It's time to tell you about Hank's feelings, his pain and his worries.

Chapter 7

After leaving the hospital, Hank sat in his car for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He had to think about how to proceed. He wondered what he should do next.

Kim had told him that she wanted to go home. Only, for Kim, home was actually his house by now and had not been her apartment for a long time. But Hank knew she had been talking about her apartment. Her apartment, where so many of her clothes and personal items were already missing. So many things that had already found their way into his house, into his closets.

And he would have to change that, unfortunately. Before she was released. Kim could not return to an empty apartment. To an apartment that clearly showed she hadn't stayed there in months.

With a heavy heart, he started his car and drove to his house.

He would pack up Kim's things and take them back to her apartment. Well, there was nothing else left for him to do. Except to tell her the truth. To tell her that they had been happy together for months, that they loved each other.

But he couldn't. He shouldn't. Because it was better that way. Because Dr. Abrams had said so. And maybe, maybe Kim would be able to remember him again very soon, and her things would return to their rightful place in his house.

But first, he had to pack everything up and move it back to Kim's apartment.

Actually, Hank had thought it would be easy, fold things and put them in the box. But when Hank had packed the first clothes into the box, his eyes fell on the negligee in his bed. The piece of satin that peeked out from under the covers.

Hank felt the lump in his throat as he reached for it. Slowly he lifted the negligee and smelled it. Smelled the sweet perfume that Kim loved so much. And the memories of the happy moments when he had held Kim in his arms threatened to wash over him like a wave over a drowning man. Hank's hand clenched into a fist in the piece of fabric.

No, he couldn't. He didn't want to. He didn't want to just put the memories of their relationship in a box. Kim just had to remember. She had to remember him and their love. Dr. Abrams be damned - he would head over there now and tell her everything. He would tell Kim about the many nights they had spent together. And about how he had brought her breakfast in bed. He would tell Kim about the trips they had taken. The three days in Philadelphia. And the plans to go to Boston. He would tell Kim that he loved her. That he loved her like he hadn't loved anyone in a long time.

And he was halfway down the stairs, still holding the negligee in his hand, when he heard the knock on his door.

Al, his best friend was standing outside, a six-pack of beer in his hand.

Before Hank could say anything, Al's eyes fell on the piece of fabric in Hank's hand. On Kim's negligee.

At first Al wanted to joke, but he'd seen the look on Hank's face whenever someone talked about Kim Burgess over the past few days. And then there was that moment at the precinct when the young cop had been shot. Hank's whole demeanor. It had made Al realize what he'd been overlooking lately. And instead of making a joke, he looked at his friend with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"It's Burgess's, isn't it?"

Hank just nodded.

"And if I go into your bathroom, there's her toothbrush and perfume?" concluded Al.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"A while."

"Oh, Hank, why didn't you say something?" Al sighed. He could understand, after all. Sort of, anyway. He knew Hank had clear rules for his team - no relationships within the team. Then again, it had worked for Jay and Erin. A relationship. And Hank had even approved of that. So why not for himself? So why didn't Hank own up to the fact that he was in a relationship with this young woman?

"Because it's something that's between Kim and me. I wanted, well we, we didn't want to share our love. It was something that was just ours. The two of us," Hank then confessed.

This relationship, the one between Kim and him, he had never felt so alive. Well, not in the years after Camille's death, anyway. It was as if Kim had made the pain that had gripped his heart in a tight grip grow smaller. Smaller and smaller. Until it had been only a faint throbbing.

Until now, at least, because now his heart had a new wound, an even bigger one. And Hank wasn't sure his heart would ever recover from this pain.

Meanwhile, the two men sat in his living room. And as Al let his gaze wander around the room, he noticed the little things that indicated the presence of a woman. The women's magazine peeking out from under the daily newspaper. The glass coasters on the table. The bouquet of fresh flowers in the vase. The pillows on the sofa.

How had he missed all that?

"And now I'm packing up her things. I have to take them back to Kim's apartment. So that when she's released, everything will be back in its place. Where it belongs," Hank then said.

"You don't think she'll remember?"

"I -" Hank lowered his eyes, "Every time I go to the hospital to see her, I wish for nothing more, that she would smile at me. That she'll tell me she remembers us. And every time, I'm disappointed. And, maybe, maybe it's better that way."

Toward the end, Hank had grown quieter and quieter.

The last few days he had always wondered if it wouldn't be better if Kim couldn't remember. What if she forgot for good how happy Hank Voight had made her. The way he had made her heart beat faster. Of loving her so much. Like no man before. Who knows, maybe it was better if Kim couldn't remember this man.

"Come on, I'll help you," Al said then and stood up.

He didn't have to say what he would help Hank with. It was obvious as it was. Their friendship didn't need a lot of words. They understood each other just like that. And that's why Al still couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed all these months. That he hadn't realized that his best friend and Kim Burgess were a couple.

Together, the two men went back to Hank's bedroom.

"Well, I'll keep my hands off Burgess' underwear drawer, that's your job," Al tried a joke to lighten the somber mood.

The two of them quickly managed to remove all traces of Kim Burgess from the house.

There was nothing to indicate that Kim had lived here in Hank's house. Every article of clothing had been packed away. Every picture put away. Everything was gone. Just like Kim's memory.

And just as he hoped Kim's memory would come back, Hank hoped the things would soon be put back in their place. Back to their place in HIS house.

"You want me to come with you?" asked Al, after all the things were stowed in Hank's car. I mean, who would have guessed that an entire relationship could fit into three boxes and three bags?

"I'll have to do that on my own," Hank declared.

And so Al let him drive. Even though he actually would have preferred to accompany Hank. But maybe his friend was right and he had to do it alone. Only if Al had known what kind of emotions overwhelmed Hank when he entered Kim's apartment, he would have accompanied him.

Once inside Kim's apartment, Hank placed the mail on the small table by the door before slowly walking through the rooms. It was as if he was trying to memorize it carefully one last time. As if he wanted to remember the moments they had shared. Of how they had made pancakes together in Kim's kitchen. Kim had been standing at the stove when Hank had stepped up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. And for a moment he thought he heard her squeal as he had breathed a kiss on her neck.

Hank shook his head, as if he wanted to get rid of the memory. As if he too wanted to forget their relationship and the wonderful moments they had shared. Too bad it was so hard for him. Much like in his house, he could spot clues to their relationship in every nook and cranny of Kim's apartment. His razor in her bathroom. A pair of his socks in the laundry basket.

He would take all those things home with him. And leave Kim's things behind instead.

Hank put the box in front of the bed and started putting things back in their place - the book back on the nightstand, her underwear back in the drawer. And slowly, Kim's apartment filled up with her things again. If Hank hadn't known better, there was nothing indicating that Kim hadn't been in her apartment for ages.

The last thing Hank needed to do was to change the sheets on the bed, which was quickly done.

In fact, Hank should leave now. Hang the key back in its place and pull the door shut behind him. Oh, he should leave the memory behind. He should give Kim the chance, yes to do what, actually? Hank still didn't know what would be better. That Kim remembered, him and their love, or that she would forever forget all about him. Hank had no illusion that living with him, with his past, was not easy.

But Hank knew he couldn't leave. One last time, he wanted to be close to her. Somehow, anyway. One last time. Tonight, he wanted to delude himself that everything was fine. That he was still with the woman he loved. Well, he still was. Only she couldn't remember him.

Anyway, tonight he would stay here. Sleep in Kim's bed. Alone. Just like he would do every night in the future.

Until Kim would remember him and their love again.