Author's Note: So anyways, welcome to my first ever fanfic. I used to always say that there were three things I would never write: smut, Sims 2 Legacies, and fan fics. Well, I wrote some smut for two of my favorite characters, and then I started a legacy. So I might as well write a fan fic.

So along with my ramblings above I'd like to appoligize if it takes me a while between post. I'm currently writing four stories. One original story called Fawr and Vehn. A blog, written as a fictional story, and then I'm currently working on a script, so my friends and I can make a movie. However I will try to update at least once a week.

Anyways, let's get on with the story

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One plus one half is equal to three fourths. Weird, isn't it. It doesn't make any sense to me. No matter how long I puzzle over this particular equation it doesn't make any sense. However, this one little "problem" defines the rest of my life.

See, I was sitting in The Fuse, a great club filled with loud music and happy couples. And let's not forget alcohol. Of course there was alcohol there. I was sitting in the corner of the club, hogging a whole boothed table all to myself and my trusty soda, along with the book I had been attempting to read. You might wonder why I was trying to read in the hottest club in all of Mississippi, and there's a very simple explanation. I lived upstairs. I didn't have enough cash to afford a nice apartment, and so I was renting a few rooms above the club. Sadly I got tired of the constant noise leaking through the ceiling, and the sounds of the few precious and breakable objects I had owned, shattering from the floor vibrating, so every evening I would retire down to the club, in an attempt to find solitude in the middle of a crowd.

I had lived there long enough to know the bartender well. To him I was still a mystery though. He had never been able to cox me into buying, or excepting a drink. He was confused as to why although every guy in the bar drooled over me, I showed no interest in any of them. So then he had tried to hook me up with some girls. Of course I showed no interest in them, either. To tell you the truth, I hadn't had much interest in love ever since my husband had died. Not that I was pining for him or anything. It's just that he had been my first and last experience in love, and I wished for it to remain that way. The bartender had, by now, realized that if anyone were to request that a drink be sent to me, that he should just tell them that I wasn't interested. He still however worried about my love life.

"A beautiful young lady like you," he would always tell me, "should date." I would just roll my eyes at him. He was sweet, but he just didn't understand.

I turned the page of my book, trying hard to concentrate on the words on the page, and drown out the blaring music, and the sounds of the souses over at the bar endlessly flirting with each other. I could look at them and tell every single one of them what the future held for them. For one particularly flirtatious young girl, I saw several illegitimate children in her future. For the man she was flirting with, well, I would recommend that he gets himself to the gym before that beer gut starts to grow. Then of course there was the young man the bartender was talking to. He was just weird. He seemed to me to be the nerd, over indulging in his work. The type of guy that really needed to loosen up a bit. At least he was here. This place could turn a saint into a scoundrel. At least I wasn't a saint, so I had no worries of that happening.

I turned back to my book, and tried to concentrate on the next sentence. I slammed the book closed in disgust. It was hard to read a good romance novel. Especially when love is impossible, and everyone around you is screaming, dancing, or drinking like a lunatic.

"Hi," said a voice above me, "Can I sit here?" I looked up to see the nerd from the bar standing there. His voice shocked me slightly, it was deeper that I expected. I just shrugged.

"It's a free country," I said, "Or so they tell me." I then opened my book again and pretended to read. I didn't want to make polite conversation with some idiot whose only objective for the night was to go to my place for some "hot coffee." Which is one of the reasons I don't drink coffee. If some guy suggests it, I have a good valid excuse.

"The bartender sent this, and said to enjoy." That at least got me to look up from my novel. The man had placed a dark red wine in front of me.

"No thank you," I said, returning to my novel. I couldn't believe the nerve of the bartender. He must have sent this man, in his relentless quest to get me to behave like a "normal" young person.

"So where ya from?" asked the man, nonchalantly sipping his own drink. He sounded restless, like he really didn't want to be here.

"Egypt," I said with out looking up from my book.

"Interesting." he said, "I loved Egypt the last time I was there. The pyramids, sphynxes, overpriced souvenirs and of course sand that gets in every single nook and cranny..." His voice trailed off. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he had been hoping to spark up a conversation, but I didn't feel like responding. "So what'cha reading?"

"A novel," I replied. I had considered not replying, but I just wanted to end the conversation.

"What's your name?" He seemed bored. Why should I answer the questions of some bored nerd?

"What are we playing? 20 questions or something!" I slammed the book down on the table. "Listen, I'm sure your a great guy, but I'm really not interested. Perhaps if you take this back," I handed him the glass of wine, "you can get the money you spent on it back!" I was standing now, and creating a bit of a scene. However it was too loud in here for most people to see it.

The man just scoffed. "What makes you think I'm interested in you?" he asked a look of indignation on his face.

"Because, you brought me a drink, and you sat down here." As I thought about it I realized that maybe those weren't the best reasons in the world.

"Pfh! Like I bought you this drink! Please, you're a scrawny idiotic girl who can't be more than 20! I have no interest in you." He forced the drink back into my hand. I was rather shocked at how he treated me. First off I wasn't scrawny, second off I was much older than 20! "I just came over here, because the bartender asked me to, and I have nothing else to do, till my ma..." he quickly cut off here and changed to a differently tactic, "Listen I'm sorry I've upset you. I'll just go." His eyes flashed as he turned around and left. I just bit my lip.

"Wait!" What the heck was I doing? "I'm sorry I got mad at you. Please feel free to stay." I hoped he would. I didn't know why. It's not like I liked him or anything. He turned back around and stalked back to my table.

"Hi," I said sticking out a hand, "I'm Cleo." He grabbed my hand and shook it forcefully.

"Hello," he replied, "I'm Bartimaeus."

"Bartimaeus, eh?" I asked taking a sip of wine, "So you're from Britain." He didn't have an accent, but he looked like he was British. Perhaps it was the way he was dressed, or just the smirk he wore reminded me of a cocky Brit I had know once. Either that or I was just guessing, and was likely to be wrong.

"Yes," he said, "In fact I am." He sipped his drink again, "How did you know that?"

"I've been all over the world. I can tell most people where they're from. Just by looking at them. So Britain is a far way away. How did you make it to Mississippi?"

"I walked." He said with a smirk.

"No really," I said, there was no way it was possible for him to walk from a country on the other side of a little thing we like to call an ocean, well, no way without drowning.

"Fine," he said, setting his now empty glass down on the table, "I travel a lot, too."

"So this is just a stop for you?" I asked. I felt a weird little pang in my heart when I realized that that meant that he wouldn't be here for long.

"Yeah," he said, "I won't be here for very long." Our conversation turned to other things, and before long, the club was emptying, and the bartender was smiling over at us.

"I guess this club is closing soon," Bartimaeus said, looking around at the few stragglers most of whom were passed out over the bar.

"Yep, it generally empties by 2 AM."

"Well, then I guess I better be going," With that he got up and went to pay for his drinks.

"Wait," I called again, "Would you like to come up to my apartment for some coffee?" What was I doing? I didn't feel love. I had lost that ability years ago! So what was going on now? Why did I feel this strange tingly sensation in my heart, and other more awkward places?

"You should go," the bartender told Bartimaeus, a man passed out at the bar nodded too.

"Why not?" said Bartimaeus in exasperation. And so I led him up to my room.

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I believe that was the most pleasant fling I have ever had. I never felt so wonderful, even when I had been with my late husband. Of course when we were married he was never very into me. After all, he had several more beautiful wifes, and only slept with me every once and a while out of obligation. I lay in the bed next to Bartmaeus, my arms wrapped tightly around his chest, much like he was a teddy bear. I was about to fall asleep when he began to speak.

"Um Cleo," he said, pulling out of my arms and reaching for his pants, "I have to go."

"Why?" I mumbled, trying hard not to let go of him. After all, I had greatly enjoyed myself, and I really wanted to do it again, as soon as possible.

"I have to get home?" was his only reply accompanied with a humorous grin. He was in a great hurry as if every moment he stayed with me caused him great pain.

"Why?" I asked again, pulling the sheets around me as I sat up.

"Because I have other obligations, sadly." He had almost finished dressing.

"So in other words you're married." Of course. How could such a perfect man still be available?

"No,but I must go."

"How can I reach you?" I asked. I wasn't going to give up on him no matter what.

"Why would you need to reach me?" He asked smiling again. He was in a great hurry to leave, for some reason. I just looked at him. "Fine," he wrote a phone number down on a piece of paper, "But only use it in emergencies, like if you've died or something. I really have to go now." With that he fled the room. I tried to follow him, but by the time I made it out of the bed room with the sheet I was using as a temporary dress, he was gone. There were no signs of him, almost as though he had disappeared into thin air.