". . . love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other."


Han Suyin

David Rossi sat in the large black SUV, looking up at the end row Victorian home. He knew he should go inside, but his body refused to move. He was tired, drained, emotionally spent, but on some level, he felt the peace and closure he'd been seeking for 20 years.

He had called Julie only once when he was in Indianapolis, shortly after checking into the Palmer Hotel. He was miserable and short to her, and despite her calm reassurances that she wasn't put off by his tone, he knew she was.

She'd borne the brunt of his angst over the past few weeks. He wasn't sure what he felt guiltier about, awakening her in the middle of the night with his nightmares or the way he'd taken to closing her out of his inner torment. Looking back, he thought he was doing her a favor by not constantly bringing it up. The problem, he surmised, was that wasn't the way she saw it.

He knew now that he must have been totally unbearable because by the time the anniversary of the Galens' death approached, she was encouraging him to revisit the crime, to take one more trip out there to see if he missed anything.

Of course, he went, not that any protest she would have made could have stopped him. He knew he had to go. This time, he closed the case. This time, there was an ending. This time, he could put it to rest.

Now, it was time to fix the mess he created on his single minded way to that ending. He only hoped that he'd be able to repair the damage he'd caused. The ringing of his cell phone pulled him from his thoughts. Flipping it open, he placed it to his ear. "Rossi," he barked.

"Are you going to spend the whole night sitting out in front of my house?" Julie's voice began, with no trace of malice.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to come in," he truthfully said.

"Get your ass in here, Mr. G-man," she softly said, hanging up the phone.

Flipping the phone shut, he made his way out of the car and up the stone steps to her front door. As he reached the top step, the front door opened to reveal her standing in jeans and what he thought was one of his button front shirts. He paused on the top step, trying to read her, to gauge her response.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me on the phone," she repeated, "I said, get your ass in here."

He entered the house and as the door swung shut behind him, he pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and they stood, holding each other, tightly.

"Julie," he began, pulling back to look at her.

She shook her head, "Don't."

"But," he protested, but she cut him off with a kiss.

"No," she simply said, "Just tell me this; did you solve it this time?"

He nodded.

"And, how are you?"

"Numb, relieved," he honestly said.

"I can see it in your eyes," she said, her voice soft.

"I'm sorry," he said, wanting to say much more, but unable to find the words.

She shook her head, pulling out of his embrace. "No…no apologies."

"I shut you out."

"You did."

"You've got every right to be pissed at me."

"I suppose I do," she allowed, walking into the living room.

He followed her, watching as she sat on the sofa. She was holding back, trying very hard not to show the emotions he could see bubbling beneath the surface. Normally, she didn't hold anything back; this response threw him off balance.

"Juliana," he said, using her full name, something he rarely did. "Talk to me."

"This case has been with you for 20 years," she said, putting great thought behind her words. "It's molded your thoughts, your personality, your relationships. You are who you are today because of what it's done to you."

"I am," he agreed, sitting next to her and waiting for her to continue.

"And now, it's done. You have closure."

"I do," he said, watching as she opened her mouth to say something further, but stopped. Instead, changing her expression to a fond smile.

"You look exhausted."

"I am. I think I could use a long hot shower and bed."

"We can talk later," she said, standing. "Roscoe's out on the deck. Why don't you go up and take a shower while I bring him in."

"Will you come up and lay with me?"

"Of course."

"Sanctuary, on a personal level, is where we perform the job of taking care of our soul."

Christopher Forrest McDowell

True to her word, she was waiting for him when he got out of the shower and slipped into bed. After turning off the light, they lay, side by side, neither speaking.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, breaking the silence of the darkened room.

"Who says I'm thinking," he returned, his hand wrapping around hers.

"You're always thinking," she returned.

"You were holding back downstairs," he said, simply.

"What?"

"You were holding back your emotions," he continued, "You were pissed at me, but wouldn't show it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your body language, the amount of thought you put behind everything you said, the way you wouldn't meet my eyes…"

"I forget who I'm dealing with sometimes," she sighed.

"I can figure out what you're doing," he explained, "But I can't figure out why. That part, I need you to fill in."

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, then spoke. "This was one of the defining moments in your life and I doubt you've even begun to feel the effects this will have on you. Yes, I was pissed that you threw up that wall and closed me out. I know you think you were protecting me, and on some level, I appreciate that you did think of me."

"But?" he prompted.

"But, I thought you knew me better than that. I told you a long time ago that I am here for you, no matter what. You know me, David; I'm strong enough to handle it."

"I know," he quietly said.

"Do you?" she stopped, gathered herself, and then spoke again, "See, here's my dilemma. I stop and look at what you've gone through, at what the past 20 years have been like for you, and I realize that I have no right to be mad because you didn't stop and think of me. That's why I was holding back on you."

They lay in silence for a few moments, before he spoke again. "You're right, you know. I am still numb. I haven't digested the whole thing. I don't have that weight on my mind now, and it feels strange. Almost empty, but in a positive way."

"Did you talk to the children?"

"They're not children any more," he fondly said, "I did speak to them. I turned over the keys to their parents' house. Before we boarded the jet to come home, I called my lawyer to have him write up the transfer paperwork."

"And the bracelet? Did you give that to them, too?"

"I tried, but Connie, the oldest daughter, gave it back to me. She told me to hold on to it, to remember them by."

"As if you'll ever forget them." She rolled over and draped her arm over him, "You need to get some sleep." She leaned close and pecked his cheek.

He turned towards her, pulling her into his arms. His voice quiet, he spoke, "I did think of you. At night, when I was lying in bed, finally alone with my thoughts, I thought of you. I wanted to call you."

"You should have."

"I didn't want to wake you in the middle of the night. I'd done enough of that in person. You didn't need me to do it over the phone."

"I don't care where you are or what time it is, if you need me…"

He silenced her with a kiss. He was beyond talking, beyond listening, what he needed was physical closeness, passion, and then, sleep. She responded to his every move, echoing with one of her own, clothing was shed; hands and tongues explored, and finally, bodies were joined.

When they had spent their emotions, they lay, holding each other, in silence.

"What are you thinking?" she asked for the second time that evening.

"I'm thinking that I'm looking forward to getting on with my life," he said, kissing her softly.

"Good answer," she smiled. "Hopefully, you'll be including me on that journey."

"That goes without say."

"Good," she nodded, watching him in the dim light cast by the moon. "You're smiling."

"I am," suddenly struck by the lightness he felt. Memories of the past few days that he'd not allowed himself to revisit flooded his mind. Most prominently was Penelope Garcia's face, when he walked into her apartment. He laughed at the memory.

"Something strike you as funny?"

"I didn't get to tell you, but when I stormed into Garcia's apartment the other night, I discovered she was…romantically involved with one of the Analysts who works on the third floor."

"And just how did you discover that?" she laughed, "Did you catch them in the act?"

"In the shower, after the act," he admitted.

"Ouch, did you apologize for the interruption?"

"I had a full head of steam, it wasn't until after I left that I realized what I walked into."

"Did you freak the poor girl out?"

"And then some. When we got back to the office tonight, her boyfriend was waiting for me."

"Did he call you out?" she teased.

"He wanted to talk to me, man to man."

"And did he?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "He told me that he was well aware of the Bureau's anti-fraternization rules, but that what they have wasn't just a fling."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I told him that there was a good reason that those rules were created, but, as long as it didn't interfere with either of their jobs, I wasn't going to concern myself with their private lives."

She turned on her side to face him, smart ass smile lighting her face. "So, tell me, what was the good reason that those rules were created?"

"There were several, actually," he said, turning to face her. "And I was one of them."

"You fraternized?"

He laughed, "I've done my share."

"Ooh, you cad," she laughed.

"The Bureau had a much different mind set way back when."

"I guess so. And what about now? Are you fraternizing?"

"Only with a fellow author," he returned in kind.

"Last I checked, there were no author anti-fraternization rules."

"God help us if there are," he sniffed. "I think we've broken them all."