His hand shook, a fine tremble that traveled down his arm, as he held it poised above the paper. The pen hovered uncertainly. Where to begin? Wash took in a deep breath, and settled his palm gently against the white, empty sheet.

Denise, he began. He stared at it for a second, and shook his head- too casual, too formal, not enough...something. He wasn't sure what. He started to scratch it out, but thought better of it. It was only a first draft, after all, and it's not like she would ever see it. Or he would ever see her.

His eyes flicked to Sally where she lay on his nightstand, small and impotent in her unsummoned form. She hadn't said anything, but he wanted the distance, the...privacy. He was purging. It was painful and intimate, not something to which he wanted a witness. Though they could share information with a thought, he kept her at an arms length as much as possible. She was a thing, not a person. He couldn't confide in her, right? They weren't partners; she was a tool. It wasn't so much that he reasoned this out as he simply believed it. And so, he maintained a careful distance. Their bond hadn't really evolved or changed since its onset. He hadn't wanted privacy, however, to contemplate the void he didn't even recognize in their budding relationship, and as his thoughts raced in endless circles he realized he was stalling.

Wash sighed, and tried to relax. He had tried to think about her as little as possible in his time here - to shove those feelings away in a box somewhere. Artifacts to be dug up later and re-examined when he had more time. If anything, he'd learned here that time was a finite thing, and the more he avoided confronting his loss the worse it weighed upon him. What could you do when you were separated from the one you loved not just by time, or distance, or death, but some strange combination of the three? How could you bear to know they were out there, somewhere, unaware? When was it finally ok to break down? What do you say, when even your friends ask you how you could let something so precious go, and you don't even know the answer yourself?

Nothing. He'd said nothing, for so long. To anyone. The only person he felt he could confide in was miles and worlds away.

I miss you so much, he scribbled impulsively. It didn't really cover how he felt, but it was true. I'm sorry. It was almost as if, once he began, the words sort of pulled themselves out on their own.

I'm sorry I left you and Daniel. I wish I could have told you why, I think you'd have understood maybe. You know how it was, me growing up. I didn't want that for him. Or maybe you wouldn't, I dunno. Maybe I'm just wishful thinking. I didn't do the things they said I did. I'm sorry I couldn't let you know that, couldn't clear my name. I hope it didn't hurt you none, but I know it prob'ly did, and I'm sorry for that too.

I'm sorry I missed his 3rd birthday. I hope it was a good one. I wish I coulda seen his face, did you give him that play gym we were hiding in the garage? I'm sorry I complained about working on it every night, it came out beautiful, just like the pictures. I wish I could see him playing on it, the first time. Make sure he's careful on that swingset, I never got to really level out the chains and it lists to one side a bit- I'm sorry for that too.

If he chips something, it's alright, there's some replacement paint on the 3rd shelf above the auto oil.

He stopped. Rambling again. It was so much easier to think of small things - little reminders, little hints, skirting the real issue. He skipped a line, and continued.

Honey, I miss you. I wish I could come home.

I miss the way your hair looks in the morning, when you pull the covers up so I can't see your face, you know I always thought you were beautiful without all that makeup and hair junk. I miss the sound of you brushing your teeth in the morning as I'm getting up. I miss that dirty look you gave me when Daniel was crying and it was my turn to get up, and I said I was too tired, so you did.

God help me, I miss every argument as much as I miss all the nicer things. The way you smell. The sound of your voice. I miss the way you fit under my arm - just right.

Do you remember the day we walked to the park, and it started raining, and we had to run the whole way back? I tripped and fell in a puddle, and you laughed and then you let me borrow your coat, and we stopped to get coffee and you dug in mine for my wallet and found my grandmother's ring? And then you proposed to me, in the middle of the shop, with the ring I'd been planning on giving you.

He took in a shaking breath. I love you. I always will love you, baby. He stared at the words, his vision slowly blurring.

Wash let his pen fall to the desk, and buried his face in his hands.