sullivan's."

Flack's eyes lit up and she noticed this. "I was actually headed there too. Long shift, ya know."

Leda smiled politely, afraid of the statement that she knew would follow.

"…would you like to join me?" he asked. She smiled, and paused her walk in order to look up at him.

"I actually have a boyfriend," she replied, hoping that the old line would do the trick. Flack's heart sunk, but he quickly recovered, hoping that the woman in front of him would not notice.

"Well, I mean, I just don't want you to be alone, that's all. I thought you might want some company. Besides, I'm meeting friends of mine there, so it wouldn't be a date or anything."

Leda's heart sunk slightly. She should have known that a man whom she knew for all of two minutes wouldn't ask her out. All the same, she didn't know if she could accept his offer. He seemed nice enough, and was certainly safe – he was a cop, after all. But Leda had experience with cops before, and they weren't always all they were cracked up to be. Flack titled his head to the side slightly and his eyes begged an offer.

"I…well, I'm not sure. I kind of wanted to be alone tonight, just…to think," she awkwardly replied. Flack stared at her and gave a little chuckle.

"Well, a lot of good that did you tonight, what with being harassed by a psychotic homeless man," he noted. Leda narrowed her eyes and held up her index finger.

"One, I was alone, and it was my fault for not paying attention to where I was walking." She held up the next finger, ticking off her points. "Two, the term is paranoid schizophrenia, not psychotic." She held up one more finger. "And thirdly, I told you Detective, I can take care of myself. I have ten years of tae kwon doe and had a can of pepper spray in my purse, which I was reaching for when you so heroically saved my life." Leda's frustration and sarcastic comments surprised Flack momentarily, before he lowered his voice to talk to her.

"One, it was not your fault. He has a mental condition, and you just wanted to help, which I admire you for." He held up a second finger, mimicking Leda's actions. "Yes, I am sorry I called him psychotic." Flack held up a third finger. "And thirdly, no, I did not want to be a hero. I was merely doing my job. I didn't think of you as a damsel in distress, but you appeared to need help, and that was what I did. I helped you." Flack and Leda stared at each other for a moment before Leda bowed her head and sighed, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. Flack watched her, awed at how beautiful her hair was and found himself having difficulty formulating a proper sentence. Leda ran a few fingers through her hair before staring back up at Flack.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to accuse you of anything…" she began. Flack shook his head and fixed his eyes on Leda.

"Don't apologize," he stated simply. Leda still looked guilty and he turned her slightly, hand resting on the small of her back. Leda felt her heart begin to race, and noticed that Flack was pushing her in the direction of Sullivan's. She craned her neck around to look up at him and he just smiled a heart-melting smile before walking ahead of her. Leda felt momentarily saddened by the loss of physical contact, but laughed when she saw that the detective had rushed ahead only to open the door for her. She curtsied slightly and Flack laughed. Leda glanced inside of the bar and noticed how cozy, yet crowded it was. There was a table situated by the window, and Flack waved to the people at it. Three of them waved back (though the other two appeared to be in deep conversation), and as Leda approached the table, she noticed a man with short mousy hair and glasses talking and laughing with a curly-haired woman.

Leda stopped dead in her tracks.

The group looked up collectively and welcomed Flack. Leda just stared, and the man with the glasses did a double-take upon seeing his friend's companion. The curly-haired woman's gaze flickered from the man sitting next to her to the new arrival and she frowned, confused. Flack did not appear to take notice of this, and introduced Leda to his colleagues. "This is Lindsay Monroe," he replied, and Lindsay looked up at Leda with a small smile. Flack smirked and seemed to not realize that Leda could not advert her gaze from the man at the table. "And this," he concluded, gesturing his hand to the person next to Lindsay, "is…"

"Danny Messer," Leda concluded, with her voice wavering slightly. Danny let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair before daring to look up at the woman again. The corners of her mouth gave hint of a sad smile.

"It's nice to see you again," she replied. Flack and Lindsay exchanged puzzled glances, as Danny continued to stare at the newcomer.

"Yeah…same here."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, so I will leave it at that for now. I can't believe I actually got the motivation (and the muse) to write this chapter out. Let me know what you think. If I choose to continue – if you want me to continue, that is – then I have an idea of where this will go. It hopefully will not extend about 10-15 chapters. Well, you all know the drill by now – read and review!