[Fic] Let It Go
(Bela = enjoythe_ride. Gert belongs to Supernatural. Not binding on any Sam. Beginning voicemails from RP.)
"You're going to make me do this over the phone, aren't you? To your voice-mail. I wanted to say this in person, but...I was stupid. I was scared. I said whatever I had to say to get you out of town. I didn't mean a word of it. It's probably futile now, but...I do want you. More than I feel I should. I'm sorry. What I said was a mistake. You...never were. I don't...tend to love my mistakes."
"Michael, please -- don't call me anymore. I'm doing what you asked and staying gone, so please. I just -- you can't just say things and expect them to be fixed. It's not that easy. Just -- leave me be. It was a mistake to come back to Miami in the first place. I'm only going to continue to ignore your calls, so please stop calling. Thank you."
***
Michael wasn't a man to give up easily when it came to most things, but when it was people - special, important people - giving up was an easy action. Even if it felt horrible.
He hadn't tried reaching Bela again after she left that message. Instead he went back to the theory that she was better off without him. As the weeks passed he kept himself busy. He cleaned his apartment. He couldn't bear the few reminders of her that were around, so he had stashed them in the shed at his mother's house. Her necklace. The little painting a previous client had passed his way. Even the toothbrush she'd hastily left behind. He spent enough of his time pretending he wasn't thinking about her, having pieces of her still in the loft wasn't something he wanted.
It was a normal day. He was on the phone with Sam, discussing someone Sam knew that wanted to talk to Michael. Mike moved from where he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a pen, then looked around for paper. He rolled his eyes, cell phone propped between his ear and shoulder, and started rattling around. He moved to the bedside table, opposite where he usually slept, and pulled the drawer open.
His phone nearly fell from his shoulder. He slid the phone back in place and slowly picked up the notebook that was laying inside the drawer. He crept back and fell into a seat on the bed.
"Mikey? Still there?" Sam asked.
"Yea...Sam, let me call you back." He hung up without waiting for a reply.
His hand slid across the top of the book and he flipped it open. It was the size of a journal, with a leather covering. It was also Bela's. He wasn't sure how she managed to forget it or how me missed it in his clean out, but there it was. There wasn't much written inside. Some scrawled notes that meant nothing to him, nor gave him any idea where she might be. Dates. And a lot of pages that had been torn out. He flipped to the first empty page and ran a finger through the spine. A page had been torn out. His eyes narrowed slightly and he held the notebook up, glancing at the blank page. Then he moved across the loft to find a pencil. He tore a page from the back of her notebook and placed it over the blank page, then ran the pencil over it lightly. As he did, letters and numbers started to appear. His heart began to pound. It could be nothing, but it was more than he had found so far. It was a phone number. And a name. Gert.
Michael picked up his cell phone and slowly dialed the number, praying this would get him somewhere.
"Hello?" A sweet, older woman's voice came on the line.
"Hi," Michael replied, making his voice warm. "I'm looking for a young woman named Gert."
The woman chuckled. "Well you've found her. Might I ask who is looking?"
"My name is Michael Westen..."
666
"You're going to make me do this over the phone, aren't you? To your voice-mail. I wanted to say this in person, but...I was stupid. I was scared. I said whatever I had to say to get you out of town. I didn't mean a word of it. It's probably futile now, but...I do want you. More than I feel I should. I'm sorry. What I said was a mistake. You...never were. I don't...tend to love my mistakes."
"Michael, please -- don't call me anymore. I'm doing what you asked and staying gone, so please. I just -- you can't just say things and expect them to be fixed. It's not that easy. Just -- leave me be. It was a mistake to come back to Miami in the first place. I'm only going to continue to ignore your calls, so please stop calling. Thank you."
***
Michael wasn't a man to give up easily when it came to most things, but when it was people - special, important people - giving up was an easy action. Even if it felt horrible.
He hadn't tried reaching Bela again after she left that message. Instead he went back to the theory that she was better off without him. As the weeks passed he kept himself busy. He cleaned his apartment. He couldn't bear the few reminders of her that were around, so he had stashed them in the shed at his mother's house. Her necklace. The little painting a previous client had passed his way. Even the toothbrush she'd hastily left behind. He spent enough of his time pretending he wasn't thinking about her, having pieces of her still in the loft wasn't something he wanted.
It was a normal day. He was on the phone with Sam, discussing someone Sam knew that wanted to talk to Michael. Mike moved from where he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a pen, then looked around for paper. He rolled his eyes, cell phone propped between his ear and shoulder, and started rattling around. He moved to the bedside table, opposite where he usually slept, and pulled the drawer open.
His phone nearly fell from his shoulder. He slid the phone back in place and slowly picked up the notebook that was laying inside the drawer. He crept back and fell into a seat on the bed.
"Mikey? Still there?" Sam asked.
"Yea...Sam, let me call you back." He hung up without waiting for a reply.
His hand slid across the top of the book and he flipped it open. It was the size of a journal, with a leather covering. It was also Bela's. He wasn't sure how she managed to forget it or how me missed it in his clean out, but there it was. There wasn't much written inside. Some scrawled notes that meant nothing to him, nor gave him any idea where she might be. Dates. And a lot of pages that had been torn out. He flipped to the first empty page and ran a finger through the spine. A page had been torn out. His eyes narrowed slightly and he held the notebook up, glancing at the blank page. Then he moved across the loft to find a pencil. He tore a page from the back of her notebook and placed it over the blank page, then ran the pencil over it lightly. As he did, letters and numbers started to appear. His heart began to pound. It could be nothing, but it was more than he had found so far. It was a phone number. And a name. Gert.
Michael picked up his cell phone and slowly dialed the number, praying this would get him somewhere.
"Hello?" A sweet, older woman's voice came on the line.
"Hi," Michael replied, making his voice warm. "I'm looking for a young woman named Gert."
The woman chuckled. "Well you've found her. Might I ask who is looking?"
"My name is Michael Westen..."
666