Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, ABC, and
Touchstone. Certain dialogue was written by Jesse Alexander and Jeff
Pinkner for episode 1x19.
A/N: Thanks to Robin and Jenai for beta reading, you helped so much!
~~~~~
"Falling was the best part, but now you know the things you cling to, your heart can start to grow." -Jude
~~~~~
Strategize
by Shade
"So, what, are we going to strategize this?"
"Strategize how?"
We continue talking, passionately plotting which method is a better one – ultimately, which one will hurt her more. I avert my eyes from Francie and stare off into nothingness. I think about this situation, our friend, and my mind goes back to that first kiss. I used to remind myself every day that Sydney initiated it, and the fact that she was drunk had created an outlet for her true feelings. But then I made the mistake of initiating another one. In that one, blink-of-an-eye short kiss, I felt enough sparks to thaw out a blizzard. I felt a connection – but Sydney didn't feel anything. After that, I always told myself that Sydney loved me anyway, that she just pulled away because it was awkward, because she couldn't just leap. Sydney's not that kind of girl. But slowly that lie grew old. The only one in love all that time was me.
I didn't love her right away. We were friends for about a year before I began to realize my feelings. I still remember the night that it hit me. We were alone in my old apartment on a Sunday night. We were going to have a night out on the boardwalk, but it rained horrendously. So we stayed in and played games, quietly amusing each other under the rhythmic thumps from the rain.
We were in the middle of a game of Twister when it happened. It was my turn, and the spinner landed on "right foot blue." Sydney and I were so tangled that when I attempted to move my leg, we both fell into a jumbled heap on the floor. Sydney was under me, and I was on top of her, but slightly propped up by my elbow so that I wouldn't crush her. She couldn't stop giggling. I just looked at her, I don't know for how long. Her eyes were sparkling with pure happiness. Her chestnut colored hair was beautifully disheveled. Her full lips were curled into an adorable grin. Her sculpted cheeks were flushed, the color of a juicy grapefruit. Her laugh was melodious and soothing. As I laid not more than three inches above her, fighting back the urge to caress her face, I knew that I loved her.
The next day she met Danny.
I could never act on my emotions because of him. I've always regretted not kissing her on Twister night. I kept my feelings for her bottled up inside of me for over two years until she kissed me. Before that, I secretly pined away, dating various other girls along the way to try and deflect my hidden ardor. I always broke up with those girls after a few weeks in anticipation that Sydney would be available. But as time passed, I could tell that Danny and Sydney were going to grow old together.
After awhile, loving Sydney simply became part of my daily routine. I didn't reflect on it, didn't analyze it. It was just there. I never considered doing anything about it either. I had set aside a special place in my heart with Sydney's name on it, and in time I acknowledged the sad fact that it would never be filled. I merely and insignificantly continued on with my routine for nearly two years. Until Danny died.
The night I found out, I lay awake in my bed for the entire night, staring at the patterns of the textured paint on the ceiling and thinking. I had everything Sydney needed right here within me. I had love for her that stretched farther than any love I had ever experienced in my entire life. I was her friend and confidant. We never fought. We could do anything we wanted to in front of each other and not feel awkward or embarrassed. We could talk about anything and everything. Yet, she had still chosen Danny over me. Actually, she had never even given me a chance. And now she would have to carry the emotional baggage of losing her fiancé with her for the rest of her life.
I felt guilty, but believed I was right in my revelation that she should have picked me. If she had picked me, she would have still had a loving fiancé sleeping next to her that night. The answer was simple: Sydney was wrong, and everything was her fault. I don't know if it was because of Danny's death, or because of the churning emotions eating away at me from the inside out, but I picked up my pillow and hurled it across the room as hard as I could. A few feathers sprinkled through the air, but the impact of the soft pillow hadn't satisfied me. I turned and threw my clock before I could think anything through. It splintered against the hard wall, and its alarm started beeping. Then I just sat in bed, miserable and empty, the clock's beeping imprinting its sound into my head until the weak and damaged battery finally died.
Nevertheless, my routine endured on. The love I felt for Sydney hovered around me like a permanent shadow: you don't really think about your shadow, but no matter where you go you will always have one.
A few months ago, my shadow began to fade. I guess I knew it would come. You just can't pour all your love into someone for so long without getting anything in return. It takes a toll on you, eats away at you. After awhile, you simply stop believing. But what I didn't know is why my love for Sydney started to crumble.
She came over late one night, crying. She wouldn't tell me why; she wouldn't speak at all. She didn't bat an eyelash as the tears streamed down her face like a dam had broken. She just silently led me to the couch, and we spooned together all night. Normally, this would have gone down in the books as a momentous event building up toward our consummation and shared love. Normally, I would have been too excited to think clearly. But for some reason, this wasn't the case. For me, it wasn't normal. I didn't stroke her silky hair. I didn't caringly rub her back. I didn't whisper "I love you" while she slept, when she was too unconscious to notice but when her brain could still absorb my words. Instead, I molded to her body rather awkwardly, and had trouble falling asleep. Our bodies were touching, but I didn't feel any heat. I lay, puzzled, trying to personally redeem myself. Looking back, I don't think the fact that I didn't love her anymore shocked me. I think what shocked me was that my routine had changed so drastically; even breathing didn't feel right without desire for Sydney within me. But it was gone. Sydney was gone.
The door swinging open shakes me from my wandering thoughts.
"Hey, guys," Sydney sighs, as she smiles sweetly at us.
I stare blankly at her tired grin, suppressing the scowl fighting to form on my face. Finally, I look away and glare menacingly at the floor. I used to count down until Sydney's return, but recently I have only vaguely noticed when she's here and when she's gone. Francie and I have grown so close lately that she's the only one I spend time with anyway. We do all the things I used to do with Sydney: talk about everything until the early morning hours, play mindlessly amusing board games while sipping on wine, go out to the movies, eat together, run to get coffee. Sydney has been gone so much that it seems natural for Francie to fill her void.
I tear my eyes away from the floor and turn to look back at Francie. A feeling of anger starts to bubble up inside of me. How dare Sydney interrupt my time with Francie? Is it possible for her to live without monopolizing her friends? She is the one who drove Francie and I closer, and now she wants to come and latch on like nothing has happened. It's horrible, but honest. I resent Sydney.
"Hey!" Francie finally replies, a fake smile plastered on her face to hide her true doubts about her friend. I chime in after her, and the three of us make some trivial, but expected small talk before Sydney goes off to crash.
"I can't believe you didn't say anything!" France hisses.
"That's why I wanted to strategize!"
Strategize. The last three years of my life had just been one big strategy. Everything I did revolved around Sydney in some way. I did what I did to please her, to impress her, to protect her. Other things I simply did with her in mind, her smiling face lingering in my head as I worked.
Whenever I used to think of Sydney, I would get butterflies. Throughout the years of living my "Sydney routine," there would always be at least one butterfly that never left. Even if it wasn't excited, it would always be there to remind me of her. It, too, was merely part of the routine.
That night when we spooned, the night when I realized that the routine was over – that was the night the butterflies flew away. But during Sydney's most recent trip, a lone butterfly returned. It was still there when Sydney walked through the door, but I couldn't figure out why, couldn't place this bewildering butterfly. It had been too long since she had stirred up any butterflies.
"All right, well what should we say next time?" Francie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I look back at her. I study her smooth features. Her wide, pouty lips, her contoured cheekbones, her shimmering eyes veiling her true concern – and something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on. A thought flashes through my head: what if it's the same something in me that I can't place?
"Will?" She leans closer, reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. As soon as Francie touches me, I feel that familiar spark again. I sigh, a mixture of relief and awe. "Don't worry, we'll find out what's going on. I know you love her and –"
Whoa. Back up. Francie thinks I love Sydney? I mean, that's reasonable, because I did for two years. And I guess it could probably show, especially since Francie was the third musketeer. But she still thinks I love Sydney – and I know that that's the farthest thing from reality. Right now, in this moment, I realize that I love Francie.
"Stop," I command, then grab the back of her smooth neck and gently pull her closer to me.
"Will –" I cut whatever she's about to say off with a kiss. Our mouths remain closed, but it's electrifying. There's just no other word. She pulls away after a few seconds, and our eyes open to meet each other. "I never, in a million years, thought you would do that." Oh no. My heart sinks. She didn't like it; she didn't want me to kiss her. Godammit, I've done it again, to another friend. Ah! I mentally kick myself. But surprisingly, I don't regret a second of it.
"Fran, I'm sorry," I say honestly, however not guiltily.
"Don't be." She leans over and kisses me again, and her tongue begs for entrance. I can't deny her, and we kiss again, sweetly at first. I hear the water begin to run in Sydney's bathroom, and I know that she's going to be awhile in the shower. I stand, pulling Francie out of her chair as I rise, and lead her quietly to the couch, our lips never parting on the way. I fall back onto the couch, with Francie on top of me. Our kiss becomes more passionate as we roll around on the couch, and we have to come up for air.
When we expire each other's mouths, I lay with my arm around her on the couch, her head tucked safely away between my shoulder and ear. I wonder why I never saw Francie in this light before. Kissing someone has never felt so right. Up until now, I never thought anyone could fulfill me except for Sydney. And she never did.
The adrenaline flow through my veins slows as I catch my breath. Sydney never swirled my emotions like that. Francie is…exhilarating.
My love for Sydney shadowed me. She was such a part of my routine that I couldn't get past it, past her. She was a blockade in my life. A hindering constant that prevented me from scouring all my options. A rock, one which I once thought was the only good thing in the quarry of my life. But it turns out that she was simply a rock that stood in the way, one that kept me from discovering Francie.
Francie sighs, gathering her breath, and slides her hand under the seam of my shirt, scratching around my bellybutton. I tilt my head and smile, then brush my lips across her cheek.
I hear the water stop. Francie and I briefly look at each other before we each scramble to sit up and create a "normal" scenario for Sydney to find. I prop my feet up on the coffee table and flick on the TV. In a moment, Francie straightens up next to me, but not too close. I feel deprived that I have to hide this, even if it is just for now. Angry that the only reason I have to keep this, this incredible, wonderful connection, a secret is because of Sydney. How is it that once, everything I did was out of love for her, and now it's beginning to be out of resentment?
Sydney emerges from the bathroom, a white robe loosely tied around her, softly towel drying her damp hair. Virtually naked, fresh-out-of-the-shower Sydney, and all I can think about is Francie. This seems like an episode of the Twilight Zone, but I know that what I'm feeling is real.
"What are you guys watching?" she asks cheerfully. I ponder that for a second. Caught up in the post-heat of the moment with Francie, I hadn't even bothered to look at what was on when I turned on the TV.
"Nothing special," I reply banally, tapping the "off" button on the remote with my thumb.
"Oh." An awkward silence looms over the room. "Did anyone call for that stupid pizza place?" she asks, breaking the tension.
"No," Francie answers, "thank God. Seriously Syd, the number…"
"I know, I know, we've got to change it." Her eyes drop, as if she's disappointed. Does she know? Did she hear us? Quick, Will. Leave before the situation gets more awkward. If that's possible.
"Well, I'd better be going. I've got to be in for work early tomorrow."
"I'll walk you out," Francie offers eagerly. Sydney says a quick goodbye and disappears into her bedroom as Francie and I stand up and walk toward the door. She opens it, and kisses me on the lips before ushering me outside. The door clicks shut behind me, and I make my way toward my car.
I sigh as I collapse into the driver's seat. My entire world changed tonight. I love Francie, and I detest Sydney. And while I'm sure my anger toward Sydney will fade back into friendship, my love for Francie won't be going anywhere.
I turn the key in the ignition and begin to map out a new strategy.
A/N: Thanks to Robin and Jenai for beta reading, you helped so much!
~~~~~
"Falling was the best part, but now you know the things you cling to, your heart can start to grow." -Jude
~~~~~
Strategize
by Shade
"So, what, are we going to strategize this?"
"Strategize how?"
We continue talking, passionately plotting which method is a better one – ultimately, which one will hurt her more. I avert my eyes from Francie and stare off into nothingness. I think about this situation, our friend, and my mind goes back to that first kiss. I used to remind myself every day that Sydney initiated it, and the fact that she was drunk had created an outlet for her true feelings. But then I made the mistake of initiating another one. In that one, blink-of-an-eye short kiss, I felt enough sparks to thaw out a blizzard. I felt a connection – but Sydney didn't feel anything. After that, I always told myself that Sydney loved me anyway, that she just pulled away because it was awkward, because she couldn't just leap. Sydney's not that kind of girl. But slowly that lie grew old. The only one in love all that time was me.
I didn't love her right away. We were friends for about a year before I began to realize my feelings. I still remember the night that it hit me. We were alone in my old apartment on a Sunday night. We were going to have a night out on the boardwalk, but it rained horrendously. So we stayed in and played games, quietly amusing each other under the rhythmic thumps from the rain.
We were in the middle of a game of Twister when it happened. It was my turn, and the spinner landed on "right foot blue." Sydney and I were so tangled that when I attempted to move my leg, we both fell into a jumbled heap on the floor. Sydney was under me, and I was on top of her, but slightly propped up by my elbow so that I wouldn't crush her. She couldn't stop giggling. I just looked at her, I don't know for how long. Her eyes were sparkling with pure happiness. Her chestnut colored hair was beautifully disheveled. Her full lips were curled into an adorable grin. Her sculpted cheeks were flushed, the color of a juicy grapefruit. Her laugh was melodious and soothing. As I laid not more than three inches above her, fighting back the urge to caress her face, I knew that I loved her.
The next day she met Danny.
I could never act on my emotions because of him. I've always regretted not kissing her on Twister night. I kept my feelings for her bottled up inside of me for over two years until she kissed me. Before that, I secretly pined away, dating various other girls along the way to try and deflect my hidden ardor. I always broke up with those girls after a few weeks in anticipation that Sydney would be available. But as time passed, I could tell that Danny and Sydney were going to grow old together.
After awhile, loving Sydney simply became part of my daily routine. I didn't reflect on it, didn't analyze it. It was just there. I never considered doing anything about it either. I had set aside a special place in my heart with Sydney's name on it, and in time I acknowledged the sad fact that it would never be filled. I merely and insignificantly continued on with my routine for nearly two years. Until Danny died.
The night I found out, I lay awake in my bed for the entire night, staring at the patterns of the textured paint on the ceiling and thinking. I had everything Sydney needed right here within me. I had love for her that stretched farther than any love I had ever experienced in my entire life. I was her friend and confidant. We never fought. We could do anything we wanted to in front of each other and not feel awkward or embarrassed. We could talk about anything and everything. Yet, she had still chosen Danny over me. Actually, she had never even given me a chance. And now she would have to carry the emotional baggage of losing her fiancé with her for the rest of her life.
I felt guilty, but believed I was right in my revelation that she should have picked me. If she had picked me, she would have still had a loving fiancé sleeping next to her that night. The answer was simple: Sydney was wrong, and everything was her fault. I don't know if it was because of Danny's death, or because of the churning emotions eating away at me from the inside out, but I picked up my pillow and hurled it across the room as hard as I could. A few feathers sprinkled through the air, but the impact of the soft pillow hadn't satisfied me. I turned and threw my clock before I could think anything through. It splintered against the hard wall, and its alarm started beeping. Then I just sat in bed, miserable and empty, the clock's beeping imprinting its sound into my head until the weak and damaged battery finally died.
Nevertheless, my routine endured on. The love I felt for Sydney hovered around me like a permanent shadow: you don't really think about your shadow, but no matter where you go you will always have one.
A few months ago, my shadow began to fade. I guess I knew it would come. You just can't pour all your love into someone for so long without getting anything in return. It takes a toll on you, eats away at you. After awhile, you simply stop believing. But what I didn't know is why my love for Sydney started to crumble.
She came over late one night, crying. She wouldn't tell me why; she wouldn't speak at all. She didn't bat an eyelash as the tears streamed down her face like a dam had broken. She just silently led me to the couch, and we spooned together all night. Normally, this would have gone down in the books as a momentous event building up toward our consummation and shared love. Normally, I would have been too excited to think clearly. But for some reason, this wasn't the case. For me, it wasn't normal. I didn't stroke her silky hair. I didn't caringly rub her back. I didn't whisper "I love you" while she slept, when she was too unconscious to notice but when her brain could still absorb my words. Instead, I molded to her body rather awkwardly, and had trouble falling asleep. Our bodies were touching, but I didn't feel any heat. I lay, puzzled, trying to personally redeem myself. Looking back, I don't think the fact that I didn't love her anymore shocked me. I think what shocked me was that my routine had changed so drastically; even breathing didn't feel right without desire for Sydney within me. But it was gone. Sydney was gone.
The door swinging open shakes me from my wandering thoughts.
"Hey, guys," Sydney sighs, as she smiles sweetly at us.
I stare blankly at her tired grin, suppressing the scowl fighting to form on my face. Finally, I look away and glare menacingly at the floor. I used to count down until Sydney's return, but recently I have only vaguely noticed when she's here and when she's gone. Francie and I have grown so close lately that she's the only one I spend time with anyway. We do all the things I used to do with Sydney: talk about everything until the early morning hours, play mindlessly amusing board games while sipping on wine, go out to the movies, eat together, run to get coffee. Sydney has been gone so much that it seems natural for Francie to fill her void.
I tear my eyes away from the floor and turn to look back at Francie. A feeling of anger starts to bubble up inside of me. How dare Sydney interrupt my time with Francie? Is it possible for her to live without monopolizing her friends? She is the one who drove Francie and I closer, and now she wants to come and latch on like nothing has happened. It's horrible, but honest. I resent Sydney.
"Hey!" Francie finally replies, a fake smile plastered on her face to hide her true doubts about her friend. I chime in after her, and the three of us make some trivial, but expected small talk before Sydney goes off to crash.
"I can't believe you didn't say anything!" France hisses.
"That's why I wanted to strategize!"
Strategize. The last three years of my life had just been one big strategy. Everything I did revolved around Sydney in some way. I did what I did to please her, to impress her, to protect her. Other things I simply did with her in mind, her smiling face lingering in my head as I worked.
Whenever I used to think of Sydney, I would get butterflies. Throughout the years of living my "Sydney routine," there would always be at least one butterfly that never left. Even if it wasn't excited, it would always be there to remind me of her. It, too, was merely part of the routine.
That night when we spooned, the night when I realized that the routine was over – that was the night the butterflies flew away. But during Sydney's most recent trip, a lone butterfly returned. It was still there when Sydney walked through the door, but I couldn't figure out why, couldn't place this bewildering butterfly. It had been too long since she had stirred up any butterflies.
"All right, well what should we say next time?" Francie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I look back at her. I study her smooth features. Her wide, pouty lips, her contoured cheekbones, her shimmering eyes veiling her true concern – and something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on. A thought flashes through my head: what if it's the same something in me that I can't place?
"Will?" She leans closer, reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. As soon as Francie touches me, I feel that familiar spark again. I sigh, a mixture of relief and awe. "Don't worry, we'll find out what's going on. I know you love her and –"
Whoa. Back up. Francie thinks I love Sydney? I mean, that's reasonable, because I did for two years. And I guess it could probably show, especially since Francie was the third musketeer. But she still thinks I love Sydney – and I know that that's the farthest thing from reality. Right now, in this moment, I realize that I love Francie.
"Stop," I command, then grab the back of her smooth neck and gently pull her closer to me.
"Will –" I cut whatever she's about to say off with a kiss. Our mouths remain closed, but it's electrifying. There's just no other word. She pulls away after a few seconds, and our eyes open to meet each other. "I never, in a million years, thought you would do that." Oh no. My heart sinks. She didn't like it; she didn't want me to kiss her. Godammit, I've done it again, to another friend. Ah! I mentally kick myself. But surprisingly, I don't regret a second of it.
"Fran, I'm sorry," I say honestly, however not guiltily.
"Don't be." She leans over and kisses me again, and her tongue begs for entrance. I can't deny her, and we kiss again, sweetly at first. I hear the water begin to run in Sydney's bathroom, and I know that she's going to be awhile in the shower. I stand, pulling Francie out of her chair as I rise, and lead her quietly to the couch, our lips never parting on the way. I fall back onto the couch, with Francie on top of me. Our kiss becomes more passionate as we roll around on the couch, and we have to come up for air.
When we expire each other's mouths, I lay with my arm around her on the couch, her head tucked safely away between my shoulder and ear. I wonder why I never saw Francie in this light before. Kissing someone has never felt so right. Up until now, I never thought anyone could fulfill me except for Sydney. And she never did.
The adrenaline flow through my veins slows as I catch my breath. Sydney never swirled my emotions like that. Francie is…exhilarating.
My love for Sydney shadowed me. She was such a part of my routine that I couldn't get past it, past her. She was a blockade in my life. A hindering constant that prevented me from scouring all my options. A rock, one which I once thought was the only good thing in the quarry of my life. But it turns out that she was simply a rock that stood in the way, one that kept me from discovering Francie.
Francie sighs, gathering her breath, and slides her hand under the seam of my shirt, scratching around my bellybutton. I tilt my head and smile, then brush my lips across her cheek.
I hear the water stop. Francie and I briefly look at each other before we each scramble to sit up and create a "normal" scenario for Sydney to find. I prop my feet up on the coffee table and flick on the TV. In a moment, Francie straightens up next to me, but not too close. I feel deprived that I have to hide this, even if it is just for now. Angry that the only reason I have to keep this, this incredible, wonderful connection, a secret is because of Sydney. How is it that once, everything I did was out of love for her, and now it's beginning to be out of resentment?
Sydney emerges from the bathroom, a white robe loosely tied around her, softly towel drying her damp hair. Virtually naked, fresh-out-of-the-shower Sydney, and all I can think about is Francie. This seems like an episode of the Twilight Zone, but I know that what I'm feeling is real.
"What are you guys watching?" she asks cheerfully. I ponder that for a second. Caught up in the post-heat of the moment with Francie, I hadn't even bothered to look at what was on when I turned on the TV.
"Nothing special," I reply banally, tapping the "off" button on the remote with my thumb.
"Oh." An awkward silence looms over the room. "Did anyone call for that stupid pizza place?" she asks, breaking the tension.
"No," Francie answers, "thank God. Seriously Syd, the number…"
"I know, I know, we've got to change it." Her eyes drop, as if she's disappointed. Does she know? Did she hear us? Quick, Will. Leave before the situation gets more awkward. If that's possible.
"Well, I'd better be going. I've got to be in for work early tomorrow."
"I'll walk you out," Francie offers eagerly. Sydney says a quick goodbye and disappears into her bedroom as Francie and I stand up and walk toward the door. She opens it, and kisses me on the lips before ushering me outside. The door clicks shut behind me, and I make my way toward my car.
I sigh as I collapse into the driver's seat. My entire world changed tonight. I love Francie, and I detest Sydney. And while I'm sure my anger toward Sydney will fade back into friendship, my love for Francie won't be going anywhere.
I turn the key in the ignition and begin to map out a new strategy.