--same old, same old (Numb3rs)
Angst, Don/Terry; S1 spoilers
She's almost disappointed, but then she thinks, well, this really is goodbye.
Goodbye my lover / goodbye my friend / you have been the one / you have been the one for me. --- James Blunt
--
"So, where—?" She proffers towards the sheet of paper in his hands.
"Huh? Oh. Albuquerque."
She smiles a little. "Seriously? Not LA?"
He shakes his head. "You?"
She looks down at her own sheet of paper, even though she knows full well what it says. "Here, still. Washington." She can't bring herself to look up, to face him properly. Dammit, think of something to say!
They shuffle like this for a full minute before Don runs a hand through his hair, rubbing his skull awkwardly. "You, uh, want to get a drink?"
"Yes!" She answers a little too quickly, laughs at herself. "Yes. I do."
--
The second time… you know, it's not like the second time actually happened outside of her mind. She's sitting with Mary at the round dining table in the kitchen of the third apartment she's ever owned, and they're writing wedding invites. The list is long; Gary has enough family to populate Montana, and it's not like she doesn't have enough of her own. There's still so much to be done and simply not enough time to do it in. On top of that, the super is breathing down her neck for the amount of time Gary's mother is making her take off. The woman never could understand that the FBI was practically Terry's life. She was needed there. She was important.
(If the woman thinks she's going to give up her badge and her gun to come home and play housewife, she's got another thing coming. None of the women in Gary's family really like the idea of Terry keeping her job after the wedding, but most of them have kept their mouths shut over it. She knows Gary's mother thinks she'll quit once she gets pregnant – but Terry knows it will be some time before family comes into the question).
"Who's Don?" Mary's voice interrupts her growing irritancy.
"What?"
"Don?" Mary waves the list of names in front of her, "Says 'Don plus one'. Who is it?"
Terry shakes the question off. "Just a friend from the academy."
"Didn't you graduate, like, four years ago?"
Terry knows that tone. That tone means Mary's knows. What she knows Terry isn't quite sure, but it's definitely something. "And?"
"And you want to invite him to your wedding?"
She snatches the unwritten invite from under Mary's pen. "I'll do it."
"Oh…kay."
"What?"
"Nothing." Mary goes to the next name on the list. Terry looks at the invite. He won't come, she knows that. Of everyone she left behind in Quantico, Don is the only one she never really got back in touch with. She doesn't know why she's sending the invite, but she feels like she should let him know. What he missed out on, a voice in the back of her head offers, but she ignores it. She just wanted to invite an old friend to an important day. No crime in that, she knows.
(He doesn't come; sends her a card, his name scrawled hastily at the bottom. She's almost disappointed, but then she thinks, well, this really is goodbye).
--
The letter for her transfer is sitting on his desk. She knows he's seen it; she's good at her job, after all. She knew from the moment she walked into the office that he'd seen it. She wonders if it wouldn't have been better to just leave and send the paperwork afterwards. She knows it's a bad idea to go to his apartment.
Not that she'll let that stop her.
He's surprised to see her when he opens the door; he's still in his work clothes, although his tie's nowhere to be seen. He invites her in, offers her a beer, some food, a seat. Once she's sat down, she takes a look around the room.
The place is tiny, and cold. The only light comes from a lamp in the corner of the room and the TV. He's been watching some hockey match, slowly unwinding. It upsets her, a little, that the flat is so sparse but, she reasons, he spends a lot of time with Alan and Charlie so it's not like he needs much more than a bed here.
It's awkward, and she knew it would be. These things have always been awkward between the two of them. He's talking about work, and about Charlie and she's grateful that he's trying but that's not why she's there. "Don, I—"
"Don't." He cuts off quietly. "It's ok, Terry. I understand."
"Do you?" she asks, sitting forward in the seat, "Do you understand? He's my husband…" Why the words sound so feeble, she'll never know. Don's rubs his face, takes a sip of his beer. "For a long time, he was my family."
"I know." She's going to protest more but he looks up from the bottle in his hand; he looks at her and she stops. They sit like that for thirty seconds, just looking at each other, and she thinks, I can't take this, I just can't. Don looks away first, starts to pick at the label on his beer.
"I'll keep in touch," she says, smiling sadly. They both know it's not true, and to his credit, Don gives her enough of a look to let her know that he can read her bullshit. She wonders why she does that. With everyone else she's as straight as an arrow, but with him she feels like she should move to accommodate, even when it's probably just insulting.
"When are you going?"
"Tomorrow. Morning," she adds, just to clarify.
He nods a little. It's a meaningless action but she supposes it gives him something to do. She wonders if there'll ever be a time when this isn't difficult for them. She thought they'd make it further, this time, than just a first date but it never happened. And then Gary called her back after their third argument on the phone and suddenly it seemed a much better prospect. She just couldn't wait for Don, not when there was something she had that she could fix. She just had to try harder.
She stands up with a small sigh, bites her lip (a nervous habit from when she was very young) and then tries to smile, again. "I should go."
For a moment he looks upset, a little desperate, as though he wishes she'd sit down again. But then Mr Practical kicks in and he just nods, setting the bottle on the coffee table before getting up and following her to the door. There's another moment in the doorway where it gets strained again, but then she laughs. "You remember when we left Quantico and we went to that bar?"
Don smiles; a genuine smile, one that lights up his face. "And Reynolds got drunk? How could I forget?"
"Those were good times."
"Yeah." He goes quiet again for a moment and then he sighs. "I guess this is goodbye."
"Again."
He nods. "Again."
She bites her lip anxiously and then makes the decision quickly. Stepping towards him, she cups his face and kisses him slowly. He stiffens a little, surprised, and then she steps back, rubs her thumb across his lips. "Goodbye Don."
She almost makes it to the end of the hallway, when he calls out. "Terry?"
"Yeah?"
(And the words are difficult. What's new there?)
"Take care of yourself, ok?"
She laughs, maybe a little bitter. "Don't I always?" She smiles, though not unkindly, then turns her back to him, and walks away again.
Fin.