Author: Furyan Goddess
Title: Will He Show?
Rating: PG-13 for adult situations
Fandom: AMA
Disclaimer: Don't own Sean or anything from KAG
Summary: A broken Sean, Sitting in a bar, thoughts of a girl, watching him…
Pairing: Sean/OC
Archive: Yes
Feedback: Yes please, I would love to know your thoughts and ideas and suggestions.
Author's Notes: POV of OC

I see him there, beer in his hand, staring into nothingness. He doesn't drink much; my guess is he learned a long time ago that it won't take away the pain.

He's hurt, broken, stripped bare of his original promise and joy. Why? I wonder. What happened to him? My guess is he's lost someone close, probably a wife, maybe a child? All I know is that I want the make him better. I want to help ease the pain.

I've never even spoken to him, he doesn't talk to women, anyone really. He just sits with a drink in his hand and loses himself in the past. Shadows cross his face, a wisp of a smile at times. Some think that perhaps he isn't right in the head. I can tell he is; he's not crazy. He just wishes he was. If he were crazy then he could go on pretending that life doesn't suck.

No, he knows first hand how bad life sucks. So do I. So I sit here, a beer in my hand as I stare into nothingness. I'm further gone than he is. So far gone I'm on my way back around. He hasn't reached that point yet, the point where you either pick yourself up and move on, almost make yourself forget completely, or you slide down, lost forever.

I hope it doesn't come to that for him. He has nice eyes, sad but nice. Laugh lines. He was happy once, will he ever be again? I was happy once, will I ever be again?

I watch him finish his beer and contemplate a second. I make the decision for him and motion toward the bartender. A fresh, icy bottle is set down in front of him as the bartender jerks his chin my way.

He looks at me and nods and then takes a long drink, closes his eyes and pretends that it was her that bought it for him. I'm ok with that. I've done it myself. I finish my beer and find a fresh one taking its place. I turn and nod at him, close my eyes, take a long drink and wish it was me he bought the drink for.

I'm ready. He's not. I can wait. How long will it take? Will he ever move on? He looks the kind to love hard and forever. Maybe he is lost, but he'll get lonely. Someday. Will it be settling? Maybe? First love is always the truest. Not so much as settling as the next best thing.

As I coyly watch him in the mirror behind the bar my mind drifts. I think of his hands, so beautiful wrapped around that amber bottle, what would they feel like on my body. Two years since a man's touched me. Two years since I've felt the heat of flesh against flesh. The touch. The taste. Long time to be alone.

How long's it been for him? I wonder. I bet he made love to her the day he lost her and that's what he holds on to. He got to say good-bye. Got to tell her one last time he loved her. It's the only thing that kept that Glock he wears on his hip out of his mouth.

I've been there. I've been that lost. That alone. Unsure how to draw the next breath, let alone the next forty years worth.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror and I know that if he asks, I'll go with him. I also know that it won't be me he's with. Maybe I'm not as ready as I thought. I'd settle. I don't want to settle. I want him to want me. He's not there yet.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the lip of my bottle. I feel the air stir around me. His strong, masculine scent settles over me as he speaks for the first time.

"Thanks for the beer." He tells me and then is gone before I can turn to look at him.

His voice is deeper than I thought it would be. Sexy. So rough it's almost smooth. The sound lingers in my ears and I want to hear it again. Maybe tomorrow? Same time. Same place. Same memories.

I want to take him home but I won't want him to leave. Ever. He's nothing like John. Least what's left of him but I find myself fascinated nonetheless. Can you love someone you've never met? Better than loving a ghost, I suppose. Maybe it's just replacing one fantasy with a new one. One illusion for another.

I thank Pete for the beer and head home. Alone. Back to the place that sickens me with its memories. It's time to move. As soon as I find a place. Maybe down by the beach. A new town? I can't go, not without him. How pathetic and wrong is that? Maybe we could go together. Just fade way like we've never existed and start new somewhere. Probably should talk to him first before I ask him to run away with me. The thought makes me laugh.

All my life I took the safe route. I had a good life. A single bullet changed that. Now, I got nothing but sand in my hands. Easier to hold than water, but not much. You can build on sand though. It'll be shifty but you can live there.

I just about gag on my endless string of clichés and lock my door. I look around my apartment and sigh. I pick up the phone book and call a realtor. I'm out of this fucking pit of despair. I walk in and I feel the pain seep back in. Beautiful house. Not to me. Painful memories of a better time.

The next day, he chooses a new barstool, one closer to mine. Just one down but it's a huge step. We still don't speak but it's a start.

A few days later, I choose a new barstool, one closer to him. Just one down but it's a huge step. We still don't speak but we're getting there.

We meet in the middle a week later and our elbows touch. My heart jumps. I have a nibble on my house. A line on a job in another town. Dare I say the words? Ask him to come with me?

Three days later, he beats me there. There's a beer already waiting for me. I speak this time.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He nods.

"So…," I trail off and take a deep breath. "I'm moving," I tell him straight out. He looks at me with his chocolate eyes and I just about melt. "To Colorado. The mountains. I got a job. A place."

He remains silent but watchful. A take a drink to wet my burning throat. "I leave tomorrow."

He turns back to his beer. And I feel my heart drop. I square my shoulders for courage, "I wouldn't mind some company for the long drive," I say and meet his eyes in the mirror. He just stares at me and I raise my chin and pretend it doesn't matter if he comes or not. He knows I'm lying. I don't know how he knows, but he does.

I finish my beer and stand. I set a piece of paper down next to him that has my old address on it and my new one. "In case you change your mind," I tell him and run my hand down his arm. "I'm leaving about 7 in the morning. If I don't see you again, just know it does get a little easier, eventually. Thanks for the beer and conversation," I smile and walk away.

My heart is pounding. Will he show?