A/N: I spent last week watching Seasons 1 through 5, and I am not as angry with the final episode as I was when it first aired. A lot has changed for me. That personal bit aside, no one has proof-read this but me, it is a stand alone and I wrote it for me, because I couldn't get it out of my head.

Life goes on.

Most days go by without pause to think, to doubt, or to ponder about the past.

Those days are hard for the job, busy on the homefront, challenging at the very least, hectic perhaps.

The slow days are the hard ones.

They see each other every day.

They talk.

To outsiders, except for the obvious few formalities that came with this promotion and major but gradual adaptations for her, without her partner, nothing about them has really changed.

To them, everything has changed.

It was reasonable to think he needed time away from her in order to have a relationship with another.

And also reasonable to stop relying so much on him and make room in her life for someone else.

She had not lied: she wanted him to be happy. If Abigail made him happy, she could take a step back. It hurt, but she could give him that. Love hurts.

But there are moments. Small gestures that speak of a shared something. A pause and a knowing look. Unspoken longing and understanding. Hurt. Love. Unmeasurable gratefulness. No regret.

He watches her from his spot in the office. She looks far away, staring at the pencil holder mug he painted that now sits on her desk. The 10 year anniversary of their first meeting, to the day, he sat the mug beside her without a word.

She might not have looked like she cared or remembered such little details, but she remembers everything. How could she forget they day they met? The first case they worked together? The man that changed her mind about so many things. She had a list (a mental one) of important dates she shared with him, she just didn't say anything out-loud because that would be awkward. He knew.

They had made eye contact for a second, his hand on the mug on her desk, and a brief touch of their fingers as she took it from him to place at the other end of her desk. Saying so much without words.

Now he looks at her, deep in thought, or gone, he's not sure.

The rattle of a chair near the coffee maker brings her back to the present and their eyes meet. An instant. A smile. Small, half true and half… nostalgic.

They're content.

As happy as two people can be with the new necessary and constricting boundaries of their relationship.

They are still friends. They are still more than friends. They are still them. The way they feel about each other, that which can never be explained with words because calling it love seems not enough, is still there, and so is the feeling that neither the love not the pain will ever go away.