Okay guys, this is my new Tiva fic. I was going to wait until I'd finished My Girl, but that's still got a long way to go so I'm posting this now. Basically, we're looking at another story like My Girl, particularly in length (hope you don't mind), although we're not focusing as much on tiva relationship in this one. It's going to have the same push and pull (which is what I love writing best for them) but with a focus on a deeper friendship that we don't get to see in the show...and a tiva baby, of course. So, let me know what you think! I'm really excited about this one, I've had it planned and in progress for a long time, god bless Alex E. Andras, who has had to put up with my incessant ideas and possibilities...and bless her even more for providing me with pen, paper and coffee for the first time this ever got written down as a possibility...and then encouraging me to write a three page piece that will end up further in the story. Thanks!
Chapter One: Prologue
There's a line. They call it The Friends Line. It's a different sort of line to the others you get given in live. It's not the sort of one that your parents put in place - like there'll be no fun if you do something bad - because it's not one that you're tempted to cross just to see what happens when you go too far. It's a much more complicated line, and unfortunately, it's permanent. You know what will happen when you cross it, which is why you don't do it. You know that when you get your fun taken away for breaking the rules you'll get the fun back when the punishment is over. It's not like that with The Friends Line. The only problem is, you don't always know that the line is there until you get so far past it that it's too late to go back to before the line was there. Because the line is always there. So, you end up stuck where you are…you, the person you love, and The Friends Line that keeps you separated in the worst possible place.
Have you ever been so close to a persons lips that you can't imagine how small the gap is? Hovering just in place, right about to kiss them? So close that you can hear and feel every shuddering, expectant breath? Have you ever been so close that it's painful just to be near them, even though you wouldn't want to be a mere millimetre from their side? The sort of closeness that could only get closer if you were one complete person and not just two beings in the brink of the most amazing romance? The sort that takes your breath away and leaves you longing for more?
If you've felt that, and you've known in that moment that no force on earth can bring you to lean into the miniscule space between you and actually kiss the one you love, then you've become a victim of The Friends Line.
You see, The Friends Line is what stops you from kissing the love of your live, even when they're standing right before you, just waiting for you to take charge and seize the moment. It's what stops you putting your arm around them when you watch a film together, even though you know how easy the classic 'yawn and snuggle' technique is. It's what makes you look away after you finally get the meaningful eye contact; the sort you get when you've been laughing and then nothing's all that funny anymore because all you can do is look at each other…both to scared to move forward any more. It's what stops you holding hands when you walk down the road, what makes you hold back on the hugs until they walk into your arms, and what stops you kissing them when you see the slightest self doubt in their eyes.
But the worst trick of The Friends Line is the one that stays with you all the time. See, all the other manipulations appear when the moment is right, like when you get the eye contact or when you're sitting beside each other. The worst one can't compare to these. It's the one that never leaves you, the one that's there even when the one you love isn't.
It's the voice in the back of your head. The one that says "it's your best friend" whenever you look at them or think about them. That's the killer. As soon as you've heard that voice, you know The Friends Line is firmly set in place. It's there, and it's there to stay. There's nothing you can do about it, and there's certainly no way of going back to how things were before. The Friends Line isn't a line you can erase because you can't see it. That's what makes it so confusing. And you can only know that when you're inches away from their lips, just about to follow through on the kiss you've been holding back for years, and there's really nothing there to stop you other than the voice in the back of your head…and that's always what stops you.
So, you go on being the best friends you've always been, trying to fool yourself into believing that you can be content with this. You sit beside them and comfort them when every person they meet screws them over, even though you know that you could never hurt them the way the rest of the world could. You walk down the road together but you keep your hands in your pockets so that the temptation to hold their hand doesn't even present itself. You do the normal things, things that mean the most because they're little and insignificant, things that don't need any thought to them, and that's okay. It's okay, right up until you realise that these things are what relationships should be built on - the little things - things that mean nothing to everyone else but everything to the two of you…the same things that you have to convince yourself day in and day out don't really mean anything, even though they do.
When you've reached this point, all that's left to do is look back on all you've been through together, and ask the question that every best friend asks once in a while.
How close can you get to breaking The Friends Line before it breaks you?
--------
Her eyes opened as soon as the smell of early morning floated through the open window, her instincts making her ridiculously alert despite the onset of a hangover hitting her with the mere movement of her eyes. What had she been drinking last night? And how much? Surely it wasn't enough to deserve a hangover like this. She had a second heartbeat in her head, either that or her brain was on the verge of exploding, but death seemed like a good option right now. She tried to get up and look around the room, but her eyes were protesting about having to focus on something, so it had just keep the room spinning. Her mouth felt dry, as if her body had lost the ability to generate saliva, and her tongue, which felt twice as big as she remembered it to bed, was suffocating her. She would have been tempted to cry, but aside from it being against everything she stood for, it would have used to last of the moisture left in her entire body. Talking wasn't an option. In fact, all she could manage to do was breathe…very gently. She didn't have to get up right away. Her cell phone wasn't ringing, neither was her alarm clock, all that was ringing was her ears. She could just sleep until some ringing with a shut off button interrupted her peace. She rolled on her side, ignoring the nausea that came with her movement, and tried to fall back asleep.
-----------
He stood in his kitchen, nursing the familiar starts of a hangover. He hadn't been as drunk as he had been some times, particularly with recent events and guilt making him all too familiar with the churning stomach both the night before and the morning after. However, whilst on previous nights he'd been so drunk that he barely remembered being in his own him, he remembered exactly what happened last night, and with whom, and was now unable to shake the feeling of hatred he had for himself. He had a slight headache, and although he didn't feel all that sick, something was definitely amiss. He might have looked no different from slightly tired when he glanced into the bathroom mirror that morning, but his usual attention span had dropped to that rivalling an office stapler, which explained the three piles of unsuccessful burnt toast on a plate beside him. The coffee he was drinking in extreme amounts to try and stay focused was only spurring on his hunger which, for some reason, was craving a full fried breakfast.
He wished that he had work today. Even though he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and silently curse himself as the sun burned into his corneas and reminded him of the reason why he couldn't go back to bed. No, his bed was occupied, albeit by one less person than it had been an hour ago. If he'd had to go to work, he'd be able to have a shower, throw on some clothes, and escape the awkwardness of the situation he'd landed himself in. Instead, it was a weekend, and he'd have to sit around waiting for her to wake up so that they could have the inevitable talk where they both agreed that this was a mistake, that it wouldn't change things, and then go on with their lives with lots of knowing looks of shame that would almost certainly change everything.
He was lying on the couch with a pillow underneath his head when his guest finally ventured out of his bedroom. He had to admit, there was something other than the obvious that made him wonder whether he should dare say good morning to her or whether he should hide behind some life-saving barrier. Her eyes were unfocused, almost glassy with confusion. Her hair was wild, sticking up in various directions and taking on the appearance of a mane as her usual curls started to spring back into life. The coloured tinge on her cheeks wasn't one of good health, but rather of too much tequila on a too empty stomach. She looked like she shouldn't even have gotten out of bed.
She looked around her, taking in the room slowly as he watched her, waiting for her reaction. "This is not my apartment," she stated simply after a few minutes.
"No, it's mine," he murmured back.
"What happened last night?"
That was a good question.
