Chapter 6

                                    

                                          

Y/N's POV
I was only able to get through maybe another two hours of my work day following my encounter with Sam...and his apparent FBI partner.
Normally, I found solace in my work...my interactions with my patients made my day brighter, and being amongst coworkers who had just as much passion for the field as I did made it even better...
But it was hard to continue on after all of that.
My patients required and deserved my full, undivided attention...and they deserved a smile from me, at the very least...
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't muster one...and my mind was too far scrambled to be fully present.
Seven long, painful years without Sam...seven years of grieving, and processing....rebuilding and evolving...
And in the course of about thirty minutes, I realized it was all for naught. 
The foundation of Sam and I's relationship was unequivocal love...and the layers built on top of that were sustained by a mutual effort. Listening as much as we talked, absorbing as much as we expressed, giving as much as we took, and loving each other with the same ferocity. 
Maybe that's why I put so much time into grieving and remembering him...because maybe a small part of me thought that he would be out there, somewhere...doing the same thing. Maybe our relationship, even though it ended, left a similar impact on him as it did on me. 
But clearly....I was wrong.
Vaguely remembering my name was a massive slap to the face enough on it's own....but then he noticed that little fucking stuffed animal....and I could see in his eyes, a memory of some sort started to come back...and it made me feel hopeful.
Not too hopeful...but enough to where I began to pray that he would at least say something...at least ask a clarifying question about it...
But he didn't. He just did his job....and he left. 
A nod. A professional, "thanks for your time", strong-silent-type, FBI nod. That's all I got. 
I could go in depth with you about the dreams I've had involving our reunion, were it to ever occur. I could tell you about the hurricane of emotions that would crash over me and null the rest of my senses. I could tell you about the way I'd tangle my fingers in his long mess of brunette hair...and the way I'd kiss him as if my life depended on it....but I think all of that goes without saying.
Never, though....did my dreams involve him popping back up, out of the clear blue sky, with a secret life I never would've guessed...and then disappearing once again without so much as a "take care of yourself." 
It was as if I'd finally managed to regain normalcy in my life after he pulled the trigger all those years ago...and then he showed back up for the sole purpose of putting two more bullets in me just for good measure. 
After he left my office...I just thought about how fucking hard I worked. How hard I worked to prove myself worthy...how hard I worked to get back on my feet...how hard I worked to make something of myself, out of the nothingness I was left in. 
God dammit....I worked so fucking hard. 
And in thirty minutes...and in even fewer words...he made me feel as if not a shred of it mattered.