A/N: I started writing the letters as I was writing the story itself because it helped to work out some of the details. In June last year, I sent the 5 I'd finished off to Jacks to beta. Then everything just...stalled. I'm posting now not because I've finished but because I don't know when (or if) I'll finish and I've decided to operate on the assumption that something is better than nothing.
I did quite a bit of research for these but the truth is that attempting to determine any kind of logical timeline in this show is impossible. Mike and Sully get married in May and the episode after "Promises, Promises" is supposed to be in February because it's her birthday. Except the episode after that is Thanksgiving. WHAT THE HELL SHOW. So I've arbitrarily decided that Sully set out in mid-September, getting him back home in mid-October, because it's obviously not winter yet. It's never specified where in Nevada he goes, so I chose Virginia City since that's where all the mines were. I'm grateful to the Library of Congress for its collection of historical maps that gave me a guide to how Sully would have gotten to Nevada and how long it would've taken.
One last thanks to Jacks for her bits of purple and general confidence-boosting. I don't know if you're still out there, but I hope you're doing well.
This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
-o-
Virginia City, September 17th, 1870
Dear Michaela,
It's evening now and twilight looks about the same in Nevada as it does in Colorado so long as I keep my eyes on the sky. When I look down, though, everything is different. The land is flatter here, the air is colder, and you're a thousand miles away.
I miss you.
It's funny how weary just sitting still can make you. I think you would've liked the journey, though. Watching the land unravel like a piece of ribbon, all different colours and textures. It's hard to believe how far you can go now without even changing trains.
For a while I was remembering coming back from Boston, when I thought everything had gone wrong and I'd never see you again. How much it hurt. But this time, even while I went away from you, I knew that soon I'd be going back. And the miles didn't matter so much anymore because they'd take me home to you.
Sully
-o-
Virginia City, September 19th, 1870
Dear Michaela,
Yesterday Daniel took me around Virginia City. He says it's just about doubled in size the last few years with all the mines opening. It's easy to see, the way bits have been added on here and there like a patchwork. It's a strange kind of place with a kind of temporary feel to it. Not like Boston or even how I remember New York. Here everything's shifting. There's a lot of bustle and motion but it feels frantic, like Pup when he gets too excited and runs around in circles until he falls over. Maybe that's not a good way to describe a city but it's the sense I get.
I met Miss Thornton, the lady who writes Daniel's letters for him. It's easy to see how sweet on him she is, but he's not the kind to settle down, at least not yet. She seems like a nice lady and I hope she won't be hurt too bad when he moves on.
Today we went to the mine and I don't suppose you're much interested in the operation but you'll be glad to know that the workers' conditions are good, all the equipment is quality, and everything is as safe as can be made. There's only been one cave-in since Daniel's been operating and all the men made it out alive and in one piece. I just hope the new owner keeps it going the same way. Too many men run mines only thinking of profit.
All yesterday and today I kept thinking of things I wanted to show you, tell you about. Now that I'm sitting here I can't think of them. I'm just thinking about you.
I can't sleep tonight. It's raining hard and you're not here. I remember once you said to me that I'm a part of you and that's how I feel tonight, like a part of me's missing. The best part of me.
Sully
-o-
September 20th
Dear Michaela,
Daniel was asking about you today. I told him if he wanted to know so much, he should come to Colorado Springs and meet you himself. He said maybe one day he would.
Talking about you with him made me think of things I haven't thought about in a while. I know you don't believe me, that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, but it's the truth. At least that's when it started. Before that day I hadn't looked at any woman twice since Abagail died. When I saw you in your fancy dress talking to the Reverend, I figured a lady like you wouldn't last a week in Colorado Springs. Then you fell and you got right back up, not making any fuss, and kept going like it didn't even matter. That stayed with me. And even though I didn't want to, I kept thinking about you, about the kind of woman you were to be so stubborn, so brave. I liked that about you before I ever saw your face. Right from the beginning, you weren't like I expected you to be.
You confused me, you know, back then. Made me mad. I didn't want to like you, care for you. I didn't want to admire you, the way you tried so hard, the way you believed in people. You see what people can be and you make them want to be better for you. You made me want to be better.
The first time I saw your face, in Loren's store, I remember thinking I'd never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.
I still think that. Every day.
Sully
-o-
September 22nd
Dear Michaela,
It's late tonight, maybe even crossed over to morning now, and quiet. The sky is clear and I'm looking up at the stars. They always make me feel peaceful. And knowing that they're the same ones you see makes me miss you just a little bit less.
I slept just fine on my own for years but somehow after only a few months I can't seem to sleep well without you next to me. I wake up in the night and I'm not choking on your hair. Your cold little feet aren't freezing my leg. You'd think I wouldn't miss those things, but I do. And I can't curl up against you just to listen to your breathing. I can't roll over and smell you on the pillow. You're not here in the morning all sleepy and warm to kiss.
I don't know why this is so hard, Michaela. If I'd known how it would be, being away from you, I don't know if I would've come. And I can see you shaking your head at me now and telling me of course I would. I probably shouldn't tell you how much I've always liked it when you argue with me. But then I figure you probably already know.
Sully
-o-
September 24th
Dear Michaela,
All these contracts and legal papers are reminding me of all those forms I had to fill out when I started as Indian Agent. I'd rather be doing almost anything else.
I've been writing to you for more than a week now and I know if I don't send this soon it might not make it there before I do. I wish I could just bring it to you myself.
I know you and the children are fine but I catch myself sometimes wondering just what you're doing right then, in that moment. I close my eyes and try to picture it. It was the same when you went to Boston, when your Ma was sick. Sometimes I missed you so much it felt like I couldn't breathe. And I couldn't tell anyone. I could hardly tell myself. I didn't know how I was supposed to just keep walking around with everything I felt inside me. That's why I went. I had to see you. I was afraid you'd forget me, that maybe you already had.
When I sit down to write these letters I mean to tell you what's happening here and what Virginia City's like, but I never seem to manage, do I? It makes me feel closer to you to write to you, like we're not so far apart. Most of my life I've been alone and sometimes now, even when I want them to, words just won't come. So many times what's inside me seems too much to fit into anything I could say. Words just get in the way of me showing you how I feel. But they're important to you and I want you to have them. I want you to know and somehow it's easier to find the words when I write them down like this.
You know me. You understand me better than anyone ever has. And I know there's nowhere safer to put my heart than in your hands.
Sully
-o-
September 27th
Dear Michaela,
There's been a cold, heavy rain all last night and today. It seems like everything makes me think of you now, even the weather. I was remembering the night we spent on Harding's land after I made you leave your tent behind. How the sky just opened up and poured down on us like we were at the bottom of a waterfall.
I was so mad at you for coming with me on that trip. I told myself it was because you could get hurt, and that was part of it, but mostly it was because I wanted you to come and I knew I shouldn't want that. I had no business wanting that. So I got angry with you. It doesn't make much sense now I think about it.
I don't know which of us was more stubborn then.
There were nights I couldn't sleep for remembering that trip after we got home. Your hair when you let me brush it. It was warm from the sun and soft as cornsilk. You tilted your head to one side and I wanted to kiss your neck, just there behind your ear.
The buttons on your blouse. Your hands covering mine. I never knew doing up a woman's buttons could be as exciting as undoing them.
And then that night in the rain you fell asleep holding my hand. I didn't know how I was going to let go come the morning. That scared me more than anything — that I didn't want to.
Now I've got so many more things to remember, so many more ways I've touched you. I miss all of them.
Sully
-o-
September 28th
I had the nightmare again. All the rain and remembering, I guess. I woke up with that feeling like I was choking, like there wasn't any air. It was pitch dark and I swear I could feel the water around me, sucking me down. It took me some time to get the lamp lit, I was shaking so bad, but like I told you in Denver, the light helps.
It's always the same. I'm alone, in the dark, and the air is stale. My skin is wet and flaking off in pieces and the water is always rising. It makes no sense to me why I keep having this dream. The cave-in was more than ten years ago. I never think about it now. But it's always the same dream.
Maybe it's just like a scar on the body, a reminder of where you got hurt. Except a scar doesn't wake you up in the middle of the night thinking you're dying.
I'd rather think about you. Lying here without you, I can't help thinking about touching you. I love your skin, your taste. I love the way you respond to me.
That night in Denver was the first time I ever got back to sleep after the nightmare. Used to be that once I got out of it, I just stayed awake. I remember I got up and went into the other room and opened the window so I could lean out and feel the air moving. I didn't mean to wake you but you came out and you put your arms around me. Just holding you made me feel like I could breathe again.
You lead me back to bed and you made me forget everything except you.
When we got married, I thought I knew what it'd be like. But being with you isn't like anything I've felt before. I kept thinking it'd stop being so overwhelming. That the wanting would ease some. It hasn't happened yet.
I miss you like a piece of me is gone.
Complete, for now. Maybe someday I'll finish the other 5. I hope so.