Author's Note: More of my experimental writing I am afraid. This is me practising the use of not-very-obscure metaphors. I had an urge to write a one-shot and cast around for a while before my muses came up with this. As always with my more unusual writing, reviews are especially appreciated, any comments that you may have on whether or not you think it works, areas for improvement and suchlike, I would absolutely love to hear.
By the way, in this, I make the assumption, as I am sure you will be able to figure out without me pointing it out, that Derek drinks Americano coffee. It's a shame there isn't a reference in the show to help me out (or at least, I don't know of one – if you do, let me know), but I thought about it and I can see Derek ordering an Americano, strong, straightforward but without the added edge of intensity of an expresso.
Disclaimer: Needless to say (except of course, I do need to say), I don't own any of these characters, they are simply borrowed from their creator, Shonda Rhimes, as playthings for my muses for a little while.
Great Expectations
She kind of hates vanilla lattes. In fact, when she thinks about it, she really hates vanilla lattes.
She always has such high expectations of them; that delicious, faintly spicy aroma that never fails to catch her by surprise when it wafts towards her and inflames her senses. Every time, the anticipation courses through her veins and she feels the slightest quickening of her pulse.
And then… the first sip. The unexpected sweetness always throws her, leaving her wondering where it came from, and she allows the taste to diffuse through her body and envelope her in a warm glow. She shuts her eyes, and revels in the moment, feeling alive. It is a beautiful, fleeting moment, and she wishes it could last forever.
The second sip too, is good, and she begins to believe that perhaps this sort of euphoria could last forever, that not everything in her life has to turn bad. Crash and burn or wither and die; one way or the other it always ends. It's after this second sip that she allows herself to hope that perhaps this is it; vanilla latte is the one for her.
Before long though, it is disappointing her. She expects more from it somehow, as if it going to be the answer to her prayers, and it doesn't deliver. She knows this is distinctly unfair of her of course; she is far too messed up to be cured by a simple cup of coffee, but still, she really wants it to be possible.
She wants it to make everything okay, and it doesn't. Which makes it worse.
Americanos have fallen out of favour as well. Oh, it started off well; she had drunk Americanos for years and loved it. It was… perfect for her. It was fabulous and rich and strong, and she had fallen for it from the very first moment she tasted it, in her first year of medical school.
It promised so much, and for a long time, it always delivered. There was something sophisticated about its smooth darkness that earned her unswerving loyalty – for twelve years she never drank anything else.
Then gradually, over time, a realisation dawned on her. The Americano might be dark and smooth, but after a while, the heat begins to cool, and by the end there was nothing left but a chilly bitterness.
She tries her best to persist with it, partly for old times' sake, and partly because she honestly loves it, but she tried too hard, and it just isn't the same.
Until one day when she takes a sip, it burns her tongue and tears spring to her eyes with the pain, and she finally gives up on it.
If the truth be told, she prefers bone dry cappuccino, a taste she acquired in those last two guilt ridden, self loathing months in New York before she decided to go to Seattle and give her enduring favourite, a good, strong mug of Americano, one last try.
With a bone dry cappuccino, you always know what you're going to get. Hot, satisfying, and as the name suggested, bone dry. When she really needed a coffee, it never failed to hit the spot, and hit it well.
It suited her tastes, and was brilliantly familiar. It made her feel safe, and it met all her expectations, never surprised her. It evoked memories of New York Addison, without the poignancy of an Americano. Sure, it left her feeling a little empty inside, but hey, you couldn't have it all, and on reflection, she is sure it is infinitely preferable to the unpredictability of a vanilla latte, or the slow death of the Americano. Yes, she is definitely a bone dry cappuccino lover.
So why, when she passes the coffee cart on the way to the Oceanside Wellness Clinic every morning, does she always order a vanilla latte?