Author's Note: As I stated in the summary, this is a WIP that was created 20 years ago but which has been fairly and diligently worked on for about a year now. However, I am having a hard time getting the chapters up to a finished state, so I'm hoping if I post them here and force myself to adhere to a weekly cadence, then I might actually finish it. If by some miracle you are actually reading this and find anything of value in any part of it, please feed the fire and leave a comment, even if it's just to say you like it. When completed, it will be uploaded to AO3 in its entirety.

Next chapter out by October 11.

I - Ashes

"Monica, it's John.… I need you to get to the Hoover Building as fast as you can. Follmer shot Regali."

"I'll be there in 15." I could hear the rattle of her keys through the phone.

"Monica. He did it. He confessed to me. And then Follmer shot him. He's dead. I couldn't…"

"Keep talking, John. I'll keep you on speaker while I drive. Tell me what happened."

I told her everything and didn't hang up until she was in front of me.

All week, Monica had refused to leave my side, not that I had pushed her away. We'd spent the week writing our reports, giving our statements, and sitting through our respective depositions for the current FBI matter with Follmer, before flying up to New York on Thursday, meeting up with Barbara and a few of my NYPD buddies to officially close out Luke's case. Monica didn't need to be there, but she insisted – she wanted to see it through to the end. I didn't argue; I knew I needed her to keep me tethered through the whole thing.

Now, if I'm being honest, she'd been doing that sort of thing since the day she entered my life, but she definitely kicked it up a few notches with the gravity of that weeks' events. It was the smaller things, though, that stuck out – bringing me coffee, reminding me to eat the sandwiches she kept snagging from the lunch cart, once stepping out for a noticeable amount of time only to return with two Polish sausages and a proud grin, proofing and editing my write-ups that I was too emotionally strung up to reread, handling the travel arrangements to the city, and offering up a much needed smile whenever I looked to her.

The Friday night after all the Regali business had been put to bed, I was home attempting to find ways to occupy my time and unwind. Our new normal was to grab a beer after finishing up the work week, but Friday had been rough for her, stepping right back into the office only to receive an oral reprimand for her failure to report what she'd witnessed Follmer doing three years earlier in New York. It was the only blemish on her otherwise spotless record, and though we both knew it was just a slap on the wrist, it hit her hard and she wasn't in the mood for company. As much as my pessimism wanted to convince me she was tired of my company, I suspected it had a lot more to do with regrets about Follmer than anything else. So I found myself alone on a Friday night, feeling a bit lost after everything that had gone down, and intensely missing my regular Friday evening wind down at the bar with Monica. That's when my phone rang.

"Hello John." At this point, I'd spent more time with Barbara in the last two weeks than I had in the last seven years, yet talking with her still felt like walking on eggshells. This was even worse because Barbara never called me.

"Hey Barbara. How you doing?" I asked casually, as though that would soften whatever she had to say.

"I wanted to speak with you about Luke's ashes," she said, cutting straight to the chase.

I felt a chill go over my body. You wanna talk about a hard thing to figure out in a divorce – who gets custody of your child's remains has to be at the top of that list. Somehow I'd been the one to walk away with them, but then, I'd also been the one who refused to scatter them after the funeral as Barbara had wanted to do. Now I knew exactly what was about to be asked of me.

"You think it's time, don't you?" I asked solemnly.

"Yes. You've solved it. It's over," she said, her voice tired. "I want to do it this weekend if possible. Sunday."

I nodded, not that she could see me, but I certainly didn't have words at the moment as my chest constricted and my eyes began to burn.

"John?" she asked after I didn't respond.

"I'm here."

"I think you should bring Monica."

"Why in the world would I bring Monica?" I asked, my sorrow immediately sidetracked.

"Because you're going to need her."

"Yeah, like a sharp stick in the eye," I answered with an anger that had sprang out of nowhere.

Barbara didn't reply, but let me sit there stewing until I started to feel guilty. I wasn't mad about the thought of bringing Monica; I was embarrassed that my ex-wife could somehow sense that I would want her to be there.

"I don't think that's how you really feel," she finally said.

"No, it's not," I admitted, sighing heavily. "But Barbara, this isn't for her. This is a family thing."

"I'm not saying she should be out there with us, but for after. For your own sake... and hers."

There was no way she could mean those last two words the way I was hearing it, so I went with the only logical interpretation. "Because she's been there since the beginning?"

She was silent again for a long time, but I could hear her inhale and exhale sharply on the other side, clearly annoyed at something, which was most likely me. "Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why she's been there the whole time?" she asked. " Do you really think it's simply because she feels loyal to Luke's case, or do you think maybe… maybe she has feelings for you?"

I couldn't answer. I didn't want to answer.

"I'm not telling something new, am I?" She honestly sounded shocked that her former-detective, current-employee-of-the-Federal-Bureau-of-Investigation, ex-husband would miss something that seemed so obvious.

I sighed heavily again. "No."

"Is it one-sided then?"

That was a hell of a question to hear from a woman I'd been married to for nearly nine years. There was still a thread of loyalty connecting me to her that the divorce could never sever. There was no way I could be expected to reply truthfully, so I held my tongue.

"I'm not upset, John," she continued, taking my silence to mean, correctly, that it was very much not one-sided. "She's a good person, and you deserve to be happy. So, please, bring her."

"I'll think about it," I said reluctantly.

"I feel like you've been thinking about it for years. Just bring her. Because you shouldn't be alone after this."

For years? I thought. How in the world did she know I'd been thinking about Monica for so long? The guilt over what she might have seen throughout the years began eating at me, and I needed desperately to end the calls. "Alright, I'll ask her," I said, hoping my tone conveyed my reluctance to hurt her by bringing her possible replacement around.

Barbara seemed content, and we worked out a time, though the place was a given.

I knew that if I didn't call right away, I probably wouldn't call until 10 minutes before I needed to leave on Sunday, and I also wasn't ready to fully take in what was going to happen in less than 48 hours. Monica answered after the first ring with a slightly more exhilarated "John!" than I felt I deserved from anyone.

"How are you doing? Feeling any better?" I asked delicately, not quite ready to jump into the task at hand, and knowing better than to ignore the fact that the last time I'd seen her that day she'd been clearly beaten down.

"About the reprimand? Not my best day at work, but it was deserved. I failed in my duties, and who knows what the full fallout of it has been." Despite not sounding terribly upbeat, I could tell she was in better spirits than before.

"Have you heard anything new about Follmer?"

There was a pause, and I could almost hear the look she was giving me. "You called to talk about him? I definitely do not want to talk about him." She was uncharacteristically grumpy all of a sudden, her fairly good mood ruined in an instant thanks to my dumb ass.

"Fair enough. I don't either. I called because… Well… I wanted to ask… you see, Barbara said… uh…" I stumbled, realizing that I had not thought out how to ask her yet.

"Mmhm. So we are talking about the exes tonight. I'm going to need a beer first, John." Though nothing in her tone suggested humor, I couldn't help but chuckle, thankful for the little break in my heavy task.

"Nah. Look, Barbara and I… we're going up to Montauk…" I paused, trying to stifle the grief that was suddenly clawing at me again. "To release Luke's ashes on Sunday. I wanted to see what you were up to that day."

"Absolutely nothing at all if you need me." That was the Monica I needed, the one that immediately dropped whatever burdens she was carrying to help me with the heaviest burden of all.

"Yeah, I mean, you've been there through it all, and I guess, it would be nice to have company on the drive."

"Of course, John. Just say when," she answered readily, and suddenly things seemed a little less dire.

I spent a lot of time with Luke's ashes that weekend, and Sunday morning, I brought them down to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. Sitting before them, my elbows on my knees, I forced myself to take stock of everything that had happened since he'd come into the world 16 years earlier. The tears came easier than they had for a long time, knowing that soon I would no longer be able to hold onto this last part of him.

Monica showed up early, and though I'd wiped away the tears, there was no hiding the grief I'd been drowning in since hanging up with her Friday night. "Oh god, I'm sorry I'm so early. I should have known you needed more time," she apologized. "I'll run out and grab us some coffee for the road, ok?"

"No," I said quickly, grabbing her arm to stop her from turning on her heel. "It's ok. Really."

She studied my face a moment, trying to see if she should trust my words, and stepped inside. Her eyes fell immediately upon the urn, which she hadn't seen since Luke's funeral. "Oh, John," she said, turning to me, her eyes full of sympathy, and I thought she must have had no idea I was the one still holding onto it. She placed her hand on my face,and I leaned into it, squeezing my eyes shut to keep from sobbing again. When tears escaped, she brushed them away and didn't let go until I could look at her again and signaled that I would be alright. I was close to all cried out, and right then, I just needed the comfort that came with her presence.

Not sure what to say, but sure that she understood on some level what I was feeling, I took her hand and led her to the couch. "May I?" she asked, and though I didn't have a clue what she was going to do, I nodded. Without letting go of me, she placed her other hand on the urn and closed her eyes, as though in prayer, for some time. When she opened them again, she too had fresh tears, and pulled her hands away to dry her eyes.

Then, looking at me hard, the little line between her eyebrows so sharp, she spoke. "I know today is going to be incredibly difficult. Whatever you need from me, just ask. It doesn't matter what. I can do the driving, or I can just talk and distract you the whole way, or I can still go get that coffee and give you more time alone with Luke. You can change your mind on me a million times. You can yell in my face or ignore me. Whatever you need to do to get through today."

I shook my head. "No. I just want your company. And… maybe you could hold on to him for me. He deserves to be held, not sitting on the floor of my cab."

She was tearing up again. "I would be honored."

I wiped my eyes again, but managed a smile of thanks. "And coffee's a great idea, but I think we should pick it up together."

We got there before Barbara. I parked and invited her to sit with me on the hood of my truck, giving us an unblocked view of the ocean down below. "This was always his favorite place," I said, hugging the urn in my lap.

"Yeah," she said softly and nodded. I know I'd told her this a dozen times before. I tried to think of a new memory to share with her, but they all came rushing at me so fast that I could only cry again, and she wrapped her arm around me tight, resting her head on my shoulder, and I fell into the embrace, my tears soaking into her hair. Only when we heard the sound of another car pulling into the opposite end of the parking lot a few minutes later, did Monica let go of me. I slid down without a word and walked over to my ex-wife.

Barbara only looked at me briefly before turning her eyes to the urn that held our son's remains. Tears welled up quickly, and she pressed a hand against her lips as though that could stop the grief of losing a child. I handed the urn over, and she embraced it, kissing the cold brass box, her eyes closed, and she began to weep. Despite pushing me to bring Monica, she'd come alone, no one to comfort her, and though she probably didn't want it, I pulled her into my arms, wishing I could give her some semblance of peace.

"You ready?" I asked once she stepped away from me, and she answered with a quiet yes. It was then that she looked up towards my truck. Monica still sat there, but watching the ocean, not us.

"Be good to her, John."

"I will," I promised softly. "C'mon, let's go get our feet wet."

"I don't think we'll see each other again after this," she said following a silent walk down to the beach, and it tore at my chest to hear, for she was right – there was a finality to this that extended beyond the act of releasing Luke's ashes.

"We could still meet here, if you like. It doesn't have to be the end."

"I think, perhaps, I want it to be. I need to move on with my life. We both do."

It wasn't until that moment that I understood I was holding her back from moving on, just as I'd been holding myself back, and I felt ashamed now for so many years of dragging her along through my own wretched struggle.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We did our best. We had some wonderful years together. And we had a beautiful son," she said, taking hold of my arm. "I'm ready now."

We said our goodbyes silently. There was nothing more to share with one another. I looked at the woman who had once been my wife, and I thought back to those days, what she'd meant to me, how we'd once been a family, and I could see that she was remembering too. She nodded at me and looked at the urn. Holding it up and sliding the lid off all seemed a Herculean effort, but the wind did its duty and carried the ashes away, for I would never have been able to do it.

We stood there in silence for several minutes after the last of the ashes had fallen into the ocean. I thought of our son as he danced on the beach, screamed with joy as the cold waves caught his feet, squatted on fat toddler thighs examining a tide pool of baby crabs, and ran in the sand with the energy only known to young children. The tears began building inside me, but I didn't want to cry in front of Barbara. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and squeezed my arm. "I'd like to keep it, if that's alright," she said of the empty urn. I found I couldn't say no, and then she walked away from me for the last time.

I don't know how long I stood there before turning my back on the water that held Luke's ashes now and climbed back up the bluff, my heart heavy for the final loss of my boy. Monica was still there, leaning against my truck, and I suddenly wanted to be nowhere but with her. She opened her arms to me, and I buried my face in the soft, warm skin of her neck; she took in all my sorrow and held me till the dregs of nine year's worth of tears had flowed out of me.

Depleted, I moved out of her embrace, but pulled the top of her head to me and kissed it in thanks. "I don't think I can handle the driving," I said with great fatigue, and she quickly nodded, taking the driver's seat. I sat there in that familiar emptiness when there's nothing left to feel, numb to everything around me. I didn't resurface until we hit the Narrows Bridge, unaware that two hours had passed.

After a while, I was able to talk again, and she followed my lead, letting me direct the conversation onto topics my emotionally worn out brain could handle, like work and sports, and allowing me to slip back into silence as needed. When we finally arrived back in Virginia, late that night, she asked if I wanted to get dinner yet since I'd passed on every opportunity she'd given me on the drive, or if she could pick something up for me, but I shook my head and said I had food enough at home. She fussed over me, making me promise I would eat, threatening to order me pizza when I wasn't convincing enough, and I waved her off. She lingered outside my door, and I knew she wanted to come in. Maybe I could have found a different kind of comfort in her that night, but I didn't think this grief-filled day was the best day to finally show her that I wasn't completely oblivious to her signals. "Is it ok if I just take a little time for myself right now?"

"Of course, John. I told you, whatever you need, just ask."

"I might take tomorrow off too."

"Don't worry. I'll hold down the fort. Take all the time you need." Flashing that trademark smile of hers, I couldn't help but respond in kind, though I knew mine was weighed down by the day's sorrows.

"Hey, Monica," I called out as she was halfway down my front walk. She turned, and I saw a bit of hope in her eyes that I was about to dash. "Thank you. For today."

"Anytime. See you Tuesday, ok?"

I stood on the porch long after she'd driven off, knowing I needed – and wanted – to do something about her, but not having the emotional bandwidth to deal with it that day.