A/N: Thanks to everyone who said they'll be sorry to see the story end. Hard to believe, it's been going on so long, but I really appreciate it. I'll miss it too. Stories junket around in your head for so long that they become constant companions, and I always feel the loss when I close them, but stories are like children - no matter how much you love them, there comes the day when they need to leave the nest and stand on their own. Epilogue after this, and while it's got a lot of pages already, it's hard to know how long it will actually be in the end. Stay tuned.

Remember this scene is a continuation of the last one - really the second half, still in the same time.

Chapter 36

The next two-page spread was a series of photos of the barbecue, with himself now clean-shaven and hair trimmed, civilized and presentable. He peered closely at pictures of the neighbors - some of them were gone now, too. See, Mom? It happens to everybody - not just people in my job. It happened to you. Somehow, that seemed like some sort of sick and bitter joke - that she had been worried about losing him, and just the opposite had happened.

The next photo was Quantico again, but this time he stood with the instructors, to the side of the class, another carefully drawn arrow pointing to his head.

Surprisingly enough, he had liked teaching, and it really hadn't been all that different from teaching Charlie to ride a bike. It had felt a little funny to be addressed as "Special Agent" by students not all that much younger than he was, though, and he had wondered if this was how Charlie felt. But it was nice to be among people again. He was a social animal by nature, hadn't realized how much he had missed human interaction. And dating. He'd started dating again - other instructors, of course, not students, both from the FBI and the nearby DEA Academy, casually changing partners, making up for lost time.

He looked back at the photo. Two photos, actually, since he had done two seventeen week stints before the email had come from Madden, attaching a copy of an opening in Albuquerque and saying he'd be happy to recommend him if he was interested?

He'd looked the job over and done a little research on New Mexico. Not too far from California, but not too close either - warm and dry climate. California born and bred, he'd had enough of chilly-wet Virginia winters. As far as he was concerned, snow belonged in the mountains, within handy driving distance if you wanted to ski, but no closer than that. So he updated his resume and sent it along with Madden's recommend and one from the Academy. One month later, he was flying out for an interview. Two weeks after that, he was packing his bags.

He'd loved New Mexico - secretly thought that "Land of Enchantment" was the perfect name for it, loved the exotic blend of Mexican, Indian and Gringo cultures: flamenco music mixing with jazz, the stark desert landscape mixing with sudden flashes of color, hot red chili peppers mixing with almost everything. The climate was perfect for outdoor activities, he found he liked working as part of a larger team and…well. Still more dating. He turned into a dating machine. He had missed the company of women more than he could have imagined - felt like a man finally released from a two year fast.

He made a face. Now he wished he hadn't let it go to his head. If he hadn't, he might have realized sooner that what was just fun for him, was a whole lot more for Nikki Davis. Her hurt had sobered him up like a quick dunk in cold water. He had gone much slower after that.

He smoothed a hand over the next photo - a beautiful shot of the Balloon Festival, the wide-open blue sky dotted with a sea of multi-colored silks. Man, he missed that. He should travel down for the next one - eat some chilies, listen to a little flamenco. He noticed where his hand had landed, covering part of the photo, peeled it away and studied the smiling images underneath. He had taken things much slower, because by then he had met…Kim.

His fingers lingered on the edges of the book covers, toying with slamming them shut. It was certainly what he had done in his head. Well, tried to. Seeing Kim again a couple of years ago had shown him that he wasn't really over that one yet - not by a long shot.

Instead of slamming the book, he turned the page slowly. There they were, in a cantina. At a ballgame. At an awards ceremony. How many of these photos had he sent home, anyway? Guess I kinda tipped my hand on that one, huh, Mom? And I thought I was playing it so cool.

He had been promoted to team leader by then, and Kim was part of his team. Among other things. He smiled at the memory. They had tried to keep it quiet, but LEOs were notorious gossips, so when they suddenly had the same address, no one seemed particularly surprised. Except, maybe, for him. It had seemed so permanent - so - grown up.

He had loved waking up next to her in the morning, loved the scent of lotion and flowers and something indefinable that she left on the sheets, the way she would roll over next to him in her sleep and fit herself under his chin. It used to make him smile, even half-asleep. You were a great partner, Coop, he'd muse, but this is more what I had in mind - someone to wake up to, someone to come home to, someone to share your life with - not just your job and a couple of beers.

He turned the page. An article from the FBI website - how the heck had she found that? About his appointment as SAC. Just past it a number of other articles, from websites and newspapers - some he'd never even heard of - detailing cases solved by the Albuquerque FBI office. A tight band squeezed at his heart. Keeping tabs on me, Mom? He looked from one article to the next to the next. How much work did this represent on her part? Seemed like a whole lot.

He remembered getting the appointment to SAC. He'd been thrilled and terrified at the same time, but as long as he was free-falling, he'd decided to take another risk…and proposed to Kim two days later. She accepted. He was walking on air.

He'd thrived as SAC, despite missing the action and adrenaline rush of the field. He had leadership and organizational skills he'd only been half aware of, was fascinated to discover new, less physical talents he'd never suspected existed inside him at all. Life seemed magical for that time in the Land of Enchantment - one joy and triumph following another. He really thought he'd found a place to land and make his mark at last.

All it had taken was one phone call to make the floor drop out.

The photos and articles ended there, the rest of the pages empty. He closed the book gently and held it in his lap, noticed the light in the sky had changed, shadows lengthening across the grass, turning the waters of the koi pond murky.

Life is fragile. So is happiness. He couldn't believe he had let himself forget that, had let himself be lulled into a false sense of security. That day he'd made a promise to himself never to let it happen again.

He'd tried long weekends in LA at first, but the hectic schedule with all those hours logged on the red-eye was brutal, and it was hard to run an office from a distance. Even harder, it seemed, to run a relationship that way. He and Kim suddenly spent their scant time together fighting or sleeping. She no longer rolled over in her sleep and tucked herself under his chin - their two sides of the bed now seemed as far apart as…well, as far apart as Albuquerque and LA. And no matter which place he was, he always felt badly about not being in the other place, felt like he was always letting somebody down, his heart endlessly rent.

Gradually, it became increasingly clear that Mom was on borrowed time, not recovering, and while no one could be sure how much time, the thought that she might say her last good byes while he was in Albuquerque or hanging in Limbo on some flight between Albuquerque and LA was more than he could bear. With a heavy heart, he started looking into the possibility of a transfer to the LA office.

Once started, he did what he always did - moved forward without looking back. He couldn't afford to spend any time thinking about the loss of all he'd built and accomplished - he accepted a job as an LA team leader and refused to think of it as a step backward. After all, LA was the third largest office in the country - that came with its own cachet. He would learn to like it back there - he would make himself. Enchantment just wasn't in the cards for some people evidently.

Tentatively, he had invited Kim to come with him, but she had pointed out that she was just starting to make her mark and that it would be harder for her to replace her position. Numbly, he had nodded that he understood. He did, really - he'd known he was choosing a career girl. She shouldn't have to give up everything too, just because it would be nice for him to have her by his side.

They agreed to regular visits back and forth, but somehow that had never actually happened. Probably that should have been a hint, but he'd had other things on his mind at the time. His mother was dying. No matter how many times he told himself that, no matter how many times he saw her, frail and faded and breathing through a tube in her nose, he still had trouble believing it. His redoubtable mother: surely she would find a way to outsmart this, too - surely this would end with her laughing at them all for ever thinking otherwise. He clung to that in the fog of the months that followed.

He dumped his boxes from Albuquerque in the basement, out of the way, and moved back into his old room, met and organized his new team. The one bright spot was Terry Lake - his old student buddy from Quantico days - a welcome surprise addition to his team. Something about her calm, warm presence kept him sane, even on days when there were too many tragedies to be solved and not enough leads to solve them, when his phone calls to Kim went unanswered, when he couldn't seem to take a breath without the lingering smell of illness in his nostrils.

He found one of his mother's old sweaters in the closet in his room and he secretly clung to it, just so he could remember what she really smelled like. What she would smell like again, if he had anything to say about. Of course, he had been kidding himself - seemed to do a lot of that those days. His mother entered palliative care, and he requested a leave of absence.

Mom is going to die. The words had no meaning. Maybe that's why nobody said them, why they just hung in the air, misty and unreal, haunting them. He was still trying to convince himself of that, still trying to make it seem real, when he received the letter from Kim.

He'd known, he supposed, what it was right away, from the small, hard lump pushing against one corner of the envelope. But he read it over anyway, and then again, trying to make THAT seem real now. He still couldn't remember the actual words, just how they'd made him feel. Something about it being better this way (better for who?), and about how it would never work (hadn't it been working?) and about a Secret Service job she'd accepted in Washington. He had stared at the letter for a long time, twirling the small ring nervously around and around the tip of his finger (maybe a better ring…?) as though if he looked long enough, it would come to mean something different (maybe he could still try?).

He thought about telling someone about it - about asking what he had done wrong - if he should go after her? But who could he tell? His father was almost paralyzed with grief, and it would be cruel to drag him from his mother's side, even for a short time, at this point. Charlie was locked in the garage, deeply involved with some unsolvable equation, and no amount of coaxing, arguing or reasoning had made him so much as turn around. Don had worried at first how Charlie would feel if their mother died while he was still shut away, before he had a chance to say good-bye, but eventually he'd given it up. There were too many other places he needed to be - too many things that needed his attention. So he'd thrown the envelope, ring still inside, into one of the boxes in the basement and got busy with things. Before the week was out, his mother had slipped from his life as well.

For the next few days - he couldn't actually remember how many - he'd signed things, organized things, answered questions, made phone calls - things he knew how to do, was good at, could take refuge in - his own version of Charlie's garage, maybe. To anyone watching, he probably seemed like a conscious, living being, calm and in control, but he knew better. He was hollow, empty, an echo chamber. Look out, dead man walking.

At one point Dad roused enough to ask if they shouldn't ready some room for Kim before she came for the funeral? After all, his childhood room might be very well for him, but it wasn't really suitable for a lady. He had answered, in a surprisingly steady voice, that Kim would not be able to make the funeral. Dad had frowned and looked like he wanted to ask something, then thought better of it.

At the funeral, Charlie stood bewildered on one side of their father, while Don stood on the other, silent and dry-eyed. People assured him over and over that it was okay to cry, but they were wrong - wrong about it even today. The two most important women in his life were gone forever, just like that, leaving him crushed and lost and broken. If he started crying about it now, he might never stop.

He'd started looking for an apartment instead, found a small but promising one in a nice neighborhood. His father had ventured to ask again if Kim shouldn't get a look too before he signed the two-year lease? He had answered, very offhandedly he thought, that Kim would not be coming to LA. Dad had looked at him for a long time, then let the subject drop. They had never brought it up again.

Don closed his eyes against the glare of the low-hanging fireball the sun made in the sky. Probably…he thinks that I'm the one who broke it off. That I just couldn't do the commitment thing. Well, just as well.

'I always understood about your mother'…Kim had said that when they'd worked together on the counterfeiting case, as if she wanted to dig the whole thing up and rehash it all over again, right there in his office.

Sure. Great. Whatever. He hadn't allowed her to finish…didn't wait for what he assumed would be the inevitable rejoinder - that his mother wasn't the problem - he was. That he had been measured again and found wanting - okay for the short spin, just not good enough for the long haul. True or not, he didn't need to hear it. Really, denial was highly underrated.

It had seemed to set something in motion - a pattern of women leaving him…next Terry Lake, then Robin Brooks. Giving away his heart was apparently a bad policy - left him with nothing but a gaping cavity in the center of his chest. But just as long as he understood the rules, he could plan accordingly - he would be okay. Women leave you. See? He could be taught.

The familiar tongue click sounded at the back of his brain. He smiled a tiny smile despite himself.

"Or maybe…" he conceded aloud, "I just have really bad taste in women."

The tongue click came again, louder this time, and he smiled more broadly, not sure he hadn't been angling for that one.

Because he was wrong. He knew it, really. He had lost Kim, true, and Nikki and Terry and Robin and God only knew how many future others, but he would never, ever lose his mother. She had just moved on to one of Larry's other dimensional planes - a parallel one - never really far away from him. If he was quiet and concentrated, he could always sense her there.

Okay, Mom. Maybe it has nothing to do with my taste in women. Maybe… you're just a really tough act to follow.

And for a moment he was sure - sure - that that was her familiar scent carried on the early evening air…not the sick scent that had clung to her in her last months, but her real scent - the one captured in the old sweater he had secreted. He kept his eyes closed and willed it to stay with him.

"Hey."

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there with his eyes closed - possibly, he had even drifted off to sleep again.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

What, did Charlie and Dad practice this shtick? If not, then they had been living together WAY too long. He squinted one eye open, noticed that pink was beginning to streak the sky. "Who says I'm alone?" He could just follow a Charlie-shaped blur as it dropped into the chair Dad had abandoned.

"Well, yeah, the koi…they don't count."

Sure they do. Of course they do. He noticed the bucket of koi food Charlie set down between the chairs.

Charlie followed his eyes. "Dad figured the koi would be hungry by now."

For a moment he toyed with the idea of suggesting that he'd had company other than the koi - get Charlie all outraged and going on one of his lectures - that could be pretty entertaining. But after some reflection, he decided he didn't really have the energy for it. Besides…he wasn't ready for anybody to tell him that it had all been his imagination.

"Here." A plate of cookies waved under his nose. "He figured you'd be hungry too. He's been very strong, restraining himself from running out here with a sandwich because he didn't want to disturb you. So let him off the hook and at least have a cookie. Mrs. Nussbaum made them."

Of course she did. Don obediently reached for a cookie. "Maybe the old proverb's wrong - maybe the way to a man's heart isn't really through his stomach."

"Maybe." Charlie bit into a cookie of his own. "But I think she's hoping the way to this man's heart is through his sons' stomachs, since activity has really kicked up since you've been staying here. Either that, or she actually has a crush on you."

Don choked on his cookie, spraying crumbs. Charlie obligingly patted him on the back until he could breathe again. "Give me a break!" he managed when he could speak. "I'm trying to eat here!"

Charlie grinned. "So what are you doing out here? It's getting dark."

"Nothing, just - I was looking at this old album. One of Mom's - Dad found it."

Charlie took it from him, flipped through the first few pages in the fading light, nodding. "Oh, yeah. I remember this one."

Don tried to catch a glimpse of his face in the gloom. "You do?"

"Sure. She was working on it when I started teaching at CalSci. We'd sit at the dining room table together sometimes, her working on the album, me working on my lesson plans."

"No kidding." Don tried to picture that, found he liked the image. "I don't know where she got a lot of the stuff in there - I sure didn't send it to her."

Charlie shrugged. "Well, you know Mom-the-lawyer - brilliant at research, lots of connections."

"Yeah." Yeah, he did know that. He just hadn't expected her to…he made a face. He didn't mean 'to bother', exactly…it was just - a new idea, that was all.

"She'd read the stuff out loud sometimes. She always sounded so proud."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think I was a little jealous."

That stopped him. Charlie, jealous of him. They really must have wandered onto a different dimensional plane. "Charlie - " he began. "You must know - I mean, she bragged about you, like, constantly - "

"I know, I know. It's just - this was - different, I don't know."

"Always is, I guess."

"I guess." Charlie offered him another cookie, took one for himself. "I was her - her wunderkind, I guess - I know that. But you were like her…Donnie. Her big, brave hero. Sounded like something I'd rather be sometimes."

Don remained silent, biting off the edge of his cookie. Huh. So why had he never known that? Funny how sometimes you couldn't see what was right in front of you.

"Hey! I sent you out there to feed the koi, not fill up on cookies! Better get in this house before my lasagna burns or you'll be stuck eating take out!"

Don jerked upright and a bite of cookie went down the wrong way.

"Whoa!" He felt Charlie's fist pound between his shoulder blades. "Hey, take a breath! You okay?"

Don coughed again to clear his throat, pressed his hands over his face, was stunned when they came away streaked with dampness. It was the coughing - his eyes were watering from coughing. "I'm fine," he croaked, holding himself very still and peering surreptitiously into the gathering dusk.

"Yeah?" There was a slightly anxious note in Charlie's voice and his head bent close, bobbing in the darkness. "Then let's feed the koi and go eat ourselves, okay?"

"Yeah." Don eased himself carefully to his feet, still hunting among the shadows for…? He wasn't quite sure what. "Don't want to get stuck with take out." Oh, God.

He dragged his eyes reluctantly from that indistinct landscape, where earth and sky blended together in the twilight, half-expecting to see a camera flash among the trees. The air was still, except for the chirpings of the night creatures. Nothing there. And yet…He pulled in a breath, let it out in a soft, slow whoosh, accepted a scoop of koi food from Charlie.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." He sprinkled the koi food on the water, just barely aware of the bright movements to the water's surface, his eyes lingering on the trees. "Just hungry, is all." He dropped the scoop in the bucket, turned to stare at the yellow squares of light that marked the house. "Let's go. I've got a yen for some homemade lasagna."

TBC