A/N: A strange distortion of a dream I once had seems to have found its way into words. I can't remember the dream to its exact, but I remember a necklace being involved. It symbolised true love and in the dream Woody was giving it to Devan. I still laugh when I think about it but I'm glad I wrote this down. Sometimes memories are all you need.

Disclaimer: I have never owned Crossing Jordan and I don't intend to.

As a small side note, I had Switchfoot's Dare You To Move running through my head the entire time I wrote this so if you can find it, listen to it. And the italics are flashbacks if you didn't guess.

Thinking Of You

Her perfume lingered in the still air. It was that same lavender that was always floating around her. The only difference now was that she wasn't here. Just her scent. I tried to recall the last time I had smelt that lavender, and found myself thinking about the morning before the crash. That was the morning she had left without saying goodbye. She hadn't said goodbye, and neither had I.

I suddenly remembered another morning though, and this time I looked around the room with intent eyes. My gaze eventually rested on her feather-quilted bed. The purple hearts on the doona brought back painful memories of her but I let them come after a mild hesitation…

after a mild hesitation I opened my eyes slightly. She didn't notice the movement and I felt grateful because I didn't want her to know I was awake. She stared down at my chest as her finger trailed up and down my side. She blinked in an almost methodical manner and I knew she was lost in her thoughts. I smiled when I wondered what she was thinking about. The circles she was drawing with her finger moved towards the top of my chest and my smile grew.

"That tickles," I said softly, startling her and making her look up.

She smiled then. "Sorry."

I shook my head and leaned back heavily into the white pillow. "I don't remember telling you to stop."

She laughed and turned herself around so she was laying across my chest, her golden hair splaying out. "Have you ever stolen something?"

Her question was so random that I almost laughed. I took a lock of her hair and wound it around my fingers. "Once. Chocolate bar in a gas station. It tasted nice, too."

She didn't laugh this time and I knew something was wrong. Usually she laughed at my ridiculous jokes. "It's so easy to do because no one is there to stop us from doing it. Only you can stop yourself and even after knowing the guilt, you don't learn. You just keep doing it until you have everything you want."

Suddenly I knew what she was talking about. But she was wrong. "You didn't steal anything. I never belonged to anyone before."

She inhaled sharply. "But you did. And I knew that, but it didn't stop me."

"Devan," I encircled her waist and leaned close to her ear. "She and I weren't going anywhere. I'm glad you came along when you did because if you hadn't, I don't know where I'd be."

"Liar," her voice lightened with an overdue laugh. "You'd be six feet under."

I laughed…

…at the memory with silent agony. She had been wrong and she knew that. I know she did. But that hadn't stopped her from worrying about what Jordan thought. She was so sensitive in that way; she always worried about what her actions were doing to other people, whether she meant to or not. She could be tactless sometimes, too, but rarely did that end up hurting someone. She had a good heart and just wanted everyone to be safe. But that didn't still didn't stop her from dying.

I remembered thinking just a few days ago how unfair it was that she had been laid to rest in such a way, a way that said she could never be found. She was somewhere out there though, among the wreckage of that plane, her ashes mixed with the soil and other organic substances. You wouldn't be able to tell the difference even if you tried. I thought of trying to find her myself, but passed off the thought with great difficulty. I would never find her now.

I walked forward with a shaky breath, my feet feeling numb all of a sudden. I looked towards her beside table, scanning my eyes over a photo frame of her and her mother, another photo of the morgue staff, and a necklace still dangling from the knob on the top drawer. I stared at the necklace with sore eyes…

and glanced down to look at her. "Who gave you that?"

It was a silver chain necklace with a diamond love heart centred in the middle. She looked at it for a long while before sighing and shifting her position into a more comfortable one. "My ex. It's supposed to resemble true love."

I understood her bitter sarcasm and stroked her hair, brushing it away from her face. "Why do you keep it then?"

She shrugged and leaned forward to kiss my lips. "I don't know. Maybe as a reminder. Or maybe to wear for the right person."

"And have you found the right person?" I whispered, almost afraid of the unknown answer.

She shrugged and turned away from me. "Have you?"

I sighed and leaned over the bed, taking the necklace from around the white drawer. I laced it around my fingers and stared at the diamond. In the soft light of morning it glinted and shone, making me squint when it gleamed in my eyes. She shifted beside me, scratching the back of her neck but never turning her head around to look at me. I had a feeling she knew what I was doing, and what I was about to do.

I unclipped the back of the necklace and slipped it around her neck, fastening the chain when it fit securely. "I think I have."

I could almost hear her smile…

…and it gave me comfort. But what confused me was that Devan hadn't worn that necklace the day she died. Every other day I had always seen it around her neck, either on display or hidden underneath her clothes. But that particular day she had left it there, hanging once again on the small knob of the bedside table. I stared at it, the diamond glinting once again, though not as brightly now that she was gone. I wondered what she had been doing in D.C, and why she hadn't worn the necklace.

I sighed, somewhat shakily, and began to walk towards it. I sat heavily on the bed and leaned forward to untangle the necklace from the small handle. It slipped into my hand easily and I held it up to the window, which was open and allowing a cool breeze to flow through. The necklace hadn't changed, it had just become duller and less mesmerising in her absence. I sighed again and stopped the onslaught of growing tears, pinching my eyes closed with determination. Slipping the necklace into my coat pocket, I wondered absurdly if that was considered stealing. Taking what belonged to the dead.

I glanced up at the bedside table and opened the top drawer absently. There were more picture frames of her family and friends she had left behind in D.C, and a number of small books. I picked up a leather-covered book and opened it to a random page. It was a diary and I read over her private thoughts without guilt…

finally my life was going somewhere. I was able to take risks freely and not be punished because of them. Life is so different here; more carefree and alive. It never was in D.C. Back then everything was always covered in a kind of black shadow, the truth hidden behind a secret message. But in Boston, things were always what they seemed to be. No secrets, no lies. Just what you see is what you get.

I worked with him again today. Detective Hoyt…Woody…whatever he wants to be called. I'm actually starting to like him. Sure, he's arrogant and doesn't exactly like to be interrupted…but he's all right, just a little egocentric…

…I laughed out loud suddenly. That was exactly what I could be like. But I also could be exactly the opposite, and I knew she had experienced that side of me, too. I shut the diary and put it back on the pile. I saw a slightly crinkled piece of paper in the corner of the drawer and picked it up. It was a poem, maybe even a prayer.

Idle moments never pass

Without a thought of you,

And coming close behind it

Is a prayer for all you do;

Have a day with sunshine,

Warmed through and through,

And know because you're special

My thoughts are there with you

It was tilted Thinking of You and it genuinely made me cry. I felt the hot tears sting my cheeks as they slid down ever so slowly. It was a poem unlike any other; it didn't involve a confession of love, nor did it not. It was a poem with an edge of sadness, and yet it brought hope. Even though nothing is as easy as it was when she was alive, I have memories. And sometimes that was all you needed.