Myself
The
afternoon sun beamed down, gilding the roofs of the buildings and highlighting
the hair of students biking, blading and boarding or just relaxing in another
perfect Southern California afternoon. Josh McGrath couldn't take it anymore,
the voices calling to each other, the laughter floating above the crowds of
people, happy people, without a care. Pushing open the first door he came to, he
found himself in a dim, dusty bar. The twin aromas of stale cigarette smoke and
sour beer hung thick in the air; the strong sunlight barely penetrated the
small, smoke-hazed windows.
Perfect, he thought, claiming a barstool. The
bartender raised an eyebrow at Josh's order, but brought it, setting it on the
scarred wood in front of the young man. Josh stared at the dark liquid for a few
moments before raising the glass and letting the contents slide down his throat.
One good thing about college towns, there's always a bar nearby when you're
feeling low. He swirled his glass, watching the contents eddy before taking
another swallow of the Coke. Even if
you're not legal to drink for another year. Sometimes, you just need the
atmosphere.
He watched the bubbles rise to the top and burst, one
after another, in a seeming never-ending display. Just
like my illusions.
When Laura had left for her semester at sea, Josh had
hope. They had parted warmly, a hug, good luck, and a "See you later."
No goodbyes, he mused, taking it as a sign. They'd take the time apart to
heal, and be stronger than ever when she returned, absence making the heart grow
fonder and all that.
Instead, it seemed he was out of sight, out of mind.
Her ship had docked two weeks ago. He'd been waiting at the docks for her, a
bouquet of snapdragons, black-eyed Susans and lilacs in hand. His eyes scanned
the crowds, searching for her familiar dark head. Her laugh rang out across the
docks; his head swiveled in the direction it came from. She stood on the dock of
the ship, a black-haired grad student by her side. The man's arm was draped
around Laura's shoulders as they left the ship; he helped load her bags and his
into a waiting taxi. Josh started to make his way over, to tell her he was there
for her, when he saw it. He saw Laura kiss the man, not a friendly,
thanks-for-helping peck on the cheek, but fully on the lips. The way she used
to kiss me.
The man's arm fell to Laura's waist, holding her to him
as they kissed. Josh could only stare as they parted, Laura linking her arm
through the man's as they entered the taxi and disappeared.
The flowers were tossed into the sea, a memorial for
what might have been.
Josh was about to signal for another Coke when he heard
the scraping of a barstool being pulled out. He turned to see a lanky, goateed
young man fold himself onto the stool. "I saw you come in here," Pete
said. "You're not doing anything stupid, are you?"
"It's just Coke, nothing but caffeine and sugar.
Last thing I need is a depressant," Josh told him. He exhaled loudly and
pushed the empty glass away. "Thinking she'd come back to me was the stupid
thing."
"No, it was the McGrath thing. Keeping hope alive
and all that." Pete ordered a Coke and looked at Josh. "You going to
be okay?"
"Eventually."
They sat in companionable silence, Pete sipping his
Coke, Josh playing with his glass. Pete broke the silence. "Have you gone
to see her?"
Josh shook his head. "What I saw on the docks was
enough. We don't need the tension."
"She misses you. As a friend."
"I miss her, too. But it's still raw."
Pete nodded, draining his glass. "When it's not so
raw, give her a call. Think of it as rebuilding the Musketeers."
Josh managed a half-hearted smile. "When it's not
so raw."
"Hey, I've got to run, class in ten. I just wanted
to check on you, make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine." I
will be.
A brief shaft of sunlight snuck in as Pete opened the
door. Josh signaled for a refill as someone dropped a quarter in the old jukebox
in the corner. "I think I've already lost you; I think you're already
gone," Rob Thomas's voice sang out, filling the empty bar. "I think
you're already leaving, feels like your hand is on the door…."
How appropriate, Josh thought, draining half the
refill in one swallow. He closed his eyes and let the plaintive, pleading tones
of the song wash over him, fill him. The music shifted seamlessly between songs,
a patchwork of feelings, lusty rock, weeping country, yearning ballads, all
finding and touching a part of his psyche.
He was in a half-trance, his glass long emptied and
forgotten when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He started, looking up and into a
pair of brilliant, familiar green eyes. "Pete called me," Rachel said,
taking the seat next to Josh. "He told me where you were, and why. I'm
sorry, Josh."
"So'm I. But…" he turned the empty glass in
his hands, "at the same time, I should have known. I think I may have
known, but didn't want to admit it. When the problems first started…when this
all started, " he tapped the watch masquerading as his bio-link, "I
knew it would be a problem. I think I knew that she couldn't handle it."
Josh turned the glass over on a damp napkin. "She deserves someone who can
give her one hundred percent. That isn't me anymore. I knew it a long time ago.
So I guess I should be happy. The kiss, it was just…an excuse, a catalyst,
hurrying along the inevitable."
"Oh. But…you weren't…"
"Myself. That's what you said before, that I
wasn't myself, that it didn't matter." He looked up, into those so-familiar
eyes, the color the same as the energy that kept him alive. "I think I
regret that more than anything else in my life." He looked away, turning
the glass around, searing a ring onto the damp paper underneath. "Because I
'wasn't myself,' we could both write off that kiss, pretend like it never
happened. But it did."
He was constantly aware of her presence beside him, an
electric tension frizzling up his side. The jukebox shuddered and the song
changed. A soft piano intro, followed by a subdued guitar, then John Bon Jovi
sang, "Thank you for loving me, for being my eyes, when I couldn't see, for
parting my lips, when I couldn't breathe, thank you for loving me."
Suddenly, Josh turned to Rachel. "Dance with
me?"
"What, here?"
"Yes." He extended his hand and after a
moment's hesitation, she slid her hand into it. He gently put one arm around her
waist, holding her but not holding her as they gently swayed to the song. Her
right hand was clasped loosely in his left; her left rested lightly on his
shoulder, as if she were afraid to touch him.
It did happen. She felt it, too. Josh let his right
arm tighten slightly on her waist; she sighed and leaned into him, her arm
sliding around his shoulders. How could I
have been so blind?
"Lock the door and leave the world outside; all
I've got to give to you are these five words," John Bon Jovi sang. Josh
rested his head against Rachel's, revelations washing over him.
"Rachel?"
"Hmm?"
"I just want you to know, my probes aren't
malfunctioning, I'm not on the rebound, and…I've never been more myself."
She pulled back slightly to meet his serious gaze.
"Why?"
In answer, he touched his lips to hers.
Author's Notes: I don't own Josh, Pete,
Laura or Rachel, or Rob Thomas or John Bon Jovi (though I'd like to!), I don't
own the concept of Max Steel, I don't own "Thank You For Loving Me," I
don't own "If You're Gone," and I don't hold a monopoly on computer
software. I think that covers everything.
This is a one-shot fic, no sequel, no series, no nuthin'.
What you see is what you get. This fic attacked me during a stint at World
of Science (which I also don't own), hitting me so hard I had to run to Dollar
Tree (another thing I don't own!) to get a notebook and pen over my lunch break
so I could write this down. This was actually my first pen-to-paper (or
fingers-to-keyboard, for that matter) Max Steel fic.