Please see part 1 for all disclaimers. As usual, I don't own the characters, I just want to play with them for a bit.

Thanks for reading!

Becky

PS-I've been told a tissue warning might be necessary here. J

Love's pleasures last but a moment,

Love's pain lasts a lifetime.

Saint John Perse

I sit at my desk, playing with the report I'm supposed to be working on. Since that night four weeks ago, I've tried to be more like my old self. My pre-Sydney self. I even allow myself to be dragged to a bar every now and again. Sometimes I even let myself have a good time. And then I go home and the reality of her absence overwhelms me.

I've gotten better at hiding the fact that I still crave her presence, her smile, her voice, her touch. Weiss tells me he's glad I've rejoined the land of the living. I just wonder if he actually believes it.

As hard as it is to go home or to even go to Sydney's, I think it's harder being here because I still expect to see her walk around the corner. I expect to see her chatting with Marshall or Dixon. I expect to see her arguing with Kendall or her father. I just expect to see her.

Lately, I've thought a lot about asking for a transfer. As much as I hate to admit Weiss is ever right about anything, I know I need to start moving on. And I'll never be able to do that here. Not here where Sydney's shadow still lingers.

A phone rings at Dixon's desk and I realize that the only thing I should be working on is that request for transfer. It's time. Pushing the file back on my desk, I close the document I had open and start a new one. Reaching for my coffee, I'm disgusted to find it's gone completely cold.

I grab the mug and go to get a fresh cup. But just as I reach for the coffee pot, I hear Dixon shouting for me and Jack. And then I hear him call for a trace. I leave the coffee without a second thought and run over, unsure of what's going on.

Only when Jack arrives at the desk does Dixon put his call on speakerphone. Through the static we are just barely able to make out the words. But the words aren't what's important. It's the voice. "Sydney?"

Pushing Dixon aside, I take the phone. Frantically, I ask where she is, if she's ok. The answers mean little; just hearing her voice is more than enough because it proves she's alive.

Marshall runs over, telling us the trace is complete just as the line goes dead. Ten minutes later, we are on the way to the warehouse, Jack and Dixon in the first car, Weiss and I in the second.

All the way there, all I can think about is the fact that it wasn't just me who heard her. We all did. And we all reached the same conclusion, so I know this can't just be my mind playing tricks on me. Weiss tries to caution me, tries to remind me of the photo from Monte Carlo, the woman in Rome. He reminds me of every dead end we've come up against, but I can only think about the fact that it was her voice and that the answers were in real time. It wasn't a tape. It couldn't have been.

Unlike the nights when we've returned from distant locations, the traffic today is bumper to bumper. And as the minutes pass, I play with the cross -my father's cross- which I've worn since she disappeared. And I pray that I'm right and Eric is wrong.

********

We finally arrive and it's all I can do to keep myself from rushing into the building, into what could be a trap. But when the single gunshot rings out, none of us hesitate. The hesitation comes a minute later when we stand on the other side of the gate looking at the woman slumped over in the chair, her medium-length brown hair cascading forward, covering her features.

Dixon is the first to step forward and as he does, I take a step back. And then I take another. And another. And then I'm back outside. I hear Weiss calling me but I continue walking, stopping only when I reach the car. I get in quickly and for once I'm glad Weiss has never broken his habit of leaving the keys in the ignition.

I start the car just as Eric runs outside. Putting it in gear, I don't even acknowledge that I've seen him. When I'm back on the highway, my phone starts to ring, but I don't answer. I already know it wasn't Sydney in that building. It was just another cruel joke.

The drive to Sydney's takes me forty-five minutes. If I'm lucky, I'll have an hour before Weiss and Jack show up looking for me. And that should give me just enough time to do what I need to do.

Today I don't have to search for the key. It's just there in my hand, and then it's in the lock, and then I'm inside. Unlike all the other times I've come here, I don't linger over memories. Not today.

I walk over to the desk and grab several sheets of paper and three envelopes. I walk over to the bar and sit down, retrieving a pen from my coat pocket. I quickly jot a note to Weiss, asking him to watch Donovan for a few days.

The one I write to Jack takes a little longer. I ask him to please understand why I need to do what I'm doing. And then I tell him that when I get back I'm going to ask for a transfer.

I sit staring at a blank sheet for the longest time before I finally start the third letter. By the time I finish, I feel dead. Like an automaton, I fold each sheet and place each in its respective envelope.

Grabbing them from the counter, I numbly walk to her bedroom. Placing the first two on the nightstand, I place the third on her pillow. I look around the room and this time all I see are four walls.

Reaching around my neck I undo the chain that hangs there and remove it. I do the same with the key on my key ring. I walk slowly to the bed and place both next to the envelope that already rests there.

I walk into the living room and move quickly to the front door. I know that my actions today mean that I will have to learn to live with the possibility of never knowing what happened to her. It means that I will have to learn to live again. I'm just not sure I'll ever be able to really let her go. Honestly, I don't know if I want to.

I reach the door and rest my hand on the door knob. I glance behind me, taking a good look around. And then I open the door walk out for the last time.