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Reply to Tammy or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 20, 2001
(This will be a series of short/long fics all inspired by poetry)
Category: F/F slash with M/T undertones
Rating: If you watch the show, you're old enough for this fic.
Spoilers: None; AU future fic
AN: Inspired by Secret Agent, a poem written by my late father. Care to read the masterpiece? Drop me an email.; Btw, this originally was going to be a rebound fic, but my sister is always certain that in all the rpgs I play, that I have "extra sugar" tendencies.
You lean over, across my body, to grab your keys, which just so happen to be lying on the end table beside me. Did you do it on purpose? Did you put them there so that you'd have to lean over? So that I'd feel your arm against my chest? The heat radiating off it with such intensity that it takes all my willpower not to grab you and kiss you right there?
But then I realize, no, you didn't do it on purpose. I'd like to say that you didn't because you don't believe in routines. That everything in your life involves spontaneity, but then I'd be lying to myself. Because you're just one big routine. A routine that exudes monotony-that's how far you've woven yourself into it. You put the keys there because you always put them on the table. In the little candy dish I bought you.
I used to smile when you'd do that. It meant you appreciated it. Now I despise you for it. Because the key ring you put on it, doesn't just have your apartment key and car key. It has his. How long ago did he give it to you? Did you have to beg him to make a copy for you? Or did he give it to you, tied with a ribbon, like I did? Not that it matters. Either way, you have it now and you flaunt it in my face every time you throw it in that damn candy dish.
You think I don't know. That I'm oblivious to the relationship you two have. Well, you're dead wrong. I know about it-I knew he'd come crawling back to you before even you did. That's just the way Max is. You have to knock his head around a few times before he realizes he's got a great thing standing right in front of him. And then he realizes it and swoops in to take you away from me. Did the last few months we've shared together mean nothing? Oh, yeah, I forgot. You still live with me. Not that I would kick you out, anyway.
You start to gather your things, throwing your keys in your purse while you look for your other shoe. You crawl around on the floor and I watch your legs stick out as the rest of your body disappears into the closet. With an 'oomph' you reappear, high heel in hand. You put it on, spinning around, waiting for my approval. Like always, I say you look great and you give me a smile that no longer belongs to just me. You grab your purse and walk out the door.
I want to call you back. Scream out your name. Beg you to stay. Heck, I'd even let you bring him into our bed if it would mean you wouldn't leave. I'd let him touch your face; make you smile the way I can't. Because that's better than the alternative I have to face every other day of the week. Watching you come home and undress before bed. And seeing his fingerprints all over your body.
You walk back in and catch me off guard. You don't do that. You don't break routines. So I can only jump to the obvious: you chose me. "Tess, what-"
You silence me with a kiss. "I almost forgot to kiss you goodbye," you whisper when you break away. "Don't stay up. I'll be back later tonight. Bye."
"Bye," I reply, almost inaudibly.
You turn back when you reach the doorframe. "Oh, and will you tape 'E.R.' for me?" I nod my head and you smile. "Thanks, Isabel."
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