Hannah sketched Colby as he slept. He was sprawled across their bed, lying on his front. He'd just come off a tough case and she could tell he was exhausted. He was usually a light sleeper, and her movements around the room would have woken him on most nights. Of course, she thought bitterly, hobbling around on the crutches was hardly quiet. She woke him every night just getting up to go to the bathroom.

She sighed. Stop it, she told herself, negative thinking doesn't help. She continued to sketch quietly, the scratching of pencil on paper the only sound in the room. With each stroke of her pencil, the image of the man she loved came alive on the sketchpad, as she lovingly traced each muscle of his body.

He'd been training again, he said. Swimming with his trainer, who had signed up for a triathlon. She'd wondered about the trainer, but Colby hadn't elaborated. Well, it wasn't like she was going to be able to help him much with training anyhow, not even when she had full use of her legs. She shook her head, not liking the direction of her thoughts. There were very few days anymore when she didn't feel like a burden, when she felt that she didn't quite belong in his life.

She sighed again. Hannah looked critically at her sketch, and dropped the finished sketch on the table. Her sketchpad was filling up, as she slowly compiled memories of him. Moving as quietly as she could, she slipped into bed beside him. She snuggled against the warmth of his body, wondering how much longer she would be able to do so.

-----

Colby woke up quickly, as he always did each morning. He lingered a little longer, enjoying the feel of Hannah cradled against him. He saw the sketch she'd left on the table, and wondered at how tired he must have been, to have shifted positions without waking up. He gently caressed her cheek with his thumb, and lovingly traced the outline of her lips with his fingers. She rarely smiled anymore, and when she did, there were sad shadows in her eyes.

He kissed her tenderly on her forehead. And wondered what he could do to reach her. She was slowly drifting away from him, and try as he might, he couldn't figure out how to stop it. He'd hoped to spend a little more time with her, but he'd worked long hours on a tough case for several weeks.

She had slowly isolated herself from their circle of friends, burying herself in her own work at the store. She had continued with physical therapy, as she'd promised she would, but progress was slow, and she often seemed discouraged. She said very little when he got home, and was rarely awake when he left for work. He felt helpless, unable to bridge the ever-widening distance between them.

He cradled her close, wondering how much longer he would be able to do so.