I'd like to say that the first thing I did, when I saw Sara was gone, was hop on a plane. I'd like to say that I somehow managed to beat her to San Francisco and wait for her at her terminal and shower her with kisses and apologies.

I'd like to say I did all that... but, well. I didn't.

Anyone who knows me knows I never would. Sara would know it most of all. And that's some comfort to me, that she wouldn't have been looking around for me when she got off her plane.

What did I do when I saw she'd left? I watched some TV, took Hank for a walk, and went to bed.

"She's gone?" Catherine asked that night, her brows trying in vain to furrow. "Again? Are... I mean, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

And I was. Life was back to the way it'd been before Warrick... you know, and actually it was a lot simpler now that Sara wasn't calling me anymore. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted. Suddenly I didn't have to worry about her. I didn't have to choose my words carefully when I spoke (because god forbid I offend her). I didn't have to try so hard, because I was no longer responsible for another human being.

It wasn't perfect, don't get me wrong. There were drawbacks to being alone. But overall, it was a relief.

"You hear from Sara?" Greg asked on the way to a crime scene..

"Nope."

"No, I don't mean, like, today. I mean–"

"I know what you meant. I haven't heard from her."

I packed her stuff into cardboard boxes, labeled them "S," and sent them to a storage facility. Maybe when she was done having her special "me time" in San Francisco, she could go and pick them up. In the meantime, I paid sixty bucks for a year of storage and didn't give it another thought.

It only took seconds to delete her number from my cellphone. It was a little less significant because I knew I'd memorized it, but still, it was the symbolism of the act that mattered.

And life went on. I worked hard, followed the evidence, caught the bad guys.

Months passed.

"So," Brass said, and I rolled my eyes.

"Not you too."

"We're your friends, Gil. We just want to see you happy."

"I'm happy," I told him.

He almost believed me.

I almost believed me.

It was just hard, after a while. I'd had something wonderful, someone wonderful... and no, I hadn't had her for nearly fifty years, but now that I knew what I was missing...

And I was. Missing, that is. Missing the sound of her voice, all low and smoky. Missing the smell of her hair, the feel of her fingertips skating along my skin. Missing the way she cocked her head, the softness of her eyes when she caught me looking at her.

I missed the way I could talk to her about anything. Sara understood me. She knew all about me, all my secret vices and disgusting habits, and she loved me anyway.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Riley asked.

Nick looked over at us, and I could tell he was curious as to how I'd answer.

"No," I said.

"Because I have this neighbor," she continued. "I think she'd be perfect for–"

"No thanks."

That's when I realized that there was only one person who was truly perfect for me. Perfect in mind, in heart, even in looks. And then it occurred to me that I was a big fat idiot.

I paced back and forth past my phone after work. I still remembered her number, but the idea of calling her made my heart pound. There were a couple of false attempts, and then I was dialing, was pushing the numbers as fast as I could with my shaking fingers. And then I'd done it, I'd dialed and–

"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up, check your number, and dial again."

I tried six times. The woman was sorry each time.

Her email bounced back, too. I sent letters to her apartment; they were returned marked wrong address.

I decided I wouldn't lower myself to asking Greg or Nick for her contact information. That lasted precisely two hours, and then I was asking them and trying to keep the desperation out of my voice and they were trying to keep the pity out of theirs when they told me they hadn't heard from her, either.

The one-year anniversary of Warrick's death came and went. It had been a year since I'd seen either of them, then, and the ache in my chest grew stronger.

She was just hurt, I told myself. I'd behaved badly and when I didn't reach out to her after she left again, she must have decided to try to move on. But if I was missing her this much, she must be missing me too. With that reasoning, it seemed almost kind of me to call an old contact at the San Francisco Police Department for help in finding her.

"She lives in Walnut Creek," he told me after typing for a few seconds. The unconscious fear that something horrible had happened to her began to ebb. "She works at a private high school there. Morrison Academy."

"Teaching physics?" I guessed, a smile creeping over my lips as I pictured her demonstrating centrifugal force.

"Ah, no. Looks like she's a college counselor."

I blinked in surprise. "Oh. Okay."

"You want her home address?"

"Please."

I gave my notice at work, started packing up for the move. It seemed presumptuous to show up at her doorstep and assume I could live with her, so I signed a lease on a little house near the school.

There was a going-away party held at Catherine's house. She was teary, Riley was wide-eyed, the guys were grudgingly supportive. I looked around at all of them, a lump growing in my throat. These were my friends, my family. They hugged me at the end of the night, and then I was in my car, Hank seated beside me, driving west with a giant U-Haul in tow.

A moving company helped me unload everything, and Hank christened the new yard by peeing on every bush and tree trunk. I fed him, rubbed his stomach, and headed out to the car.

The GPS estimated it would take me twelve minutes to drive to Sara's apartment building, but I made it in seven. I sat outside in the car, in the parking lot, staring up at the building.

It felt like our first date all over again; indecision wrestling with longing. But this time, I knew exactly what a life with Sara would be like. I was a new man, ready to do whatever it took to get her back. Taking a breath, I started to reach for the door handle, and then I saw her.

She was walking down the front steps in jeans and a black sweater, her longer hair up in a loose ponytail. She looked younger than I could ever remember seeing her as she laughed, throwing her head back.

She wasn't alone.

A man came down after her, laughing too. He looked about Catherine's age. Tall, with dark hair and tanned skin. They reached the bottom of the stairs and he reached out for her hand, entwining their fingers and giving her arm a playful tug. She leaned into him as they headed toward the parking lot.

I ducked down in my seat. They didn't glance my way.

He opened a car door for her, kissed her cheek after she got in.

I slunk down further, watching as they pulled away. I stayed down long after they'd left.

So she was dating. That didn't mean anything, I told myself. We had years of history together. History which, unfortunately, reminded me that she didn't feel comfortable holding my hand until we'd far exceeded the six-month mark.

She looked happy.

She looked happy during our run, too.

I sat in the car, staring at the steering wheel. Fight or flight, I told myself, and there was only one answer.

TBC