He didn't know what he was doing there. This was a delicate job, better suited to anyone else but himself. He shouldn't have offered to do it, but Kim had looked so broken, so exhausted that he had volunteered without hesitation. She would be dealing with enough the next few days; she didn't need to walk into an apartment filled with memories.

Mrs. Taylor didn't want to set foot in her daughter's apartment, handing the job over to Kim. She walked in with Jimmy, opened the bedroom door and saw the bed, still wrinkled with the impression of Alex's body only a few days old, and burst into tears. Jimmy had to help her to the car and drive her back to the firehouse. And now somehow the job had landed in Ty's lap.

Ty didn't know where to start. Her smell had hit him almost the instant he stepped into her home; familiarity once again setting in. He threw his keys and jacket onto the dining room table, and made his way to her bedroom. The door was already open, so he ambled in, almost feeling like he was trespassing. Funny, he'd spent enough nights here to be comfortable with the place. But it didn't feel like a home anymore, not with it's owner gone. She took whatever warmth was left in it with her sudden departure. He made his way past the bed, the same spot that had made Kim fall to her knees and sob with the sorrow only a close friend could ever know, and stopped in front of the closet.

He listened for her, listened for the delicate shuffle of her feet across the carpet, waiting for her to stop him. "What are you snooping, Davis?" she would admonish, arms folded over her chest, a smile just tugging at the corners of her mouth, lighting up her blue eyes. He listened, but there was no shuffling footsteps, no husky voice offering conversation. He closed his eyes, willing himself to finish the job, willing himself to find the strength to continue. It's not like he hadn't done this before. When his father died, even though he was a young kid, he had helped his mother sort through his things. He knew what it felt like to throw away the past, knew when to give in and turn the page. Then why was it so hard to even think of opening her closet? Throwing out clothes that still smelled like her, touch things that had meant so much to her, pack away items to sit in their cardboard boxes collecting dust while they were forgotten?

Ty took a deep breath and turned the knob, yanking open the door. He started with her clothes, separating things into piles for donation, and things her mother might want. Next went the shoes, the bags, the bed linens and the extra curtains. He opened box after box, chose to keep some, others to go through with her mother later. He found Christmas cards, love letters from high school, pictures of family and friends. He spent two hours just sorting things out, then gave up and moved to her dresser. Half way through that he decided to move to the kitchen and toss out all the perishable items, keeping a few things for donation. He couldn't sit still, jumping from thing to thing, just wanting the job to be over.

A blinking light by the nightstand made him stop as he started to stand. Her alarm clock was flashing a neon green light across the carpet, emitting a soft tick tick tick sound. He walked towards it, intent on shutting it off when he realized that the light was from the CD player on her clock. He hit the play button, letting the CD continue from when it was paused the night before. She must have had fallen asleep before she shut the CD player off, and never got a chance to turn it off when she got home…

"No. No." he told himself "I said I wouldn't do this. She isn't mine to cry over, she isn't mine at all. Wasn't mine…" Ty cleared his throat, ignoring the urge to break down right there.

The sounds of a saxophone cut the air, drawing a small smile from Ty. Alex did love that jazzy style. She had commented on it when he took her to a jazz bar once, and he went out and found this CD for her. Linda Eder had some great jazz songs to her credit. Ty let the song play, opening her bedside draw and emptying more of Alex's things out…

I don't remember

How much I needed to be near you

And I can't close my eyes and hear you

No, no I simply don't recall our love at all

Ty kept sorting through her things, ignoring the ache in his heart, the stinging in his eyes. Pictures, letters, cards, a diary; he kept going through her things.

I don't remember

The way you filled my world with laughter

Or how I changed forever after

As I look back it's sad to see

My memory is failing me

He listened to the song, still looking through her belongings. He picked up the diary, flipped through it until he found a picture of himself and Alex. They were covered in mud, back when the fire department and police department had their football game. They were smiling at the camera, Ty looking down at Alex as she gave the camera a coy smile. He flipped the picture over where, in big bold scrawl read Ty and Alex in a heart. He smiled, thinking how much of a hopeless romantic Alex was, even if she refused to let anyone see the soft side of her. He sighed.

I don't see your face almost every place

I don't cry

I don't think of you and I don't wonder why

Cause day after day after day after day

I can't recall when you went away

Sitting back on the floor, letting his head brush the side of the bed, he remembered the way she had talked about their families meeting, and the way he had brushed her off as "one of the guys" to his mother. She was visiting him after he had been shot, and instead of being grateful he hadn't wanted his mother to know he was dating a white girl. As if it would matter, Alex would have won his mother's heart over in an instant.

I don't remember

A thousand little things about you

Like how I just can't live without you

No, no I simply can't recall why lovers fall in love at all

He didn't know what she saw in him honestly. He had messed it up real bad. She got cold after that, not that he blamed her. He took her trust and betrayed it, and he didn't deserve her. He kept a cool front with everyone, but on the inside he knew better. Knew how he hurt her. Even as she lay bleeding to death on the pavement, he couldn't say anything to her. In the end it was Carlos, of all people, who had consoled her. Even in the end, when her eyes were searching for a familiar face, he didn't step up and help her. No he never deserved her.

He let his head fall back, squeezed his eyes shut, not able to stand the pressure behind his eyes. He couldn't ignore their stinging anymore, the insistence of the tears. He finally let himself cry.

I don't remember

Try as I might

I don't remember

Each lonely night

I don't remember us at all