{A Few Weeks Later}

I don't believe Hanna ever quite got over his loss, as though Claus and Ruairi were silently tacked on to the long list of scars he kept from the world. But I was content - it was a secret I knew, and when Hanna was feeling distressed about its resurfacing, I could help him through it. He still visited the park every day after that, stayed there for a few hours, and then would leave again and go on about his day. I would put my hand on his shoulder, mutter his name, would inquire about how well he was, but he only shrugged me away or ignored my call. And although I admit I was slightly offended, I respected Hanna's want for solitude nevertheless. So everyday I would wait for my short friend outside the park gates, but not before escorting him to the hill. Until one day, I think Hanna reached a crossroads, or something along those lines. When finally we had reached the top of the hill, Hanna stood shivering in the thick snow, but when I turned to leave, he tugged on my sleeve to stop me.

"Wait, Beethoven...Can we talk?"

I blinked, turning back to face Hanna. "Of course."

"I've been, well, ignoring you. Sorry, Hank, I guess I'm just used to doing this alone, or something."

A quiet wind, not unlike the whistling breeze of a few weeks prior, rushed past us. Hanna's hair whipped around his face before settling when again the silence greeted us. I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Hanna. Don't apologize."

Hanna smiled back, although it was a half-hearted effort. I felt slightly relieved; he was finally talking again. Maybe he would begin to eat again, too? I had to encourage him.

What was he like? Claus?"

"He was...A good friend. In the beginning. He would talk to me when Ruairi was too...Drunk, I guess...You would have liked him, Steve."

"You think so?"

"Yeah - he had that facetious sense of humor...You two would've gotten along great. He used to read to me all the time."

I chuckled quietly, and Hanna followed suit. Soon we were laughing and smiling, enjoying the memories of Hanna's brother and best friend. I didn't dare ask him about Ruairi, because Hanna deserved room. Room to let his smiles grow, to recover.

And so visiting every day became every week, until it was once a month, and then finally there was a single day on our calendar dedicated to Claus, marked in an electric-blue cross. We would visit the hill on that day, the day of Claus's passing, and mourn him. We would stand there, sometimes for fifteen minutes, or perhaps thirty, however long Hanna needed. On good days, when Hanna was strong enough, we would even visit Deimos's home atop the closed apartment building. Though we rarely saw the hunched man, when we did, he was quick to get out of our way.

But yesterday was an exception. The other day Deimos saw me and beckoned me forward, although before I moved, I looked to Hanna for approval, and he nodded silently. But before I could even so much as open my mouth to speak, Deimos dug his stubby hand into his pocket and pulled out a few poorly-folded sheets of paper. He smoothed them out before gingerly handing them to me. Before I looked down at my 'gift' I sent a questioning gaze his way.

"I found 'em in his pockets. That man's. I dunno what they're 'bout, but I thought yah might've wanted 'em."

I raised a brow, but I didn't ask why he had rifled through Ruairi's pockets. I waited until the man left, waddling off in an odd fashion, watching after him as he did so. Finally looking down at the papers, I realized they were letters. Most were addressed to Hanna, although several had initials I was unfamiliar with. I looked over my shoulder to my friend, who was clearly occupied with his own wandering thoughts. He trusted me enough not to glance over his shoulder constantly, (assuming he could even see past them) so should I show him the letters? They could contain something so terrible, that it could throw Hanna back, waste all my precious progress. I shook my head. No. He had to see. I tapped Hanna's shoulder, and he turned to see me, smiling again. When he saw the papers I held out, he took them with piqued curiosity. I watched as his expressions changed during the course of the first letters, and as he finally became content at the last one. He folded them up, but before he stowed them into his pocket, he glanced up at me. A smile grew on his face again. A real one.

"You should read this one. Go ahead - I don't mind, Mick."

I took the papers, but not without a slight hesitation. I unfolded the yellowing paper and began to let my eyes dance down the page of quickly-scrawled cursive handwriting.

Hanna -

Work has really gotten rough, but don't worry, I'll hold out. I sent Claus to keep an eye on you, so you'd better thank him. With words.
Anyhoo, I hope to see you soon, Hanna. Check up with Worth for me, would you?

Roo.

I then read the second, although to whom it was written was a mystery.

E.C. - December 3

I miss you, just as much as I miss Hanna. I may not have been able to give up a job for you two, but at least I didn't leave him willingly. Love, you and I both know he wouldn't have to live with your sister if you weren't so damn stubborn. She isn't even married to that man yet, and Hanna could live with you. I just hope you know you've torn the family in half. Hanna's going through hell, wondering who his mother is, and you haven't even visited me. Why don't you answer him, at least?

Ruairi

At first, I did not understand. What significance did this letter hold over the ones addressed to the second person? What were they again, PC? Hanna smiled at my confusion, and I handed the letter back to him.

"Claus was wrong...Ruairi didn't hate me. He wanted me to live, so he made Claus a ghost...To watch over me..."

I let the truth sink in. Ruairi was willing to sacrifice an infant for his son's well fare? That was certainly a touching thought, but that also meant we had sent him to death under false pretences. I closed my eyes tight as a memory nagged in the back of my mind. Hanna had said something about not wanting to be the one to kill Ruairi but if he didn't...What? If he didn't, what would have happened? I opened my mouth slowly, and quickly decided in those agonizing minutes whether or not to bring this thought to light.

I couldn't. Perhaps Hanna already knew it, maybe he just didn't want to say it. No, I suppose it was better left unsaid. But Hanna was already looking up at me, as though waiting for me to speak, so I picked a second question that stood prominent in mind.

"Who's E.C., then?"

"Elisabeth Cross - my mother...She hanged herself when I was a baby...I guess it messed him up pretty bad."

I nodded in agreement, and Hanna and I watched as the late-winter sky slowly became black. He looked up at the clouds with a smile on his face. Not his usual smile, but the smile one might see if their friend had all his questions answered.

As time continues to wear on, I watch as Hanna slowly becomes the man he was before we was ever ill, or perhaps a better person than before. Winter is turning to spring, and with the blooming flowers come new cases, and a new chapter in Hanna's story. I'm only glad to be there with him, for better or for worse.

{End}

That's it. Finally. I finally finished a story.

Yep, I'd never finished anything before this. Actually, I almost didn't finish this one. I'm glad I had you guys to help me.

Credit:

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, by Tessa Stone, who is really awesome.
Claus, Ruairi, and Deimos, belong to me, as well as the fic.

Musical Muses:

Float On, Modest Mouse
Company II, Philip Glass
Locked In a Room, Oren Lavie
And just about everything by TSO.

Special Thanks:

To Kirsten-Korona, because sometimes I'm speaking in my own language.

And to everyone who reviewed and/or read my story! I'll see you again real soon!