Author's Note: One shot with an epilogue. Totally random world. It's a little shadowy and kind of sad but not terribly angsty. At least not compared to some of the other stuff I've put up :)

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Prompt Set #8

Show: Hill Street Blues

Title Challenge: The Rise & Fall of Paul the Wall

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Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace

Emily walked in the door, stomping the snow from her boots as she pulled her down her scarf. It was almost last call so the bar was mostly empty. But still it took her a moment to spot him.

And then she saw him in the corner . . . she bit her lip . . . sitting by himself.

He looked so alone.

Shaking off the snow . . . and her pity . . . the latter he would spot immediately . . . Emily crossed the creaking floorboards and stopped next to his table.

He didn't look up.

She stared at him for a moment, looking at the lines etched into his face and the circles under his eyes. And then her gaze dropped down to count the empty shot glasses on the table.

Six.

Six empties plus one full one. Well, that explained why he needed the ride. Though it didn't explain why he'd been drinking that much whiskey on a Thursday night. Hotch wasn't generally much of a drinker. Or at least he wasn't when he was out with the team. And Hotch was all about control, so Emily really didn't see binge drinking being a pastime that he'd enjoy.

And lending more credence to her theory that this behavior was an aberration, this was also the first time he'd ever called and asked her to come pick him up.

Though now that she was here . . . she tucked her gloves into her pocket . . . he still wasn't acknowledging her presence.

Hotch knew that Emily was standing there. But he was embarrassed that he had to call her. He was embarrassed that he needed her help.

And he just needed a moment.

Finally he tore his eyes away from his last ounce of whiskey and brought them up to hers. She gave him a little smile as she said, "hi," and all he could think was how pretty she looked with the snow in her hair.

Like an angel.

But he of course he didn't say that . . . he didn't even say hello back . . . he just dropped his eyes back down to his drink.

Last one.

He tossed it back in one gulp before turning the small glass upside down, and gently placing it at the end of the matching row in front of him. Then he looked back to her with a sad smile, "thank you for coming."

Relieved that he'd moved past whatever barrier he'd erected, Emily reached over and cupped his cheek. When his eyes softened she whispered back, "anytime."

Over these past few months they'd grown much closer than they'd been before. Touching him like this was now allowed.

Off duty only of course.

And though she had no idea how deep his feelings were for her, she did know that there was now little if anything she wouldn't do for him.

Even if it was unrequited love . . . it was still better than no love at all.

Almost instinctively, Hotch turned his face into Emily's hand, feeling the warmth of her skin. For a few seconds she stroked her fingers along his jaw . . . and then she pulled her hand away.

He felt a chill from the loss of contact.

Emily reached down, slipping her hand into his as she said softly, "come on. The snow's picking up. We should go before the roads get too bad."

At that announcement Hotch winced . . . if he'd realized the weather had turned he never would have called her. There hadn't been any snow falling when he'd come in here.

But that was hours ago.

Feeling her small hand in his, he loosely grasped her fingers. They weren't usually quite so tactile, but tonight he couldn't have been more grateful for the contact.

After he slid over to the edge of the booth, he allowed her to pull him to his feet. But once he was standing a wave of dizziness hit him and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will sobriety's return.

Of course his level of control did not extend quite that far. But Emily . . . apparently sensing his difficulty . . . put her other hand on his hip and tugged him a little bit closer.

When he looked down there were just a few inches between them. He could feel the warmth of her body as he asked quietly, "aren't you going to ask why I drank so much that I couldn't drive home?"

Though he was embarrassed that he needed her help, he was prepared to answer the question.

Part of him wished that she would ask the question.

But instead her expression softened as she shook her head, "no, I'm here as your friend," she gave him a sad smile, "of course if it would make you feel better I wish you would tell me, but . . ." she rubbed his side, "because I'm your friend I won't pry."

Reaching Hotch was always a matter of being patient. And tonight, given the pain she could see on his face, she was desperate to know what had brought him to this bar.

The only way to find out though, was to let him tell her when he was ready to tell her.

Feeling his eyes begin to sting at her words, Hotch stared down at the puddle of melting snow by her boots.

As much as he hated that Emily she was seeing him like this . . . she was right. He had called her in part because she was his friend.

And he didn't have many of those. Really, he was sad to say it was just her and Dave. The rest of the team was family but he would never allow them to see him like this.

His brow furrowed confusion . . . but why didn't he call Dave? That would have probably been better.

The thought came to him but then a second later Emily tugged him a bit closer, until he was pressed against her front. And that's when he started to have an inkling as to why he had called her instead of Rossi.

Worried that he was a little unsteady on his feet, Emily pulled Hotch against her as she reached passed him to pick up his winter coat from the bench.

She helped him on with his sleeve, and then reached up to pull the black wool around his shoulders. As she slid her arm under him to get the other sleeve, she suddenly noticed that his eyes were watering.

Feeling her heart clench, she looked up at him worriedly, "what's wrong?"

His hands came down to rest on her hips, and he pulled her closer still.

There was no longer any space between them.

And for a moment he stared at her, and then his eyes slid to the side as he whispered, "when I was little my mother used to help me put on my coat."

That was all he could think as Emily started dressing him . . . mother used to do this.

Emily's brow wrinkled . . . what a funny thing to say. But maybe it was the alcohol talking . . . her hand came down to rest on top of his . . . or maybe it had something to do with why he was drinking at all.

Either way though, she didn't want to push. It was so hard to get him to open up. And if you pushed too hard he'd shut down.

They'd spent hundreds of hours alone together. In the car, on stakeouts, just picking up meals or coffee, and they talked a lot. Initially discussions about his personal life were verboten. And then one day he started talking about what he'd done over the weekend with Jack. And then another day he told her that he grew up in Charleston.

And after that he began randomly sharing pieces of himself with her.

Some were trivial . . . pumpkin pie was his favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal.

And some were profound . . . he believed in God and hell. But he said that heaven didn't exist.

The common denominator in all of these conversations was that he always initiated. And though they had been talking freely for months now, she was still hesitant to make direct inquiries for fear that he'd close himself off again.

That was especially a concern if there was something specific bothering him. And that's why she hadn't asked him why he was in Georgetown drinking shots at one in the morning.

But she trusted that she would know soon enough. For she'd discovered that if she was just quiet . . . and patient . . . then he would come to her eventually.

Before he looked back up at Emily, Hotch had blinked away the tears trying to pool in his eyes.

This wasn't the place for them.

He swallowed, "I'm ready."

She nodded, "okay, did you pay your bill yet?"

Scowling slightly because that had indeed slipped his mind, Hotch shook his head, "no," he let go of her so that he could pull out his wallet, "no I didn't."

Not wanting to deal with talking to other people, he handed her three twenties from his billfold, "this should cover it."

Even with the tip it was probably far too much. But he didn't care about making change tonight.

After accepting the money, Emily slipped herself under his arm. And then they went over to drop the cash on the bar.

As they started towards the door Hotch pulled Emily a little closer and then her arm slid around his waist.

His eyes started to sting again. And again he blinked the tears away.

As they got to the door Emily looked up at Hotch, "be careful, it's slippery," and then as she reached for the knob, she tightened her grip on his waist. Ostensibly she was doing it to keep him steady on his feet. But part of her reveled in simply having an excuse to keep him so close.

Touching him this much wasn't something she could normally do.

They stepped out of the warmth of the pub into the frigid winter air. A blast of wind caused them both to turn their faces into their coats.

Hotch hated that he'd brought her out in this weather. And he hated more that he was in no condition to be driving. Because as much as he trusted her skills . . . that was his job.

He drove.

And he absolutely ALWAYS drove when the weather was bad. It was a guy thing.

So not only had he endangered her, he couldn't even look after her properly.

'Not much of a man tonight, are you Aaron?' he thought with shame.

Though she knew that she'd parked only a few spaces down from the door, for a moment Emily couldn't see the car. The snow was blinding her.

In an effort to block the wind for a second, she huddled a little closer to Hotch. And then he brought his arm up and around her neck, shielding her from the whipping snow.

Emily turned her face into his chest for a moment . . . the respite from the bitter wind was welcome, as was the close contact.

But she knew that the sooner they got into the car the warmer they'd be. So she turned her head back, squinting as she eyed the vehicles coated in white. And then she pointed as she saw the one still mostly blue.

"There," she started walking them over hurriedly, "four down."

Emily, in her rush to get out of the elements, wasn't paying attention to where she was walking. And suddenly she put her boot down on a patch of ice.

Feeling her foot sliding out from under her, she let go of Hotch. There was no way she was going to catch herself, and she didn't want to take him down with her.

But Hotch wasn't having any of that. His reflexes might have been too slow to drive, but he wasn't that drunk. He caught her just before she hit the ground.

For a moment they were a frozen tableau. Hotch had one hand clutching her right arm, and one hand behind her back.

And then . . . once he was sure he was on steady ground himself . . . he yanked her up and pulled her to his chest.

"Are you okay?" he whispered against her hair.

That had really scared the crap out of him. She was two seconds away from cracking her skull on the sidewalk.

Slightly breathless, Emily nodded back, "yeah, um, I think I wrenched my knee a little but you saved me from breaking anything. Thanks."

Feeling a wave of guilt . . . she was out because of him so any injuries she suffered were his fault . . . Hotch rubbed her back.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you."

She tipped her head back, looking at the guilt now mixing with the pain on his face. Whatever else was going on with him she was quite sure that he didn't need to pile on this unnecessary emotion too.

So she reached up and rubbed his icy cheek, "yes, you absolutely should have called me. Now come on, let's get going before my natural grace takes us both to the ground."

A flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly that Emily thought maybe she had imagined it.

Holding her tightly to his body . . . ironic given their respective conditions that he was the more sure footed . . . Hotch started them moving again. Emily already had her keys out and had hit the locks as they separated at the front of the car.

They both jumped in, shivering from the cold. Emily immediately locked the car before starting the engine and turning on the heat.

She knew it would take a few minutes to warm up but she was too impatient to wait.

Hotch's gaze turned towards the window, looking at the other cars parked on the street. A lot of them . . . his included most likely . . . were now blocked in from the snowplows passing.

It was fortunate that Emily was only inside for a moment or else he would have had to go out and not only clear the windshield, but probably dig them out as well.

As it was the wipers had done a sufficient job for the bit of snow that had stuck to the windshield.

Suddenly he jumped as Emily touched his arm.

"Seat belt," she said, "the roads are icy."

Nodding slowly he reached behind him and pulled the navy strap around his body.

Once Hotch was buckled in, Emily pulled back onto Wisconsin Ave. She turned right at the lights and then took a quick left onto the Key Bridge.

Even at this hour the roads in the city were well traveled, but she could feel the traction on the bridge was not as good as it was in Georgetown. Her stomach lurched as they slid slightly on a small patch of black ice under the snow.

Though she didn't lose control . . . or come close to hitting anyone . . . it still didn't do much for her nerves. And she jumped when Hotch said quietly next to her.

"Why don't you sleep in Jack's room? I'd rather you weren't driving any more tonight."

They'd be at his place in ten minutes but then it was another quarter of an hour . . . in good weather . . . from his place to hers.

The roads certainly weren't going to get any better than they were now. And now they were obviously quite treacherous.

He cursed himself again for calling her out of bed.

Emily took a breath and then nodded, "yeah, maybe I will do that. My ready bag's in the trunk."

Thank God!

She really didn't want to drive anymore tonight. When she was seventeen she'd been in an accident. Her boyfriend had been driving her home from the movies and he'd lost control on a patch of black ice. They'd slid into a four way intersection and had been inches from careening into a truck that was passing in front of them.

As emotionally scarring as the whole event had been, fortunately there had been no physical injuries. Neither the vehicles nor their occupants had a scratch on them. But ever since then she'd absolutely hated to drive in the snow.

Of course she was never going to tell Hotch that story.

He'd feel even worse that he'd called her out. And it was obvious that he'd been surprised at the turn the weather had taken. But heavy snow around here was unusual. It was a bizarre cold snap that was making DC in December look more like New England typically did.

It was admittedly pretty to look at . . . but the beauty of the season could only be enjoyed from the safety of her living room window.

Right now she was scared shitless.

But with the exception of a few more slips, they got to his apartment without any real incident.

When they got out of the car she reached back in to hit the latch for the trunk. She started to head down to get her bag but Hotch beat her to it.

He was coming up from the back before she'd barely taken two steps in that direction. Clutching her bag in one hand, Hotch took her arm with the other as he began walking them quickly towards his front door.

To Emily's perception he seemed pretty quick on his feet right now.

The cold air, and the time in the car had both sobered Hotch up considerably. And he was now wishing that rather than calling anyone, that he'd just waited out his time at the bar. Even if he hadn't sobered up enough to drive, he would have at least been thinking clearly enough that a cab would have seemed a more logical alternative to pulling Emily out of bed.

Though . . . he tucked her under his arm again . . . part of him knew that's not why he'd called her anyway.

The ride was only the surface reason.

His fingers slipped once as he tried to get the key into the lock. But he knew that's because they were cold, and not because of the remaining alcohol in his system.

After he got the lock, he held the door open for Emily so that she could go in front of him. As they started towards his apartment their shoes echoed in the silence of the front hallway.

It was late . . . very late . . . and Hotch would have been surprised if there was anyone else up besides them.

When they reached his apartment at the far end of the hall he was relieved that he had a much easier time working the lock on his apartment door than he had the external door.

That confirmed his belief that it was the cold and not the alcohol that made his hand slip. He was indeed sobering up.

Hotch reached around the corner to hit the lights, and Emily slipped passed him into the warmth of his apartment. She had been there a few times before so she had no qualms about invading his space now.

As soon as she got inside she started to shiver again. Her body was revolting from the dramatic change in external temperature.

She moved to take off her coat, but again, Hotch was there before she knew what was happening. His fingers nimbly worked the buttons on her overcoat before he helped her slip out of it.

It was the reverse of what she'd done for him at the bar.

Once he had her wet wool in his arms, their eyes caught as he stood in front of her. Emily saw that his focus was clearer now than it had been before.

The effects of the alcohol were obviously wearing off. Most likely the cold had sobered him up.

Hotch stared at her for a moment. Because she was wearing her long coat he hadn't noticed in the bar that she was also wearing her pajamas. But now that he could see pink flannel his eyes began to tear up again.

It looked so soft.

Seeing the tears in Hotch's eyes Emily reached her hand out to him but he quickly turned away.

"Let me just hang this up," his voice was choked with emotion. And hearing how upset he was, was seriously testing Emily's resolve to let him come to her at his own pace.

Hotch took her coat and hung it in the closet before he slipped off his own and placed it next to hers. He stared at the two jackets for a moment.

They were almost identical in style and color.

Of course hers was much smaller though. He turned back to see her watching him closely as she rubbed her arms. For the moment he ignored the look and instead focused in on the fact that she was cold.

After he pulled off his tie and kicked off his wet shoes, he padded back over to her, backing her up slightly so that she was sitting on the arm of the couch. Then he grabbed the throw that was on the back of the cushions, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She gave him a grateful smile, "thanks. You know I'm always cold."

His expression was soft as he said quietly, "I know."

And then he leaned down and unzipped her boots, slipping off first one, and then the other. Once he'd placed her wet shoes behind him on the mat, he began rubbing her stocking clad feet between his hands, warming them up.

Her eyes began to sting . . . God, he was so sweet.

Sadly, she realized that this was probably the most personal moment she'd had with a man in years. And before she could stop herself, she'd started to lean down to kiss him.

He met her halfway, his hands sliding up to rest on her calves.

The kiss was sweet and gentle, and Emily's eyes were moist when they separated.

This was what she'd been hoping for . . . some sign from him that her feelings were reciprocated. And now she could see that they clearly were.

But still . . . she ran her finger down his cold cheek . . . he looked so sad.

And she was just about to break her own rule and ask him what had happened, when Hotch reached for her. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and then he hugged her body close to his as he whispered in her ear.

"My mother died today."

Emily's eyes immediately began to burn in sympathy as she whispered back, "oh Hotch," she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I'm so sorry."

No wonder he was drinking so much . . . she felt a pain in her heart . . . the poor thing.

She leaned back so she could see his face, "what happened?"

His tears began pooling again, "heart attack. I got the call around two."

Puzzled, Emily looked at him for a second, "but . . . but we did that phone consult at three," she tipped her head in astonishment, "why didn't you tell somebody?"

Hotch's eyes dropped to the floor as he said softly, "I just told you."

He hadn't wanted to tell anyone when he was at the office. They would have made a big deal about it. And of course it was a big deal. But he just hadn't wanted to be the center of their attention.

So he'd kept it to himself, which hadn't been too hard as long as he kept working and didn't think. And then after work . . . when his emotions were starting to spill over . . . he'd driven up to the city to get drunk.

Of course he could have done that closer to the office, but Georgetown was closer to home than Quantico was.

Feeling a tear run down her face, Emily pulled him into another hug as she whispered, "right . . ." she swallowed, "that's right. You just told me."

And apparently she was the only one he was telling. She'd never felt so honored for such a perverse reason.

Hotch turned his face into Emily's hair. As he breathed her in, he could feel the tears were about to spill over, and he started blinking frantically.

He didn't cry in front of other people.

But then Emily turned her head and pressed her lips to his ear, "I'm really sorry about your mom."

And he knew then . . . this is why he'd called her instead of Dave.

He'd wanted a hug, and he wanted sympathy and affection.

The tears began to run down his face . . . he just wanted to feel loved.

And that's something that Emily would do for him.

Feeling his chest heave, Emily rubbed her hand down his back murmuring, "it's okay. It's okay . . . it's just me."

Emily knew that the idea of losing control in front of someone else would be bothering him.

And then she realized that maybe she could comfort him a little better if they weren't standing half in the front hall. She needed to get him to move onto the couch.

But for a moment she didn't know what to call him. Though she'd always just called him 'Hotch,' a nickname right now seemed too distant.

And she was trying to pull him closer.

So for the first time ever she called him by his given name.

"Aaron . . ." she slipped under his arm and started walking them around the end table, "let's sit down."

Given how hard he was crying she wasn't sure if her words would get through. But either way he let her move them over to the couch. Once they were seated side by side, she turned to him, kissing him again before she whispered, "lie down honey."

When she'd tasted the tears on his face, 'honey' was the only term that came to her. That's when it became clear to her that somebody needed to take care of him.

Somebody needed to love him.

Hotch choked back a sob as he pushed himself back to lie down on the couch. Before he could even miss the contact, Emily was climbing on top of him, molding her body to his. As she moved up to nuzzle his neck he wrapped his arms tightly around her slim frame.

He'd never felt so vulnerable and exposed. If she pulled away now he didn't know if he'd ever be able to look her in the eye again.

Emily wished that she had some words to take away his pain. But there was nothing. There's never anything anyone can say besides 'I'm sorry.'

So she just held him close, and let him cry. But his sobs were breaking her heart. Hotch was obviously someone who didn't let go . . . ever. And she was sure that there was more fueling his grief than simply the death of his mother. As awful as that was, there were so many layers of pain around his heart. And she was sure that he was tearing through all of them right now.

As she lay there with him, feeling his body wracked with grief, Emily suddenly remembered what he'd said to her all of those months ago.

He didn't believe in heaven.

His mom just died and he didn't believe in heaven.

Just a hell.

That was just so sad that it broke her heart. And as she clutched him tighter, her own tears began to run, soaking into his shirt.

Hotch tried to get his sobbing under control. These were floodgates that hadn't been opened in thirty years and it was hard to shut them down again.

His body shuddered as he took a gasping breath and pulled Emily in closer, rolling them slightly to the side. With their new position, she was now partly pinned between him and the back of the couch.

Emily was his life line right now, and he was afraid that that he would drown if he let her go before he'd pulled himself back together again. He choked back another sob that tried to rise up . . . but fortunately Emily leaving him didn't seem to be a concern right now.

And as his own tears began to subside, he noticed her wiping her eyes as well.

That's when he realized . . . she was crying for him.

In that moment of revelation, he felt a wave of love for her. It was another emotion that he didn't usually allow himself to feel. And as genuine as it was, he certainly didn't allow himself to feel it for her.

It would be too hard. But in that instant, he wished so badly that she was his.

That he could keep her with him always.

Because he had a feeling that she could probably keep away some of the darkness that haunted him.

He sniffled and rubbed his hand along the fuzzy material covering her back.

Emily and her pink flannel pajamas might just provide more protection for him than any Kevlar vest.

Feeling Hotch's sobs had passed; Emily raised her head slightly so that she could see into his eyes.

He was staring at her.

So she pushed herself up a little more so that she could kiss first his cheek . . . and then his lips.

Again, it was a gentle kiss, but as she pulled back, she noticed the shift in his eyes. They were red rimmed and still watering, but she saw something more there than just grief.

Something that made her lean in again.

This time the kiss wasn't gentle. It was persistent and possessive as he pinned her to the side, running his fingers in her hair as his other hand began to inch underneath her top. She felt her body responding and she hooked her leg over his hip, pressing into him.

If this would make him feel better, then this is what they would do.

She'd wanted him for months, and it was clear to her now that he had feelings for her as well. Whether or not that would ever translate into a real relationship between the two of them, she didn't know. She did know that if it was just this one night that they had, then that would be enough for her.

The memory of being with him would be more than what she had now.

Still kissing frantically, they began unbuttoning each other's clothes. Hotch was faster than she was and as he got the last button, her breasts, unrestrained by a bra, immediately fell free. His hands moved down to gently caress the soft skin. But as her hands moved to his belt he suddenly pulled away from her mouth, gasping, "wait, not here," his fingers caught hers, "Jack will be here tomorrow and I don't . . ."

He trailed off, hoping that she understood what he meant. It was a little disturbing to put into words, 'under no circumstances do I want my three year old sitting in the same spot we had sex.'

Emily stared at him for a moment before she nodded, "of course."

If she had a child she certainly wouldn't want him exposed, even peripherally, to ANY aspect of her sex life. Just the thought of it made her uncomfortable, so she could imagine Hotch's feelings on the topic.

Hotch stood up and he put his hand out to her, pulling her up and hugging her close to his body.

Now that they'd stopped for a moment, the frenetic element of their actions had passed. Though he still most definitely wanted to make love to her, he felt more in control again. Less mindless, more deliberate in his actions. And as his rational brain asserted itself, he pressed his lips to her ear, "are you really sure Emily? Because I can't promise you anything more than right now."

As strong as his feelings for her had become, he knew that he was in no emotional condition at the moment to be making decisions about long term commitments. And Emily was much too important to him to ever lead her on.

So before they took another step he needed to know that she was really okay with this.

Emily wrapped her arms around his waist as she tipped her head back, "I'm not looking for any promises. I know what you're going through, and I understand this is not the time for any discussion about other things," she lay her head back on his chest, "I want to be with you. I'm here for you because I care about you, and if you want to talk about more later then I'm all for that. But if tonight is all we ever have, then that's all right too," she leaned back again, catching his eyes once more. And then sadness tinged her smile as she whispered, "you take the little snippets of happiness or you don't get any happiness at all."

She knew it was a horribly depressing view. But that's how she saw the world. And she knew that if anyone could understand that philosophy then it would be Hotch.

Hotch stared at her for a moment before leaning in to kiss her once more. As he pulled back he whispered, "I think I would like to talk later."

That was all that he could offer her right now.

A faint bit of happiness touched Emily's lips as she nodded, "okay, but for now," she looked at his red rimmed eyes, "let's just go to bed."

There was nothing more to say tonight. All she wanted to do was make him forget his pain for a little while.

And that . . . she tugged on his hand and began leading him out of the living room . . . was not something that she could accomplish standing in the hallway.

When they reached the bedroom door, Hotch hugged Emily back against his chest and whispered, "I promise we'll talk later."

Tears stung her eyes as she nodded, and then he was picking her up and carrying her to the bed.

The last thought she had before he started undressing her was one filled with sadness.

'I hope that's a promise he can keep.'

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A/N 2: Yes, Arc, I again described Emily's pajamas :) But now that you've brought my pajama obsession to the world's attention (literally the WORLD'S attention), I feel remiss if I have an opportunity to dress her up in a nice pair of fuzzy flannels and I let it pass me by.

This has a little epilogue but that's it. I sort of like this world though, it's cold and dreary, so I might actually use it again later if I have another idea for a one shot. I love the Girl'verse but sometimes I do like to work in a darker palette ;)

This was something I started literally months ago and never finished. But when the writer's block hit I started going through everything trying to find something I could connect with. And as I was going through my incomplete scenes I found this one. It was just her showing up at the bar and him drinking by himself for no obvious reason. It was depressing enough that I was sort of able to connect with it in my crappy writer's block mindset :) So I tacked on a few half ass scenes but it was really choppy and horrible, just ideas more than anything. But I cleaned it up tonight and I thought it turned out okay. Hopefully you dear readers, will agree :) Please let me know.