Part 1: Breakeven

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a God that I don't believe in,
'Cause I got time while she got freedom,
'Cause when a heart breaks
No, it don't break even.

Richard stared at the glass full of scotch on his desk. It was still untouched for now, but he knew that if he had just a single taste, then it wouldn't be enough; he knew that if he took that path, then there would not be way back. But what was holding him back, after all? Everything around him was changing and, even though he liked to think that he didn't mind changes, he did very much. All the things that had a meaning in his life were quickly losing consistence: his routine job given the new status quo at the hospital on a professional level and his friendships on a more personal one.

And then there was Isobel Crawley, who was no longer one of his nurses nor something easily definable as mere friend. As always, she was on a whole different level for him, a level he didn't want to inspect further. Because after all, it was her the ultimate reason why he was now feeling the desperate need to get drunk until losing conscience; because after all, that level – whichever was – would be ceased to exist the next day.

He glanced at the clock: it was nearly ten in the evening, about fourteen hours to the wedding. He let out a frantic sigh, and right away a nervous chuckle. Pull yourself together, Richard! It's not like you are the groom! - he said to himself with a hint of sharp irony, and it were thoughts like that one to slowly driving him mad. He wanted to stop thinking, that was the only thing he truly required for the moment, but it was hard to do that when the clock didn't work at his command. He didn't want time to stop and he certainly didn't want time to run straight to the next morning, but somehow he wasn't fine with the current pace of time either.

Because time was all he got in the end and the only thing he could do with it was thinking. Or maybe complaining about his own life. Or maybe drinking.

Her best days will be some of my worst,
She finally met a man that's gonna put her first,
While I'm wide awake, she's no trouble sleeping,
'Coz when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

The decision was made when his tired but yet too lucid eyes landed on a well-known colourful invitation card. Finally, after doubts for her and vain hopes for himself, she was getting married with Lord Merton and she was going to live a long and healthy life with him. He had been the one to tell them so only a month before, during Lady Edith's wedding, forcing a smile in spite of the bledding in his heart. Oh, the irony of doing well his job… You are good doctor, Richard. A very good one, indeed! – his mind mocked him again and he had no other way to stop it except from drinking the scotch. And so he did, he emptied the glass in one single gulp and then filled it back again.

He was passing the point of heartbreaking, but at least she was happy, or so he honestly hoped. The next day would have been probably the worst day of his all life, but it also would have been one of the best of hers. She was about to marry the man she loved, a man who would have treated her well and offered all the happiness in the world, wasn't she?

No! – his mind promptly screamed in spite of the weak sedation of alcohol, and for once he agreed with his fleeting, latent and potentially dangerous thoughts.

He wanted to tell her that she still had a clear choice to make.

He wanted to tell her that he himself was the man who truly was able to see her and love her for everything she was.

He wanted to tell her that…

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?
What am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're ok?
I'm falling to pieces…
I'm falling to pieces…

But he wouldn't have told anything, because he just couldn't. Plainly as it was, he was in the difficult position where he had no power to forcefully keep her with him nor any right to gently ask her to stay. He was losing her and she was losing him, they were losing each other and the worst part was that she probably wasn't even noticing. While he was planning a night of heavy thoughts and pain, she was likely in her bed dreaming about the big happy event; while he was there grieving about the unavoidable end of their friendship like it used to be before, that was the last thing on her mind.

She was happy and he had to pretend that he was fine with that. He couldn't do anything else, he couldn't say anything different, because he knew that, even if he showed her his pain and his feelings, she wouldn't have cared much about it anyway.

Therefore, at ten past ten of a cold winter night, he just let his hopes finally fall.

Falling like the scotch at the back of his throat.

Falling like his thoughts at the back of his mind.

Falling like the now crumpled invitation card on the floor.

Falling like himself and his fragile heart – to pieces.


What can I say? It's one version more of what I imagine could happen after the series to save the situation in a Richobel way:) There are two chapters to come after this one, each of them based on one different song by The Script. The song I took inspiration from to write this particular chapter was "Breakeven". See you soon, a feedback of any sort is always appreciated:)