It hadn't been pretty. But when you're Sara Sidle, breaking up seldom is. You cried for four days straight and all you wanted to do was die. Sometimes you'd cry for no reason except that you missed the warmth of another hand pressed into yours. Your body reflexively curled in the night, aching for another body to cuddle. You went to the grocery store and were astonished that things had changed, that life moved forward.
The happy effortlessness of the relationship astounded you, even years later. How, with a cup of coffee and an interesting conversation, things could go from forced and awkward to flirtatious, suggestive and happy. You weren't used to happy, you were used to struggling and unrequited love and a loss of hope. You toyed with happy. Gave it a whirl. And, to your surprise, it worked.
"We can't tell anyone."
"Why not? I'm in love. The world should know."
"I think," punctuated by sweet, sugar-spun kisses, "that this kind of thing is frowned upon in popular culture."
"Fuck popular culture."
"My…"
"Shh, enough talking."
And so you slept.
Like everything else that you'd ever done right, it got ruined. And you were forced to be alone, without any chance of being complete again.
After two years, you still woke up crying in the night and you knew what you'd have to do. You picked up the phone and set aside your anger, more willing to forgive than you had ever been.
"Sara? Why are you phoning me?" the voice on the other end was still comforting after so many years. You stayed quiet for a few moments before finally replying, "I guess that I was lonely."
A heavy sigh. "Sara…"
"I wake up crying when I realize that you're not with me. I need you. I just want to see you again."
Another long, hesitant pause heightened your nervousness and fear of rejection. "Why don't you come over for coffee?"
You almost laughed out loud. Just like it had all started.
The first thing you saw when you walked in the door was the picture.
"God, she's so pretty. Just like you."
"Oh, Sara."
"How old is she now?"
"Sixteen."
"I've missed you both way too much." Your hands closed on a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Catherine."
She smiled. "Somehow, I doubt you're thanking me for the coffee."
"I don't know what I'm thanking you for."
"It doesn't matter, Sara."
"Yes, it does. I love you and you don't love me. And you're still letting me sit here at your kitchen table and drink your coffee."
She looked at you with heart-stopping blue eyes. "Who says I don't still love you?"
You looked up. She took your hand. Everything was okay.
A/N: I wanted to play with this pairing. Credit goes to Amy Ray for inspiring me with her wonderful song Moment Of Forgiveness. The ending is stupid because I got told to go to bed. Oh well. And it's short. Doubleplus oh well.
