Disclaimer: Standard Disclaimer. Not mine, pardon me while I fall into a coma. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.

Author's Notes: Lyrics from Brian McKnight, "Anytime," and Faith Hill, "Let me let go," are both used, though I had to do a little fudging in some places.

Story Notes:

He was really going to do it this time. The thing in Florida with Stella hadn't worked. He'd been fooling himself; they both had. A cop and an assistant district attorney satisfied running a bowling alley? Who had they been kidding? They'd both wanted to get away from something and for a while the newness had been exciting. By the time the newness had worn off, nothing had been there to replace it. They were simply too different; two complicated individuals who didn't even really know each other. They'd both come to the realization pretty quickly and had parted quietly and amicably. Nobody had been to blame for their breakup. It simply hadn't been meant to be, unlike something else that he'd left behind. Someone else.

--I can't remember why we fell apart from something that was so meant to be. Forever was the promise in our hearts. --Now, more and more, I wonder where you are. Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? --Do you ever wake up, reaching out for me?

He was scribbling on a napkin in the diner on his way back to Chicago, not even realizing it until he ran out of napkin and the ink of his cheap ballpoint pen began to spread where it crossed the coffee rings. He'd already paid the bill, so he left a large tip and crumbled the napkin up. He'd toss it in the garbage on his way out.

--Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? I miss you. Still have your picture in a frame, hear your footsteps down the hall. --I swear I hear your voice driving me insane. How I wish that you would call to say, "Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? --Do you ever wake up, reaching out for me?"

--Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? I miss you. No more loneliness and heartache. No more crying myself to sleep. --No more wondering about tomorrow. Won't you come back to me?

He jerked guiltily. Talking to himself? He'd been hanging around Fraser too long. First talking to a deaf wolf, now talking to himself? Two miles away from his new apartment and a new life, and he was thinking of his old life and an apartment on West Racine where he'd fallen in love.

--Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? Do you ever wake up, reaching out for me? Do I ever cross your mind, anytime? --I miss you.

The words came quickly now that he wasn't trying to drive at the same time. They spread across the paper and onto the back. When they had filled both sides, he turned the page to write sideways in the margins. Certain phrases repeated themselves -- things that he hadn't understood. How had one person become the center of his world and how had that fallen apart?

He'd almost run out of room now. Too many words, and he still had some of the most important ones left to say. "I miss you."

Great. He crumpled the paper in frustration. He couldn't say all of that. It was too much and not enough. Whether it was inspiration or just fear that made his next move, he didn't know.

When the mailman, or mailperson as Corrinne preferred to be called, picked up the mail the next morning, the only thing in the box was a letter.

Wish you were here it read.

He's a good friend. I'm not sure what I'll tell him. I'm not sure why I can't open this. It's too late, though, isn't it? We had our chance, but somehow we missed out. I'm not sure if we didn't take it or if we just messed it up, but it's over. There's no going back.

Ray Kowalski would say that sometimes you get a second chance, a chance to make things right, but what about when there's nothing to put right? Sometimes things end, and you may not like it, but sometimes there's nothing you can do.

I'm distancing myself again. I've gotten rather good at that, it seems. Duty... doing things by the book is easy. It tells you exactly what to do. Love has no rulebook. I can't do it; it's too hard.

I thought it was over. We said our goodbyes, but I can't go a day without your face running through my mind. In fact, not a single minute passes without you in it. Your voice, your touch, memories of your love are with me all the time. Let me let go. If this is for the best, why are you still in my heart? You're still in my soul. Let me let go.

I should open this letter. I think that if Ray was still here he'd make me open it. He said something to me before he left. He said that sometimes you have to listen to your brain. "But sometimes," he said, "you have to listen to your heart instead. The trick is in knowing which one to listen to. That's why I'm going back to Chicago, Fraser. I'm listening to my heart about Francesca."

I talked to Ray right before I decided to search for the Hand of Franklin. I was going to invite him along or let him know that I'd be back. He made his escape. Stella. He put us behind; no matter how I try, I can't do the same.

--Wish you were here

Let me let go. If this is for the best, why are you still in my heart? You're still in my soul. Four words. Five if you count the signature. Five words and every day I spent here is worthless. It just isn't right.

I've been 3200 kilometers (2000 miles) down a dead-end road trying to forget. I can't even answer the simplest question. I considered going back to Chicago with Ray when he left. He invited me, said we could still be partners. The bright lights of Chicago hold no fascination for me without Ray. I try to find the bright side, but everywhere I look, everywhere I turn, he's all I see. Even here, in my father's cabin. Perhaps especially here.

If this was all for the best, why can't I let go?

End Motionless/Out of time by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com

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