Disclaimer: The torture... I admit, I do not own QAF or anything linked to it. I'd be travelling around the world if I did... sighs

A.N.: Okay, this is me fulfilling my QAF side that's been nagging at me. It's my first try, so do be gentle. Brutality can occur during the second chapter. LoL. Anyhow, this is something that has been on my laptop for a while now as I toyed with the idea of posting it. I'd gotten onto the QAF ride recently, so I'm still an newbie at writing their fics. I've seen all seasons... hell, I own the whole series (guilty pleasure)... but writing a fic for it had never really crossed my mind. However, this one was written, so I figured it should be posted too. No point in hiding any skeletons in the closet, eh? I mean, I'd write a fic about anything as long as I feel it. Again, mistakes are my own. So without further ado, I present to you:

Regrets

As the saying goes: one man's trash is another man's treasure. Only this man had mistaken a treasure for trash; a mistake another man did not do, I assure you. No, this new man realized what a gem he was… is… and held on with both hands, refusing to let him go. He saw what I did not see, or could not see. Or was it would not see? I can tell no longer.

I had taken for granted his love for me. I believed that he'd always be around no matter what shit I pulled… that he would just take it because he loved me. What a fool I was. I had always thought that I was giving him a gift, allowing him into my life, letting him live with me. (Though, based on my track record, I seemed to kick him out more than I let him in.) I was wrong. I, now, realize that he had given me the gift by accepting me, offering the chance to live life with him… to grow with him… to love him… as he loved me. His love was his gift. And what a priceless gift it was. Only I had been too blind to see it for what it was.

All the wasted chances, my selfishness, my pride, my stubbornness to retain my Liberty Avenue reputation and everything I had stupidly thrown away now haunt me. I'd give anything to go back in time. To cherish what had been given to me so freely and what I had thrown away in equal measure. I had left him for another. After berating him for leaving me, for betraying me, I turned around and did the same to him. Only I did it worse.

Now, he's happily engaged to someone who loves him unconditionally, the way I do now. Someone who sees the world in him because he is their world. Someone who is at the receiving end of his love, his care, his sunshine smiles… but most importantly, someone who holds his heart; a heart that I had previously held in my hand; a heart that I had shattered time and time again until it could take it no longer.

No regrets. That had always been my motto. Well, fuck the motto. I've a million things I regret and hurting him holds the number one spot on that list. Letting him go the first time is the second. Pushing him because I couldn't, wouldn't, love him takes the third. Shoving him away during the cancer scare is the fourth. Fifth is leaving him. No, leaving him actually shares the number one position on my list. Fifth is my refusal to give up tricking, my inability to show him that he was enough for me, still is, when in all honesty, he's more than enough. Pity this realization did not come sooner… or accepted earlier.

I had left him for someone else, only to find that this someone ignited nothing but lust within my heart. There is no feeling of absolute completion or freedom. No feeling as if I can do anything in the world, be anything. There is nothing but an empty void, gaping wound, which cannot be sealed nor healed. And there is no one to blame but myself.

I received his wedding invitation in the mail a month or two ago. I don't think he did it out of spite. I think the fact that I even received one is his way of saying that the hurt has numbed, the past buried. After the initial split, he avoided me like the plague, and the odd thing is, it was probably true. Seeing me was like rubbing salt into a cut: it burns at first, then there's a lingering sting left behind. I don't know whether I should be happy that I was invited to his special day or angry that it isn't me he's taking vows to spend the rest of his life with. But then again, life's always confusing with him around. Confusing, but worthwhile.

The wedding's today. This afternoon actually. I find myself sitting in my car staring longingly at his apartment. Knowing he's inside that building, so close to me, yet so unattainable, hurt. It hurt like a mother-fucker. But this pain is something I must deal with. After all, I created it, didn't I? But how I miss him so. I miss seeing him smile at me; I miss the way he looked at me as if I held all the answers to the world, as if I could protect him from anything and everything; I miss waking up in bed to see his head of blond hair spread out on the pillow next to mine; I miss his cooking; I miss the me I am when I'm with him. But most importantly, I miss the way he made me feel: loved and important.

His fiancé's not in the apartment with him. That much I know. The fiancé will be meeting him there, at the place where their ceremony's being held. Daphne stayed over to keep him company last night. Some rule about how the couple getting hitched isn't allowed to see each other the night before the wedding because it's bad luck… or some shit like that. I could go up there and… and… and what? Demand that he not wed the guy who was able to love him the way he needed to be loved? Demand he forget his silly notions of love because it's a load of bull? Demand he not get married because… because…

… because it's not me he's marrying?

Yeah right. He'd slam the door in my face faster than I run through tricks.

I turn on my engine, take one last glance at the building, and speed off. Sitting here, wallowing in regret isn't what I do.

… but then again, I never thought I'd fall in love either.