TITLE: Not Missing You
AUTHOR: alaira
SPOILERS: For College Kids and various other Amy things.
RATING: PG.
ARCHIVE: at alairasdomain.tripod.com. Otherwise, please ask.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own very much, and certainly not Amy, Donna or Josh. Please don't sue.
NOTE: Yeah, so I wrote this a really long time ago. Occurs in some other universe, where Jefferson Lives did not happen that way.

Not Missing You

I miss you she told him last year, twice, but the noise in the room was enough so she could get away with pretending she didn't say it the first time, and that he didn't hear her the second. Or maybe he did. Either way, it doesn't matter now, because it is a year later and she doesn't miss him now. She tells herself this every day, and wonders who she is trying to convince

If she still wanted him, which she is almost sure she doesn't, it wouldn't matter. Happy reunions only work on television, or in the movies, or to people who live outside this political arena. To people who aren't her, because she isn't desperate enough to want it, or gullible enough to believe it.

And anyway, he's sleeping with his assistant, or he will be soon. She's still not entirely convinced he wasn't then. It's what they've wanted for years, she tells herself, so what is the difference between last year, or this year, or next year. It's all the same thing.

She drains the last of her drink and signals the bartender for another. He shakes his head, no, and though she thinks it unfair, she's not in the mood to argue. She slides off the barstool, only a slight wobble in her legs, and goes out to get a cab. She could go to his place, she thinks, because her own apartment always feels like it is missing something – him.

But the fear of meeting Donna outweighs her loneliness, as it usually does, and in the end, she goes home. She falls onto the couch, lulled in and out of sleep by CNN and the headlights that rove back and forth on the wall. Her dog wakes her up in the morning, and she tries to run some of last night's hangover off, and then shower it out, and it never works quite like she wants it too. Then it's coffee and Advil for breakfast, and she goes to work.

I miss you, she told him last year, twice, but she was lying when she said it. Now she lies to herself when she says she doesn't.