Fic: Choosing Is Giving Up... (WAT)
Title: Choosing Is Giving Up...
Pairing: Unrequited M/D
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Nothing in Without a trace belongs to me. I'm just writing for fun!
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He’s hot. I can’t deny that. A killer smile that makes everyone melt, two baby blue eyes, so clear, almost translucent, that seem to look right into your soul.
Yeah, he’s hot. Beautiful, even.
And you look happy. Really happy. Happier that I’ve ever seen you, in fact. It wasn’t until I saw that shinning gleam flickering in your eyes that I realized how much hurt lay beneath your casualness. But now, your smile is a little brighter and your laugh a little happier.
You whisper something into his ear with a knowing smile, and suddenly he bursts out in laugher. You just grin a little wider, then you slide your arm around his waist and kiss him on the cheek. Here, in the middle of the office. Here, in front of us, in front of me. Yet, it’s not something sexual or even sensual. It’s tender.
And that hurts. So much that I feel my chest tighten, and I find it hard to breathe suddenly. I know if I weren’t blinking so forcefully, I would certainly notice the hot tingling of repressed tears, burning my eyes.
He cracks a joke. Something funny, and I would probably laugh if I weren’t so focus on you. Sam did, anyway, doesn’t object when he just calls her Sam. Vivian gives him the motherly look and somehow it feels terribly wrong. Hell, even Jack smiles at him genuinely when he says his goodbyes.
Of course Jack does, because he’s a nice guy.
The perfect man, actually, and you deserve him.
Then he turns to me. Says my name, in a weird kind of way. Like… 'Meyrtin'. Normally I would probably be amused or angry, but I'm not, because I’m too focused on trying to smile. One of those neutral, completely faked, Fitzgerald smiles. And really, it shouldn’t be that difficult to find the strength to pretend, like I did so many times. Except it is.
Because you look at him like nothing else exists and I feel my heart shatter, falling here, on the floor in a million of pieces under your unaware eyes. Because I want to hug you, I want to kiss you. Or simply love you.
But your smile isn’t for me, and I’d like to cry, to scream. To curl into a ball until the world fades away.
And that guy who is so perfect, so beautiful -- I can’t help hating him a little. I really shouldn’t because, after all, it’s my own fault if it’s not me who shares your life. You gave me the chance to be the special one, and I didn’t take it.
Because I’m such a coward that I can’t get rid of that fucking fear which invades me whenever it’s question of love and of that fucking Fitzgerald’s control that clings to me like a second skin.
It’s probably better that way, because I know that I couldn’t have made you happy like he does. For me being such a mess, my life such a screw up. And you deserve better. Better than the pain I didn’t see you were in; that hurt I put in you. And just the thought makes me ache.
But here we are. Finally, finally, I succeed. I feel the corner of my mouth tug into a smile. And it must be convincing -- I know it is -- because he pats me on the shoulder, and says, "See you soon Meyrtin." Yeah, yeah, see you soon.
You smile at me before turning toward the door. You smile at me that casual smile you address to everyone. And that spark in your eyes is definitely not for me.
I’m not the special one anymore. And as hard as I try, I can’t find anyone to blame. Just me.
The End