Another AXL story. Long one shot. It may sound stupid but I like it and loved writing the flashbacks so I'm putting it on here.

Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Don't own...don't own...don't own.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

He stood uncertainly before the door. A hand reached out to grasp the brass handle, and then fell to his side again.

He knew he couldn't put it off any longer. It had to be done.

He had refused to let anyone else do it. Vanez and Seba had offered to help but he had turned them away, saying he would do it. He just needed time.

It had taken him two weeks to finally make a move. This morning, Darren had offered to lend a hand but again he refused. He didn't want anyone else there.

His hand crept out again and this time he managed to take a hold of the handle. He took a deep breath and pushed down on the brass, remembering it was stiff and needed some force to get it open.

For some reason, he expected a voice to come from the room, asking who it was and he almost called out, "It's me."

It hurt him when no voice came. He desperately wanted to hear that voice, even if it shouted at him for not knocking before coming in.

He stood in the doorway for a minute looking around the dark, uninhabited room. One hand still gripped the door handle. The other reached up and gently grasped the small pendent that hung around his neck.

He had to do this. He had to do it for her.

Taking another deep breath, hand still holding the pendent tightly, Larten stepped through the door way and, closing the door behind him, let out a small sigh as his eyes passed over the only things he had left of her. The only things left for him to clearout.

__________________________________________________________________________________

His original plan was to not think about what he was doing and just get on with it. He had managed to throw all her clothes into a bag without even realising he'd done it. It was only when he grabbed her coat that he realised he was crying.

He slumped down into one of the old, wooden chairs and buried his face in the coat, breathing deeply, trying to get a control over himself.

After a while, he straightened up and looked down at the coat in his shaking hands and couldn't help but smile.

The coat in question was a real Van Helsing style thing; long, with an oversized collar, made out of trench coat material that was pitch black with the exception of a slim red piece of string she'd tied around the arm, then sewn down so it didn't come off.

A memory surfaced in his mind and he let himself relive it.

***Flashback***

"I'm being serious. What d'ya think?" she pulled up the collar up and spun round.

I smiled, "It suits you." And it really did. I wasn't saying it to please her; she looked good in it.

"Really?" she frowned into the mirror slightly, pulling at the sleeves and readjusting the collar.

"Really." I snaked my arms around her waist and leant my head down on her shoulder, looking her in the eye through the mirror.

She grinned and continued to pull at the sleeves. I watched her in the mirror and suddenly realised how odd we looked. She always looked stunning, even if she'd been awake for hours or had just woken up. I knew I wasn't ugly; I'd deemed myself average. But compared to her...

We were like Beauty and The Beast.

I had to laugh.

She looked up, still grinning, but with confusion in her eyes, "What?"

"Nothing." I smirked innocently.

She shook her head, an amused smile replacing her grin, and let the matter drop. A piece of red string had taken her attention. She pulled away from me and picked it up, instantly tying it around her left arm.

When she saw my puzzled expression she laughed and pointed to the string, then at me.

I understood her straight away. The string represented me.

I smiled softly and pulled her to me...

***End Flashback***

He had stopped crying and was flicking through the mess of papers on the table. The coat lay on the chair next to him.

Of course he couldn't read any of the papers but knew what they were; Plans and blueprints for various new halls being built in the mountain. She never had any General jobs to do so she helped out with the architectural side of things.

She liked doing it and the guys who were in charge of that kind of thing were glad of her help. She could read, which meant that she did the working out and plans and the guys did the actual building and construction.

There were also a few maps, that, no doubt Kurda had given her. Instead of looking at them he stood up and opened the first drawer he came to.

Another smile crossed his lips as he reached down and picked up one of her many sketch books. No one apart from him knew she could draw. And he only found out accidently.

***Flashback 2***

We were in the South of France, staying in a small house that backed onto the sea. The house had its own private beach and there was no one else around for miles.

I woke up, expecting to find her curled up against me like usual. It was a shock to find that she wasn't.

I got up, pulled on some clothes and went out to look for her.

It didn't take long.

I heard her before I saw her. She was singing to herself quietly, only just audible over the sound of the ocean. The sun was setting and I found myself wishing I had a camera to take a picture of the beautiful scene before me.

The sun had turned the sea a deep golden colour. The slight breeze was rustling the leaves of the forest surrounding the little alcove. And she was sitting on a large rock that jutted over the sea edge, with her back to me.

She didn't hear me as I stood behind her, and only turned when I gasped.

"That...it's beautiful." I stuttered as I sat down and looked at the drawing in her lap. It was a perfect replica of the scene before us.

She shrugged and handed me the sketch book, "There's more. They're not very good..." she trailed off as I started to flick through the book.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Every single one of the drawings looked like an actual real life scene, "What do you mean, 'They're not very good'? They're amazing..." this time I trailed off as I continued to leaf through her work, "Why didn't you tell me you were an artist?"

She laughed at that, "I'm hardly an artist. I just like to draw. And I haven't told anyone." She paused and looked up at me; I was staring at her, "Don't tell anyone, please."

I smiled and put an arm around her, "Of course I won't. If you don't want me to."

She gave me my favourite crooked grin and nodded, taking the sketch book from me and continuing with her drawing.

***End Flashback 2***

By now he had taken all eight of the sketch books out of the drawer and, having looked through them all, put them in a pile near the door. He was keeping these. But he wouldn't show anyone.

He looked again at the table again, trying to decide what to do with all the papers. In the end, he thought it best if he gave the architectural things to Lorcan (one of the guys she worked with) and throw away the maps. They might have been useful but he didn't care. It was his fault that she wasn't here now. And he hated him for it.

Once again, his eyes skimmed the room and realised that there were only two things left to clearout.

One was a small bookshelf that was filled with books that he simply piled up next to the sketch books. He couldn't read them but she had liked them so he decided to keep them.

The last thing left for him to clearout was a medium sized mirror with little bits of paper pinned to the frame. He looked them over, recognising a few words, and figured out that they were to-do notes and reminders.

He smiled as he traced his finger over her hand writing; somehow it managed to look scruffy and neat at the same time.

One by one, he pulled them down; placing them on the pile of things he was taking with him. The last one he got to stopped him in his tracks.

Three simple words were written upon it. They weren't written in her usual writing, these were written in block capitals and the last word was underlined.

He pulled it down and stared at it. He could read all three of the words. He read them over and over not fully understanding the meaning behind them.

TALK TO LARTEN

Without thinking, he gripped the pendent that hung from around his neck once again and carefully put the little piece of paper in his pocket.

He made himself think about anything other then the meaning of those three little words. Anything at all.

So he thought about the pendent.

***Flashback 3***

With what must have been the last of her strength, she pulled her pendent from around her neck and pushed it into my hand.

I looked down at it and felt the tears reappear. The pendent itself was a small figure of an angel, with only one wing. I remembered when the other wing had broken off and she had cried about it. I didn't understand why she had gotten so upset over a necklace. She had told me that it had belonged to her grandmother and she had given it to her when she was just a child.

I knew that it was special to her, because she never took it off, but until then, I never realised why it was so special.

I looked back up at her and she gave me my favourite crooked grin, weaker then usual but it still made me smile back.

"Look after it...okay?" she said quietly.

I nodded, tears running down my cheeks as a reached up and retied it around my own neck, silently vowing never to take it off.

She was still smiling as she reached out a trembling hand and carefully turned the little figure round, so it was to her liking. She moved her hand away but I caught it, holding it tightly to my chest, my own tears dripping down onto both our hands but neither one of us caring.

***End Flashback 3***

All too soon he was standing in the door way again; the books, sketch and otherwise and the Van Helsing coat were in a box he had brought with him and left outside; the clothes and papers from her table had been taken away by Emilie, a friend of hers, who had walked by when he was just leaving and kindly offered to take them for him.

The table and chairs were staying for whoever next moved into the little room, as was the mirror, the only bed in the mountain – she had stubbornly refused to sleep in a coffin (she was claustrophobic) or hammock (she had a tendency to fall out of them regularly) so Vanez had finally made her a makeshift bed – the wardrobe and drawers.

He sighed, one hand still held the little pendent while the other hung limply at his side, and looked around the room for the final time and closed the door, but not before whispering, "Bye, Arra..."