You find the note in your desk. She's been gone for a week, and it's hard not to notice. Her replacement is a pain; her partner's been more moody than usual, and overall, the unit seems…incomplete. You seem incomplete, and you know exactly why. You miss her. You can't sleep at night for staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows take her shape and wishing that she would come home. You don't know where she is, and neither does anyone else; calls to her apartment have been fruitless, the number is 'out of service', or so says the operator. The same happened with calls to her cell phone. You know because you've tried more times than you can count.
You didn't think you'd be this miserable without her, but you are. So finding the note in your desk was a surprise, unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. You recognize her handwriting as soon as you see the envelope, that all-too-familiar script that drives you up the wall because half the time you can't read it, but now you wouldn't have it any other way. Your eyes widen, momentarily, behind your glasses; you look to see that no one else is looking, and when you're satisfied that no one is, you use the pen in your hand to open it.
It's on blue stationery, you notice, and smile faintly, because she's not the sort of person you'd expect to use stationery, but apparently, she has, and you're not going to complain. Seven days of no contact has left you wondering if she's going to come back at all; you were told that she was undercover, but somehow…somehow you can't help but feel as if she's just walked away from you, even though you know she didn't exactly have much of a choice. It still bothers you. And you find yourself hoping that the note will explain some of it, if not all of it, since undercover situations are precarious at best, and you know you'd rather die yourself than have something happen to her. So you'll settle with whatever she has given you here. The paper unfolds, slowly, and you almost don't realize you're even moving, but before you know it, you're reading what she's left.
"Talk about saving something for a rainy day, huh? If you're reading this…it means…well, you've probably figured out what it means. I'm not here, I've somehow managed to get in over my head, yet again, and probably won't be back for a while. But I am coming back ,just in case you were wondering, and you can shake your head all you want, but I know you well enough to know you were.
But don't worry. I can't hold that against you; I wondered for a while myself if I was going to be able to come back, but things are going well so far, and it's looking like as soon as this is over, I'll be home again. I can't tell you where I am, or what I'm doing, but I stopped by the squad room before I left, took my things, looked over at your desk and realized that I couldn't leave without leaving something for you. Kinda lame, isn't it? Leaving a note? The way your desk is, you probably won't ever find it, but if you have…
It's complicated. That's about all I can tell you right now. I know you probably don't want to hear that, but you know how it is. Some things are better left unsaid. Now that I've told you that, well…try not to kill whoever they stick Elliot with while I'm gone, and don't push Fin to the point where he wants to kill you, 'cause if he does I won't have anyone to come home to."
And here, you feel your eyes begin to tear up, because you're thinking about her, the way you've been trying not to for the past week, because it hurts, and even though you know she's out there somewhere, she's not there with you, and it bothers you to know that. You're glad, for once, that you have to wear glasses; if anyone were to look over at you, they wouldn't be able to see the state that this note has put you in so far because of them. You wonder for a moment if they are like her, and can see right through you, and dismiss the thought; she is the only one of the squad who can see through you, and it is this that makes you love her, among other things. You find yourself wishing once again that she was the one sitting at the desk across the aisle from yours on the other side of the squad room, but it's not and that damn replacement…You bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud at the thought. 'Replacement'. Yeah, right. As if anyone could ever really take her place. Looking back down at the note, you continue to read where you left off.
"…anyone to come home to. Not exactly something I want to think about, but there you have it. I don't want to thin k about being here without you, either, but I have to, otherwise…well, you get the point. And no, it isn't part of some conspiracy to make you think that everyone you care about is going to leave you at one point or another, either. I didn't leave because I wanted to.
Anyway…the people I'm working with now are starting to get impatient, and I know they're waiting for me to shut my mind off for a minute, so we can go. I won't tell you who they are, and don't go asking, either. Just know that I'll be fine, and I'll be home, and maybe if we're lucky, things won't have changed much. Just…don't go off and find someone else while I'm away, huh?
Ignore that. Apparently, my attempts at sarcasm aren't working today. I'll…see you when I get back.
Love you."
She doesn't have to sign it for you to know who it is. Those two words at the end of this note mean more than all the rest of them put together, and you turn slightly, to ensure that no one will be able to see as you take off your glasses and wipe at your eyes before sliding them back on.
Suddenly it feels as if that weight that's been on your shoulders ever since she left is gone. You weren't the one to drive her away, like you'd been thinking, despite that damn argument you'd gotten into the day before she left; the one that left you two not speaking to each other, but apparently, that little fit is over, and you feel oddly warm inside. It's something that you don't want to go away.
So when your partner yells at you to pay the hell attention because you've got another case, you turn back to face him, fire off a retort, and rise to your feet, pulling on your coat as you turn to head out of the squad room with him. The note is still in your hands. You tuck it into that hidden pocket on the inside of your coat, and there it will remain until she comes home.
And as you walk out of the precinct, you find yourself smiling faintly, ignoring your partner as he asks what the hell is wrong with you, because you're feeling better now, better than you've felt in the past seven days, all because of two simple words, and a little something left behind by the one you love.
It's amazing, you think, as you pull a set of keys out of your pocket so you can head off to the latest crime scene, the comforts that something as simple as a note can give.