Fi reached into one of the many boxes stacked around her living room. She was looking for one thing in particular. Packing it had been a mistake. In haste, she had added it with her other winter clothes.

When you're in that line of work, you never know when or where you have to go. It might be Miami one day and the Alps the next. It's a good idea to keep every piece of clothing you get, just in case you need it for a cover ID or you happen to change hemispheres on a moments notice.

She was sure that she wouldn't need all of her wardrobe before it was time to leave. All her heavier clothes were neatly packed away. Of course, she was wrong and was now frantically looking for the shirt.

Michael's shirt.

It was a long-sleeved dress shirt, like most of his tops were. It was dark blue with wide, matching buttons. The fabric was soft, not too itchy, and a little on the thick side. Her favorite thing about it was that it still smelled like him. She couldn't describe the fragrance, but whatever it was, she liked it.

Finally, two boxes later, she found it. She didn't bother putting her arms through the sleeves. They were too long. The entire shirt was too long. It swallowed her whole even though it was only draped around her shoulders.

Had it been recently that she got the shirt? Did she take it from the loft or did he give it to her? Or did she take it years ago when they were first together? Did he leave it when he disappeared? She didn't know. The only thing that she knew for sure was that it was his. That's all that mattered.

She wandered back to her bedroom to get back into bed. It was mess. She tore the place apart until she realized she had put it away. There was something about tonight that made her need it.

It was late. She needed to get some sleep. It wouldn't be long before she'd be heading back home. She didn't want to leave. She had to. It was time to go before the Michael she fell in love with was gone forever. She woke up once realizing that he was gone. She couldn't take it happening again, for good.

She pulled the covers up to her chin. Having the shirt around her was almost like his arms were tucked tightly across her. She missed that. She missed him. The loneliness made the temperature drop twenty degrees and no matter what, she couldn't get warmer.

"No sense in this," she told herself quietly. "Just let go."

She buried her face into the shirt and shut her eyes tightly. She didn't want to say goodbye. God, she didn't.

Tomorrow she'd go over and get her gun back. Then it would all be done and she could get out of town. He probably wasn't even thinking about her. He wasn't the type of guy that would sit there and sulk. She smiled into the collar of his shirt, picturing him in the loft alone, shuffling through pictures of them together, brooding, missing her. Yeah right. Like that would actually happen.

Michael Westen being sentimental? There was a better chance of the Pope celebrating Yom Kippur.