Teresa could love him. He pulls her pigtails and reads her mind and smiles that smile, and she could. A sparkle catches on nimble fingers, and a gold band reminds her: she can't.

Not him, whose heart belongs to a dead woman and child, whose soul is the plaything of a serial killer.

Some day. But their tale has no happy ending, only the dead.

If he weren't so broken; but that means no (dead) wife, and that means the SCU, alone, with less closed cases.

She'll take what she can; the tricks, the capers, the smiles, the laughs.


I claim no ownership.

A set of thoughts concerning characters. Jumps back and forth between episodes and seasons.