A/N :

This next letter is Jane's last one to Lisbon before he returns to the States. I decided to post it after Lisbon's letter to Jane in detention because in my mind it wouldn't have had time to reach her until after the reunion. It includes some of the monologue from Jane's letter in 6x09, both from the voice-over and what we could see written on the page while he signs it. (I'm not the only one who zoomed in on that shot and strained their eyes trying to decipher every word, right? All in the name of research, you guys).

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dear Lisbon,

I hope this finds you well. All is well here. I have my routines. The weather's finally turned. It's a little cooler, far from cold. But the ocean's still warm, and with the warm ocean currents comes an abundance of sea life. Just yesterday I watched a pod of dolphins play so close to shore I could almost touch them. They're the kinds of things I think you'd enjoy.

I've found a tailor. Yup, a real bespoke kind of thing. I explain what I want, he doesn't agree and suggests a change, I say I don't want it, and then he does it anyway. Despite his sometimes poor taste, his work is excellent. I think you might be surprised at the look. Maybe one day you'll get a chance to see it. Let's just say, I've gone native.

There are so many things here I wish I could show you, things I wish I could see you smile at or hear your thoughts about. I wish you could smell the heady fragrance of the exotic flowers, or see the warm mist rise from the ground after a rainfall. I wish you could see the beauty of the beaches, and feel the fine white sand under your feet.

You never did allow yourself much time to stop and enjoy the beauty of nature. I'm sure you'd shrug it off as no big deal. You'd say you're a city girl at heart, with no particular desire to get burned to a crisp, stung by jellyfish or get eaten alive by mosquitoes. To paraphrase Wordsworth, you see little in nature that is yours. But we are all a part of nature, just as much as the birds and the trees. I think all you need is the time to be able to appreciate it more, without the constant stress of work to distract you. Maybe you're doing just that now that you've got a less demanding workload.

I must say though, as much as I enjoy the relaxed pace and the natural beauty of this place, there is still that sense of restlessness that lingers, that feeling of not knowing what to do with myself now that I've begun this new chapter. I'm not a young man, but for the first time in over a decade, I'm starting to feel that life might have more possibilities in store. I might actually have a future ahead of me, but even after two years, I have no idea what that future might look like. I keep trying to move on, to figure out some plan of action, to come up with some goals to guide me forward. But I keep coming up empty.

There are worse situations to be in than to have one's days free to explore the rocky coastline and watch the dolphins play. I could simply do this for the rest of my life and surely be the envy of many. But with each day I become more aware of this growing fear of life passing me by. Every day I see Roger, another American, drinking by himself at the beach cafe. He's a fellow English-speaker, but I can't even hold a conversation with him, his mind is so addled by years of alcohol and, I assume, loneliness. I've never been able to find out his story, why he came here or what led him to a solitary life of drinking, but I'm afraid that I will turn into him if I keep living this aimless existence, just a lonesome old man, lost in his own mind.

I'm sorry, Lisbon, I don't mean to depress you with such dark thoughts, and it really isn't as bad as all that. Don't worry, it's not like I have no one to talk to here. There's my young friend Franklin who works at the hotel, he keeps me informed of the goings on there. I've asked him to let me know if anyone should come looking for me.

There is also a very kind older lady named Señora Fernandez, who lives in the apartment next door to me. Whenever her granddaughter comes to visit, the two of them get busy in the kitchen and bake some sweet new confection. Any time I hear little Gabriela's voice on the landing, I know that the whole floor will soon smell wonderful and I will be the grateful recipient of some yummy alfajores, or a delicious slice of tres leches cake.

The other day, I returned from a walk on the beach and was coming up the stairs, when I was greeted by the smell of cinnamon. The whole floor was infused with the warm spicy fragrance, and I was suddenly overcome with a feeling so intense that I had to sit down on the steps and rest my head in my hands for a few minutes.

Did you know that smell is the physical sense most linked to memory? Supposedly it's because the region of the brain that's activated by scent is located in the same area as that which controls our memory functions. I'm sure when Gabriela is all grown up, the smells of cinnamon and vanilla will give her a sense of well-being, because they'll transport her back to Thursday afternoons spent baking with her abuela.

I'll bet cinnamon holds a similar scent memory for many people, but my own childhood never had any such cherished culinary moments. In fact, I'd say it's probably only in the last dozen years or so that I've developed a weakness for things that smell of cinnamon. Isn't that strange?

But I digress. I was bowled over by this unexpected emotional reaction. The feeling itself was bittersweet. Somehow, that cinnamon fragrance managed to give me a sense of safety and comfort, like I was re-living some past experience of well-being. But it was accompanied by this terrible feeling of homesickness, where I was all too aware that this peaceful contentedness was not something I was likely to regain. It was like seeing all the happiness in the world, and knowing that it would never be mine.

So there I was, sitting on the stairs and contemplating this experience that seemed like it came straight out of Proust, when I heard some movement and whispering. As I looked up, Señora Fernandez's door opened and there was little Gabriela, smiling and holding a plate of sticky buns fresh from the oven.

"Hola Señor Jane," she said, not seeming at all surprised to see me sitting all alone at the top of the stairs. "Want to come in and have some golfeados? We just made them."

"Thank you," I said, grateful to her for interrupting my brooding. "I'd love to."

As I followed her into the apartment, Señora Fernandez looked up and smiled at me as she brought a freshly made pot of tea to the table. That was different. Most people around here prefer coffee, and Señora Fernandez is no exception.

"Hola Señor Jane. Have a seat and help us eat some of these golfeados. We've made too many as usual," she said, and gestured to the table. It was already set for three people.

Have you ever noticed Lisbon, how sometimes it's the tiniest things in life that keep our hearts from breaking? There was something so cheering about seeing that extra cup and saucer laid out, and that pot of tea that must have been made just for me, like knowing that I was expected and welcome, and that my company would add to their enjoyment of the afternoon.

"Thank you," I said, "They smell wonderful. Is that cinnamon in the mix there somewhere?"

"Yes, I always use more cinnamon than the recipe calls for. It's how my mother always made them," said Señora Fernandez as we sat down and helped ourselves to the warm buns. They tasted just as heavenly as they smelled.

Gabriela swallowed a mouthful. "What do you think of them, Señor Jane?"

"They're delicious. And they're exactly what I needed today," I replied. Gabriela beamed at me. Señora Fernandez didn't say anything, just patted my hand and poured me another cup of tea.

Later that evening, I returned to the beach to watch the sunset, the shades of pink and orange and red stretching leisurely across the sky. Like so many things, it made me think of you. I've been meaning to apologize for leaving you on the beach that time. Your absence is the one thing that makes this new chapter strange and sad.

Miss You,

U No Hoo

A/N: Still a couple more chapters to go.