I've had this sitting on my computer for about eight years now, so... I don't know why I never posted it. The lyrics are from the song "I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You" by Tom Waits (the storyline is kind of cribbed too). I honestly suggest you listen to it, because it's a simply gorgeous song, but you know, whatever floats your boat. Enjoy!
I own nothing.
Well, I hope that I don't fall in love with you,
Falling in love just makes me blue
A seat at the bar isn't easy to find. The one seat he wants is occupied. There's nothing particularly astounding about that seat; it's the person occupying the neighboring stool that makes it so desirable.
She doesn't seem to notice the crowd of men milling around her. In fact, and maybe this is stupid, it seems that she's actually alone. Not alone. Lonely. Though she chats with everyone, they never stay long.
The profound sadness in her eyes seems out of place with her brilliant smile. When the stool beside her clears and he finally manages to find the courage to sit down next to her, she rewards him with that brilliant smile. He orders another beer without saying anything.
She raises her glass in a silent toast. "What are we drinking to?" he asks.
"To alcohol and loneliness," she replies without thinking.
She looks mortified that she said that, but before she can say anything else, he clinks his beer to her glass and accepts the toast. "Good enough," he says.
They sit in silence. Just because they've toasted together doesn't make them confidantes.
He studies her out of the corner of his eye. She looks terribly sad as she motions to Joe for another drink.
"Today would have been my twelfth anniversary," she announces. "Twelve years. That makes me feel old."
He doesn't say anything. Her façade is crumbling right before his very eyes and he doesn't think he's ever seen such beautiful destruction.
"You're supposed to say I'm not old," she prompts.
"You're not old," he repeats automatically.
"Now that doesn't count. If anything, that only makes me feel worse."
"Sorry."
Once again, they sit in silence and he watches her in his peripheral vision.
It would be against everything he believes in, leaning in and kissing her. He doesn't do long term commitment. He refuses real emotional ties, and if they're formed, he insists on severing them as soon as possible. Love has never given him a break, so why should he give it one? Alone is the way to go in his book.
But, as he studies her, he realizes that it isn't in hers. He feels bad for her; her way seems to get her hurt a lot.
"You're not old," he says again suddenly.
"The crow's feet say differently, Karev," she says with a small smile. He's spent a long time studying her face and doesn't know what she's talking about. "But thanks anyways."
"You're…" He hesitates slightly. This next statement definitely crushes every possible rule he's ever made about women- the most important one being no compliments without the intention of getting them into bed. Compliments raise hopes. Compliments create ties. Compliments complicate things. Then he sees the hope in her eyes and the rules go out the window. "You're beautiful."
A self-deprecating smile. "Thanks. I needed that." She leans in and presses her lips to his softly. She looks at him in silence for just a moment and then gathers up her things and leaves.
He stares after her. He never wants to be in love, not after everything he's been through, and certainly not with her, not with all her crazy baggage and guilt. She's nothing he'd consider something he wants But somehow with her gone, he wants her back, sitting next to him, studying him sadly. He wants date night Fridays and lazy Sundays and long Saturday nights spent comparing scars.
That kiss meant goodbye for her. He could tell. And with her gone, he's already lonely.
And I think that I just fell in love with you.
Hope you enjoyed!
-Juli-