The Whole Story

 by Mireille.
Romantic, m/m relationship, rated PG.

The Whole Story
(immediately after "The Edge")

    I took her home.
    That's not the story I'm going to tell tomorrow, of 
course, or at least, not the whole story. In the version I 
plan to tell, I took her home, but then I went in with her 
and didn't leave until morning, which will explain why I'm 
still dressed like this. And that's the only way I'm going to 
tell it, after tonight.
    But tonight... He's been a bad influence on me; I have 
the urge to be honest, and three o'clock in the morning is 
too late to go to confession. I could have talked to myself, 
I guess, but that didn't seem like it would do the trick. I 
wanted to get this out in the open, to put some distance 
between myself and the truth so that I could, maybe, start 
ignoring it. So I stopped by the station to pick up this tape 
recorder, to tell--for one time only--the real story, which I 
can then throw away like it never existed. Or keep, for those 
long winter nights when I feel like torturing myself with the 
truth.
    The truth. I think Cortez expected more from the evening, 
but I didn't feel like playing the game. Not after the 
conversation I overheard when she was getting her coat. So I 
took her home. And left, politely, thirty seconds later, 
without even so much as a kiss good-night.
    And I've been driving around since then, wishing I were 
dead. Which will explain, in the morning, why I'm still 
dressed like this. And all the time, I've been telling myself 
it's no big deal, right, he asked her to go for some coffee. 
Even trying to make myself believe that he'd have asked me, 
only I appeared to be occupied with Cortez. 
    I made a pretty damn convincing argument, too...except 
that I could tell by the expression on his face, even from a 
distance, that it had happened again.
    It must have happened this way with Victoria, too. Just 
suddenly, he was in love with her and it was like he always 
had been. If Victoria's anything to judge by, it's like he 
always will be, too, but I've been telling myself that 
everyone has someone like that in his past. Reminding myself 
that she's gone and it's over, and that he'll get over her in 
time.
    It seems that he has. 
    I could force the issue, I suppose, corner him and demand 
"Why not me?" but the only purpose it would serve would be to 
humiliate me. Nothing will dislodge him when he's committed 
his heart to someone.
    I was thinking--I had hoped--it might be me. I don't know 
whether he swings both ways or not; I have my suspicions, but 
it's not something I've figured out how to work into 
conversation. 
    With anyone else, that would be the big question. With 
anyone else, if we got past that hurdle, I'd be all right; if 
he were a normal person, this would have just been two people 
getting a cup of coffee, and I still might have had a chance 
if I moved quickly enough. 
    But not him. No, I've got to fall for the one man who 
would never, ever get involved with someone he doesn't love. 
So this thing with Thatcher's going to be serious, at least 
on his side, and if she breaks his heart, I'll kill her. But 
that means he doesn't love me--not enough, or not in the 
right way, anyway. 
    I always meant to tell him at least part of this. Meant 
to make it perfectly clear that I'm bi, at least, just in 
case he wanted to do something about it. Somehow, I never 
quite worked up the nerve. I suppose that's a good thing, 
though, considering. It could make things a bit awkward: him 
being kind and understanding about it, and me trying to find 
a rock to crawl under and die.
    So we'll go on the same way we've always done, working 
together, being friends. And I'll get used to that ache from 
something in my soul that keeps trying to tell me that 
something in his might just be a perfect fit. And I won't ask 
him why it wasn't me.
    I don't really want to hear the answer, anyway.