Title: The Sweetest Kind
Author: wickedripeplum
Pairing: Isabel/Alex
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: No rights to Roswell over here
Summary: The hardest thing to lose is the future you never had
Author's Note: Just a little ficlet. I'm no good at titles, so I just picked the most obvious one. It's also unbetad, so probably a bit rougher than I would like.
Feedback: Yes, please.


The sweetest kind of love is the kind that could have been. That way there are no fights to look back on, no heartbreak between the two of you. Just the moments of tension when you weren't sure if he was going to kiss you or just keep staring hard at that spot on the wall just to the right of your head until it caught on fire. You have the kiss that happened a few moments later when you decided to ditch the feminine coyness, because it's a sham anyway, and Alex is so not that kind of guy. And all the time before that when you felt the compliment of his obvious crush like a little ray of sunshine, even when you didn't really return the sentiment. The year that you leaned on his friendship because no one else even seemed to want to understand.

You can look back on the future you planned in those last few weeks, unmarred by any of the unhappiness any real future would bring. How the first time he told you he loved you, you said, "I know," all primly like the princess you were, just to be a bitch. He laughed at that, and so did you. How the first time you had sex, it was perfect, much more perfect than any real first time could be, hallucinogenic alien orgasm powers not withstanding. How, after college, you moved to Boston together, because of the vital music scene and high tech jobs. What exactly you did in Boston changed from day to day, though it always included a swanky office overlooking the river, well tailored pants suits, and underlings who brought you coffee just the way you liked it. How the two of you never got married, much the chagrin of your parents, as a nod to increasingly distant possibility that you might one day have to leave and be a real princess again. You never had children, of course, but you did idly discuss adopting a baby from a poverty stricken South American country from time to time. You suppose that your future ended with you growing old and dying together, but really you never imagined past a time when you weren't both still young and beautiful, because your future was perfect.

This is the best kind of love, because that you never have to get past or get over it. Since there's no breakup there's no pressure to move on right away. So long as you don't mention it too often, you can hold it close to your heart and never let go. No future lover would be so cruel as to be jealous of a boy who died at 17. And no one will think it too odd if you start buying Ramones and Nirvana albums if you don't tell them why. Even if the only song you can really get into is "Sheena is a Punk Rocker", because it has that poppier feel that you still can't help but enjoy. And it's really not anyone else's business who you talk to at night before you go to sleep, or whose grave you visit on your own private time. And maybe, just maybe, you know he wouldn't want you to hold on so tight, but you don't know how you could ever let go.