Prologue: HIM
10:13a.m.
The time stares back at him as a nasty reminder of what is to come. He does not want to get up, to face the realities of what the clock in front of him signifies. He knows in his heart it will take more than an X-File to get him through today. But alas, the clock is not to blame. And so, he blinks twice and turns away. As he sees it right now, he has two choices. He can stay in bed for the day and try to sleep away the horror that awaits or he can get his monies worth and drown today down in the countless amounts of alcohol that he picked up last night. As if he could almost foresee what his choice would be, the waiting alcohol wins out. And so, he gets up and makes his way down the stairs and into the cold dark kitchen. He sifts through the shot glasses, each one with a significance. Each one a reminder of the many places they had been together. He forgoes the little ones and instead finds a beer glass because if anything is going to get him through today, it will not be held in the small confines of the New York shot glass. Today was about forgetting. What did not occur to him though as he began to pour the contents of the bottle in his glass were the memories that would surface, just waiting behind that first taste of vodka. It is all coming back to him now, and he wished to whoever the powers that be, that it was not.
He remembers the moment when he knew he had lost her. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he curses himself for being so minimally cliché at such a devastating moment. He took her partnership for granted in every sense of the word. He really always thought it would just be the two of them. He never realized that his failure to commit in a more personal manner would end up with her in the arms of someone else. And what turned out to be worse, he never in a million years could fathom that she would ask for him to let her go, to let her walk away and live a more personal life that did not involve him. When he thinks about it all, it is right up there with one of the single worst days of his life.
Another swig of vodka and a refill is on the horizon, along with more memories that he would just assume right now to forget. Oh, how he wishes he could just forget.
He remembers the day that she first walked into his office. She was young, fresh-faced, eager to please, but above all else, so beautiful. She walked with such an aura about her. He thought about how she was just so damn mesmerizing and how just the slightest curve of her lips or furrow of her brow would halt his every solicited thought. He realizes now as he sits alone in his cold house, in the beginning stages of drinking himself into oblivion, he will never get over her. He remembers the first smile that she gave him, and he could swear that the spark between them was evident even early on. What he would give in this exact moment to go back to the beginning and make the necessary changes needed for her to still be with him.
There was always talk amongst the other agents. Everyone just assumed that "Spooky" and his enigmatic partner just had to be sleeping together. He remembers the day she came in to tell him about what she had overheard in the women's bathroom stall. She giggled uncontrollably recalling how the ladies did not know she was amongst them. It is funny actually now that he thinks about her reaction. Instead of being appalled, or completely besides herself, she instead seemed somewhat amused. She told him about how the women talked about how he always gawked at her, and always smiled when she would look away, and how they just knew there had to be something more going on between them. She told him how she could not hold it in any longer when they mentioned that there was no doubt that they were "fucking" each other, as they so eloquently put it. It was at that moment she told him that she lost it as her laughter rang out amongst the other patrons. Her laugh could stop anything in its tracks, he thinks. She told him that the look on their face when they saw that she had heard everything was priceless. She smiled that entire day. The truth is, when he thinks back, everything that she overheard was true, except the part about them sleeping together. That would come later on.
His thoughts are in overload right now and he is having trouble concentrating, he wishes he could start over again and be the person that he knows in his heart that she truly needed all those years ago, the person that put her first instead of his crusade, the man to be her strength when she needed to fall and the lover to be her everything, when she gave nothing less. To go back in time and fix every mistake he made when it came to her, maybe it would be him in her arms and not the man that will meet her down at the end of the aisle in about 10 minutes or so.
He was invited, of course he was. He is and will always be her best friend. 25 years together, hundreds of cases, 1000s of sleazy motel rooms and countless ass kickings could not be replaced by one man's admission of undying love for her. She wanted him there, in fact pleaded with him to give her away and he had initially agreed, but when the day got closer, he just could not. She understood, she always did. He noticed her disappointment, but he also noticed something else. Something that he could not quite put his finger on. He was versed in the paranormal and many other things, but something about that look was extraterrestrial to him. He recalls the last kiss they shared that night. One that felt more like a hello rather than a goodbye. He felt their spark again and wondered if she felt the same. But as he watched her walk out, a few stray tears in her eyes, he had his answer.
She met the man, who according to the time on the clock, is probably now her husband, almost a year ago. It was after she just could not take any more of the darkness. She needed to get out, to find the light. She deserved nothing less than that. How could he hold her back and deny her anything less than she deserved, when he himself was not able to commit in the way that she needed. When she walked out and the door closed behind her, he wept. He was not sure that it would ever stop and yet somewhere between destroying the house they once shared and consuming himself in the alcohol, the tears did in fact stop.
He cannot keep doing this to himself. He cannot keep going back there. The torture on his heart and in his head is insane. He has got to find a way to live without her, just as she has found a way to live without him. It is scary though. For two decades, he had her, but she did not have him. He knows now as his tears begin to fall again that if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would have stepped out into the light with her. He knows that the day that she told him that she was leaving, he would have done anything to go back and be her reason to stay. But as he looks up at the clock again, he knows now that it is too late. He curses himself, because he should have put his pride and his feelings aside and walked her down the aisle on this day. He should have shown her that no matter what she asked of him, he would always be there for her. And yet, he just could not. He could not say goodbye to her in that way. Not in the way that she was needing him to, not when his love for her was and is still as strong for her as it has ever been. She needed him, but he could not be there for her today.
He knows he should stop drinking and perhaps sleep off the haziness that is being felt throughout the entirety of his body. As the hours tick by, he knows he should call her and offer his congratulations. She is his best friend, he owes her at least that much, but instead decides against it, at least for now. His inner monologue is plagued with what it is that his call might interrupt. It is just too much for him to wonder, so he does not pick up his phone. Instead, he continues to lye there, inebriated, exhausted and most of all heartbroken. None of this is her fault, but yet he is so angry. He knows it is all directed at his own being, his own person.
Another hour passes and he sloppily makes it up the stairs and back to the bed that they once shared. The bed where so much love was made. He is going into overdrive now. He needs the world to stop, at least for enough time for him to find his breath again. His eyes are tired, wanting to close. He is almost asleep. Finally headed towards a bit of relief from the real world but knowing that no doubt a nightmare is awaiting his slumber. His eyes are now closed, but a faint noise coming from downstairs makes him stir. He does not get up too quickly, because he is almost positive that will activate his vomiting reflex. Instead, he rises slowly and walks out of the bedroom. He makes his way halfway down the stairs when he sees the front door begin to open. He continues to descend to the bottom stair, and it is there that his heart drops.
There she is, standing there in her wedding dress. She looks exhausted, full of emotion, but not the kind you would expect from someone that mere hours before finally got a piece of the fairytale she has always dreamed about. Instead, she stands with her hands fidgeting, her hair messed up and her face red and swollen by the multitude of tears she must have been crying. He steps up to her slowly and before he can get fully there, she is flush against his swaying form, holding on for dear life. Her sobs come out uncontrollably as her hands fist tightly the gray shirt that he is wearing. He wants to speak but decides against it because his mind cannot think of the right thing to say right now. Instead, he places his arms around her as tightly as he can without taking away her breath. He provides her strength, and his love unwavering as he holds his partner against him. They stay like this for what seems like an eternity until she pulls away. She looks into his eyes, she looks like she is in so much pain, and she must realize the same about him. She is searching for words; he can tell by the subtle arch in her eyebrow. Then her breath evens and her words escape. They come out at just barely a whisper, but he hears her.
"I couldn't do it, he wasn't you."
His breath hitches when the reality of her words come to light. He wants to smile, to thank all of the extraterrestrial powers that be. He wants to lay his soul bare to her and tell her everything that she has always deserved to hear from him. But as he stares into the most beautiful blues he has ever seen; he knows now is not the right moment. They will have plenty of time to speak tomorrow and for the rest of their lives for that matter.
What she needs now, what she has always needed is just him.