Into the Grips of Insanity - About Time
The warmth of summer coursing through the air whips the wavy black tendrils of your hair around your face as you speed down the streets of San Francisco. The windows of your car are rolled all the way down, and the buildings and landscape that make up the city streak by outside. You sing along with the radio, tapping your thumbs against the steering wheel in time to the rhythm. You love this sense of freedom, a sentimental and happy feeling you never want to fall from your grasp. Yet, because you don't want it to go, you know that eventually it will.
Eventually it does, as your car comes to a stop just outside of the precinct that the San Francisco Police Department's Homicide Division calls home. Cutting the engine, you gather up all of your things and step elegantly out of the vehicle. Taking a deep breath, you lift yourself, bringing your shoulders back. You walk up the stairs in a casually calculated demeanor, a manner by which you do most things. You swing the front door open, and confidently stride into the bullpen, heels clacking on the tiled floor.
Your eyes sweep the room in an attempt to pick out the man you're looking for. They stop on him and you prepare to walk toward him when you see his attention is diverted, and it's completely focused on her. She's laughing, most likely at something he said, judging by the smug look on his face. Typically, a one-liner and a smirk from a man like him would make a woman's heart melt and knees feel weak, but apparently she was immune. You're not; you feel it sometimes too, even through your carefully cultivated shell of confidence and indifference.
She says something and looks at him, as if issuing some sort of challenge. He opens his mouth and closes it again, running a hand through his hair. His face screws up like he's trying to think of something to throw back at her, but this time it seems she has won. She laughs at his apparent helplessness, returning his smug smile. His eyes brighten at the sight and he laughs too.
You watch this encounter from afar, without moving toward them. You recognize the ease that accompanies their companionship. They must do this sort of thing all the time, and this must be normalcy: enjoyably witty banter, accompanied by much laughter and some slight embarrassment on someone's part.
Their laughter quiets and she breaks his gaze, turning back to look at something across the room. You don't bother to follow her gaze, and neither does he. Instead, you look at him as he looks at her, and you recognize the look in his eyes. You've only seen it once, but it's unmistakable: it's the look he had in his eyes that night, the night he made love to you.
He's in love with her.
The thought comes to mind before you can fully understand what it means. You let your brain wrap itself around the idea.
But… she's engaged!
You sigh, realizing that this is irrelevant information, seeing as it doesn't matter who she's marrying; he loves her anyway.
That's why he's with you.
Your eyes widen as the realization hits that that's what your relationship really is: a contract between two people that are together because it's the most convenient thing, next to what's ideal.
He's settling!
You pout, and you can feel the melancholy feeling in your gut spread to your eyes, past your cool exterior.
That's not fair…
Finally, his eyes tear away from her and glance at what took her interest. Finding it not worth his time, his eyes make a circle around the room, and you're spotted.
It's about time.
You push your bitter thoughts away and force a smile onto your face as you wave at him. He smiles and gestures for you to join them, and it crosses your mind to tell him, "No thanks, I'd hate to be a third wheel." However, you refrain and join them as he bid you, and you cast a withering glance her way.
You exchange pleasantries with him almost automatically, but underneath, only one thought has your true attention: Okay, Special Agent Williams. Let's have some fun.
AN: This had originally been a longer piece, because I had come up with it before Volume 10, Chapter 7: Madness had been released, and it was supposed to be my version of Natara on neurofinalazine, freaking out and such. It's possible I could finish it, because it's been partially done, but the real reason I wanted to write it was so I could try my hand at the lovely Selene. I do enjoy her immensely. Please R&R if you feel the whim, and tell me if you'd like the second-and perhaps third-installments. Thank you!