A/N: I had the idea to flesh out the excerpt of the letter I included in "The Hands I Love" and add a few others as well. I've got a couple of them written, but it's still a work in progress, so we'll see how it goes. Like my other story, the title for this one is from Gordon Lightfoot's "Song for a Winter's Night."

If I Could Only Have You Near

"...What cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can speak; they have in them all that force which expresses the transports of the heart; they have all the fire of our passions; they can raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present; they have in them all the softness and delicacy of speech, and sometimes a boldness of expression even beyond it."

-Héloïse d'Argenteuil

Dear Lisbon,

I hope this finds you well. I just wanted to let you know that I'm all right, that you don't need to worry about me. I got out of the country with no problems, and now here I am, a stranger in a strange land. I won't tell you exactly where "here" is, so as not to cause more trouble for you. The feds can't touch me here, but deniability is still your best friend.

I will say that I'm somewhere warm, and by the ocean. It's really quite beautiful; I wish you could see it. I've found a little apartment to rent, not far from the water. It even has a tiny balcony, and if I stand on it and lean my head over, I can see some of the fishing boats in the harbour.

A storm is expected to hit this afternoon, so the local fishermen are returning to shore earlier than usual today. The harbour itself is the most beautiful spot in the area, I think. It's not particularly big, but the land that surrounds it is mostly made up of rolling hills which protect the little bay from the most damaging winds that can ravage the rest of the coastline. This results in calmer waters in the harbour, and even the oldest of fishing boats (and believe me, it's a marvel some of them are still afloat) are safe from damage.

The harbour reminds me of you. The name "Lisbon" means "safe harbour," doesn't it? It suits the city in Portugal, and it suits you too. You've always been one to protect others, haven't you? Always thinking of the welfare of those around you and making sacrifices to ensure their safety and success, even when they're undeserving of it, like yours truly.

Speaking of which, I need you to know how sorry I am about the consequences you and the team have had to face for being so loyal to me. You especially Lisbon, are one of the most caring and steadfast people I have ever had the honour of calling my friend, and I will always regret having to leave you alone to deal with the fallout of my actions. I told you years ago that I would always save you, and you in turn predicted that you would one day be fired because of me. You have no idea how sorry I am that you were right and I was wrong.

I hope you find a new job soon, in a place worthy of your talent and dedication, but I suspect you might be having some difficulty after what has no doubt been a very public and in-depth inquiry into your role in my mission, and of course the whole Blake Association mess. Don't lose hope though, Lisbon. Any organization would be lucky to have you working for them, and sooner or later they'll realize it.

As for me, I'm feeling a little at loose ends here. For over a decade, I've had a single purpose in life, one mission that focused my thoughts and motivated me to get out of bed in the morning. Just about every aspect of my life, my very identity, revolved around my quest for revenge. Now that it's over, I don't know quite what to do with myself. (Of course, you know me better than to think this is me wishing for a different outcome. Not at all. You know I would do it again in a heartbeat. I don't regret my actions, other than the consequences they had for you and the team.)

I never gave much thought to what the aftermath would be like. Quite honestly, I knew there was a strong chance I wouldn't survive to experience it, and certainly not as a free man. That I did is thanks in no small part to you. Not just because you gave me your gun and convinced Abbott to let me go that day, but because of everything you've done all these years. You kept me from acting recklessly at times when I got too carried away with my plans to think rationally. You also kept me from falling into despair at times when the odds were stacked against us, when nothing seemed to go in our favour.

For the longest time, I've seen my life as existing in two sections: before my family was murdered, and after. Everything that has happened to me, the people I've met, all my memories, everything I've learned; all of it is written in one of those two very different chapters. Now I seem to be starting a new chapter, and I don't know what to make of it as yet. I don't know what to make of myself. What kind of man am I now? What goal am I working toward? How should I spend my time? It's been so long since I've lived my life for its own sake. It's going to take some time to get used to. Fortunately, time is something I have a fair amount of, these days.

I hope you're well, Lisbon. I'll write again soon.

Miss you,

U No Hoo

A/N: I know I wrote in "The Hands I Love" that Jane doesn't put much geographical description in his letters, but I couldn't resist including that part about the harbour because I recently came across that theory of the etymology of the name Lisbon. Thanks for reading!