A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, things got in between. A new story started, and a lot of work to do. The new story, Gateways of Bereavement, will eventually air on , but for now it's a Work in Progress on RFF. Thank you for reading this one, and I hope you enjoy.

As she closed the door of her bedroom he stood on the corridor, pondering over the shift in her behavior ever since their conversation in the Bullpen earlier. Finally he turned and walked down the stairs to the living room, where he -after a little investigation- found a bottle of 1987 Laphroaigh Whisky. He took a glass and poured himself some of the bright light-yellow, almost whiteish colored liquid. He let it spin in the glass as he stared at it, his mind replaying the night's events and conversations.

He took a sip and the Whisky burned its way down his throat, the lingering briny taste, a bit of smoked peat tickling his tongue. He leaned backwards on the couch, his mind constantly in rewind and fast-forward as he absently took another sip.

'I feel hunted, scared and unsure. I mean...'

'I know.' She looked at him. 'You do? I don't think you feel the same...'

He took another sip as he stared in the distance, not really seeing anything.

'Hey, I was in that car too, remember?' She frowned. 'What? No, no that's not what I mean, I mean, you have had military experience, you...', she hesitated, 'you...can hear those kind of things...'

"NOW-NIGHT YOU THINK SAME?". She nodded. "I never felt I 'missed' something. So I always answer 'No' whenever people ask: 'Don't you miss hearing things, music or voices?' How can I miss something I never have known?"

He remembered he had rubbed his chin, pondering.

"I sense a 'but' coming" She smiled a thin smile. "RIGHT YOU. NOW-NIGHT ME THINK 'IF' HEARING ME, HAPPEN WHAT FINISH?"

"You still would have raced off in a car with me," he had joked a little, "only difference would have been the sound making it more scarier."

She shook her head. 'That's what I was afraid of…'

'Why would you be afraid of something hypothetical?'

It slowly began to dawn onto him what she could have meant, but only now.

'You don't understand…..'

'I try to, but you're not giving me much to go on…'

'It's something that is what makes me, me and you, you.'

He sighed. How could he not have heard what she had tried to say?

'You're getting more confusing with every minute,' he had said, jokingly. At least to him.

Then she had shied her eyes away. 'You know what? Forget I ever brought it up…'

He finished his glass, and poured a new one, going over their conversation over and over again, until exhaustment finally overwhelmed him too and he fell asleep.

oOo

Sometime during the night, Sue had come down the stairs and found him sitting on the couch, partly slumped. She walked over to him and put him in a more comfortable position, acting carefully not to wake him up.

It was obvious to her he had been sitting there ever since she went to bed, wondering what it was that had made her sad. I will tell you, when time's ripe, why I felt so down. Why it is something so important and far-reaching for me...I hope you understand...

She brushed back her hair over her ears as it stroked past his cheek. God, I love him so much, every time my body aches for him, to hold me, to make love to me...Then she took a blanket and laid it over him, to give warmth. With tender eyes she let her thumb slide down his cheek, slowly, lovingly.

Where have they made you? Why did you choose me to be with when you could've had any other woman... She sighed, leaned over to him and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. 'Sleep well, my love,' she said softly.

He was still asleep on the couch the next morning in the same position where she had left him. Moving carefully to avoid making too much noise, something she figured she undoubtedly made whilst being in the kitchen, she made herself some tea and toast. Still in her morning attire she walked to the garden-doors.

The morning sun was about to ascend over the Bay. The bright orange-red rays dancing over the waves. She opened the doors and sat on the verandah. The wind had died down, only strong enough to move the few leafs on the surrounding birches and beeches, letting the branches of the pine trees sway slowly. The sun's rays were playing with the waves, rolling over them, breaking into a thousand more as the water rolled ashore. And the water played with the rays, ducking under them, letting them catch her as the wave grew.

She listened to them, heard their laughter as they tumbled over each other, listened to the trees as they swayed graciously to a song as old as earth itself.

Her brother had once tried to tell her how the wind rushed through the trees, he visualized the sound with his hands. Ever since she heard the creaking of the old oaks, the rattle of the leaves in a strong breeze, the howling of an autumn storm. A smile had crept on her face as she drank her tea. Levi had followed her out too, and lay curled up next to her feet, staring at the bay.

'Don't you miss to hear those sounds?' people asked time after time. What do you mean 'miss?', I can hear those sounds too. With my eyes. She let her eyes travel over the surroundings, the grayish outline of another island in the Bay. The sun had become more brighter and had climbed, the very top of the golden sun peeked just over the horizon. We see things different, how many people can hear the beauty of a rising or sinking sun? The game of the tide of the sea, the symphony of swaying trees, the dark thunder of rain clouds rolling in?

As a child she spent hours like this, alone yet at the same time surrounded by friends. Who took her for who she was, who never mocked her, who talked to her in a language she understood. Would she ever be able to tell someone else how the rhythm of raindrops in a pool could trickle down her spine?

She took another sip of her cooled tea and her thoughts went back to the man sleeping on the couch. Yes, I have someone I can tell...