A/N: Greetings, running with my muse in the limited time before another block is likely to be scheduled, I went digging around my peg-drive and found this.

*Hats off* To the wonderful Princess Sammi, who is the songfic queen (Yip, take a bow) and with some ping pong of ideas and suggestions was fabulous at helping despite this idea gathering cobwebs in my peg-drive since about last April/May time!

**WARNING**

This fic is femslash or as elements that imply such themes with a level of believability, taste and within the criteria of the rating system on the site. Don't like femslash then probably best to leave as this will be the only warning! Open to criticism, thoughts, feedback since this is a first attempt at femslash so thanks ;)

I own nothing, just something that I created when I thought I was going insane with a block writing Shattered Pieces. Songs and lyrics belong to artist and/or whoever wrote and takes original credit – again, I own nothing nor made any cash.

Ignore any/all spelling and grammar mistakes; sadly I'm not prefect but try to minimize obvious mistakes from stealing the spotlight.

**Sorry but due to a private message, I was more or less warned about the use of copying and pasting lyrics into this fic. This was promptly edited to prevent my account from being closed down and will now probably have to have a brief introduction as to what inspired the following chapters to begin with**

Enjoy x

Chapter One: The One That Got Away

It seemed strange to imagine that at some point in her life, the raven haired beauty did not even acknowledge her very existence but despite that initial meeting, everything about the pale skinned woman infiltrated her mind and wormed into her constant thoughts.

Imogen was regularly distracted or appeared to be in a semi-permanent state of a wondrous dream as this woman provoked such intense feelings and thoughts which often clouded her judgement causing her fellow colleagues to notice the change in her behavior and mood, showing concern for her.

It was not long before Imogen began to conjure the most elaborate and pathetic excuses that often caused her to cringe when the obvious fabricated and poorly rehearsed piece of fiction uttered from her lips and left her colleagues weary of her sudden change in personality, why did she feel the need to lie to them?

Imogen became completely consumed and dependent by her mere presence, being in the same room or in close proximity could only be compared to that of a drug that allowed an euphoric and oddly calm sense which clumsily clouded her judgement but it was simply intoxicating but at the same time, Imogen knew that she could not willingly act upon her feelings not without justification or perhaps an indication from her.

Somewhere within her peripheral vision, Imogen caught the raven haired mistress carefully observing her which caused the sudden rush of heat to her face as she distracted herself with a now cold cup of coffee. Her dazzling green eyes slowly caught her playful gaze from across the table and a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips which were reserved for Imogen alone while no-one else noticed.

But, sometimes in life what the heart wants the most and desires desperately often comes at a high price that so few can afford.

Imogen rested against the hard mattress on her side with her naked back facing the door; she lay curled in a tight fetal position. Her exhausted mind craved sleep but everything she dared to close her eyes; she was haunted by the images of her. It would be the last memory that Imogen would be able to recall until her dying day, the memory crisp and fresh that she could still smell the lingering perfume and now that was all she had to cling onto, the memory of her and nothing more.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to prevent the fragile barrier from rupturing having spending too long grieving that it was beginning to be a call for concern with her colleagues.

The tears were never for her self but always for her, mourning the premature departure while Imogen continued through the agonising existence merely going through the motions of a semi-normal life that continued despite her pleas. She was transparent, never particularly good at concealing the truth to begin with as her friends and colleagues noticed.

"Imogen," started a voice

She refused to acknowledge the voice which invaded her small bedroom however, she gasped when her mind cruelly decided to recover a repressed memory of an intimate moment which caused her heart to beat erratically as if it wanted to escape from the confines of her chest. Her eyes snapped open and she clutched at her shaking hands, convinced she was covered in blood. The heavy burden of guilt slowly numbed her senses when she realized it was another hallucination caused by her inability to come to term with the traumatic events.

"Imogen, at least say something to me. I cannot stand this..." She gestured with her hands, indicating the space which occupied and put distance between them when only a few weeks ago the only barrier had been their clothing.

Imogen awkwardly pushed herself from the tear stained pillow and swung her legs over the side now perched on the side of the bed and continuously avoiding her worrying gaze. She immediately pushed away a concerned hand that simply wanted to help console or offer some form of comfort.

"What is happening between us?"

The gym mistress sighed; frustration and guilt overwhelmed her mind and senses. She pushed herself roughly from the bed and reluctantly turned to face her "You know how I feel..."

"That's precisely the problem, I don't. I'm neither a mind reader nor psychic! If you would just talk to me then maybe we could figure this out."

Imogen pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to maintain her seething temper. She was at a complete loss as to how she could make her understand without inadvertently causing more harm and anguish to her already fracture feelings.

"I have a guilt conscious," began Imogen "It was my fault! Our relationship came at a price. Hindsight is a marvellous thing as now I start to question and replay everything that contributed towards..." her voice trailed off, unable to finish her sentence

"Don't blame yourself."

Imogen felt intense fury; her green eyes dazzled furiously which caused her to avert her to recoil slightly from the trembling gym mistress who simply glared at her with utter disgust.

"How bloody dare you! Do not presume to tell me what or how to feel...I am responsible...I have blood on my hands. Hell, I might as well just have used the knife and carried out the dastardly deed out myself."

Everything between the couple had suddenly become complicated. Their actions either directly or indirectly resulted in the death of a person which only fuelled Imogen's heavy guilt and spiraling depression after the traumatic accident. Now, their relationship was beginning to fray and threatened to tear them apart which would likely cause and inflect more pain and suffering but how could she continue to be with Imogen and love her when she knew that her feelings would never be reciprocated?

"You are not responsible for her death, Imogen."

"Of course, I'm responsible. It was always my fault." Sobbed Imogen

"It was a freak accident! How many times must we replay this argument?"

Imogen shook her head, impatiently "I toyed...I played with fire and now look...I got burnt."

"It's me, isn't it? You blame me, don't you...I know you do."

"You know nothing." Spat Imogen with venom

"I know that in a single heartbeat that you would choose her over me...I could never replace nor compete with her. You were always attracted to her and yet you did choose me."

Imogen wanted to reach out but something prevented her from the simple movement perhaps the truth was too cutting especially from her lover's lips, deep down she knew the truth.

"Lynne, please." Begged Imogen