A/N: Thanks to athousandsmiles for the read-through. :)

She's Not The One Who Got Away

She's not the one who got away.

To call her that would be affording her more significance in your life than she ever had when she was in it.

(It's not like you're pining for her.)

(You don't pine.)

You don't remember her job interview. It pisses you off because you should. It feels important, but how were you to know what was to come? There were so many of them and only one of you.

(Well two, because Wilson was there, but you can do without the look you'd get if you were ever to ask him which one she was.)

You told her once you hired her for her looks. It was probably the truth.

(Come on, look at her!)

But you don't know for sure. Maybe you just flipped a coin. The treatise you gave her on looks and hard work? Off the cuff BS.

(Sounded good though, didn't it?)

She was just another fellow. One of far too many during a period when your office came equipped with a revolving door made especially for bright young idealists who couldn't cope with the reality of working for you. You knew she wouldn't last.

(She did.)

And she was young. God, so young. Too young for the ideas that surged forth whenever you looked at her.

(Until she wasn't, but you never noticed the fine lines just starting to form around her eyes until the day she left. Until it was easier to look at them than the tears.)

Too young for you to take seriously when she was smiling up at you like you were God and Schweitzer and Mick Jagger all rolled up into one package.

(Slightly dented.)

You tried to shatter those illusions quickly, and as outrageously as possible, but that look, it never entirely went away, until the day it finally did.

(Don't think about that day.)

You could've had her. You thought about it from time to time. Even planned for it once.

("Do you like monster trucks?")

But you never followed through.

(Nolan could probably tell you why, but you don't talk about her with him.)

It was for the best.

(Her lips were soft and her kiss tasted of coffee with cream.)

Eventually, she gave up, found someone else. It interested you for a time.

(Bothered you. Annoyed you. Pissed you right the fuck off.)

You could've sworn she didn't even like him and you were normally never wrong, except when you were.

(Were you though?)

You knew it would never last.

(It did, then it didn't, then it did, and then it didn't. An infinite loop. Is it over yet?)

But it wasn't like you lost her. She was just your employee. She was still your employee. And that look? It was still there. A little less often, a little less blinding, but still there. You knew she wasn't going anywhere.

(Wrong again.)

She left you. Left. You. But then she didn't though, did she? Not really. Yes and no. She came back, couldn't stay away. Except she didn't miss you. And you didn't miss her and it was different. Strange. She was there, but not, and she had someone and maybe you should have someone too.

(Or not. You can't decide, but it has nothing to do with her at all.)

She didn't come to visit when you were away.

(She knew you too well; knew what you wouldn't want. And what you would. That's what you tell yourself. It must've near killed her, holding in all that caring.)

Coming back was supposed to be your new beginning. Your rebirth. You were bright, shiny, happy and new.

(Watch out Michael Stipe.)

(Shit, now that song will be in your head the rest of the day.)

Too bad no one believed in you. Not even you. Not even her.

(May as well believe in Santa.)

And now she's gone.

(There's no way back for either of you.)

(The. End.)

She's not the one who got away, even though some days it feels like it.

(You can't lose something you never had.)