(Disclaimer: I'm not claiming them, so they're not mine. Nothing you see here belongs to me, in any form.)
We were an unlikely pair of lovers. She was a child, new to the world and bright-eyed, when I was a young man, already cynical and jaded. She was born in the midst of the things I was protesting. For the hell of it, you might as well say I would have most likely had more in common with her mother than her.
But we made a good pair, while it lasted. Her views on the world, while slightly cynical at times – you can't work this job and not end up slightly cynical – weren't nearly as cynical as mine. While not ready to believe some of the "crazier" conspiracy theories, she didn't have the mind of a sheep. She'd question things and didn't believe everything fed to her.
We understood each other. We both saw the same things, so there was no need to explain anything to the other when one of us woke up in the middle of the night, not able to go back to sleep. No more arguing about hours or the never-ending 'you care about that job more than me' debate both of us had with partners in the past.
But maybe we were too unlikely to last. It ended. Typical of me, I managed to piss her off. I questioned just what the hell she was doing with me… over and over again. And, sick of it, she left. And I can't blame her. The only one I can blame is myself. I questioned her motives, thinking she was going to be like my former wives and girlfriends. She thought I didn't trust her – even though I did – and left.
A series of clicking noises from my door brings my mind back into the present and makes me look up from the book I thought I was reading. Who the hell has a key? The door swings open and there she is, shivering, drenched from the rain that's falling outside.
"Liv?" I blink at her. I gave her a key, but I didn't think she'd kept it.
She steps in, shuts the door and proceeds to stand there, dripping. "Do you think I came all the way over here to stab you in the back?" She asks the question, looking at me, her eyes serious.
"No. Olivia…. I'm sorry." I give up trying to think of what to say and just say what needs to be said. I get up and make my way across the room, toward her. "I was being an idiot. Chalk it up to a bitter old man who doesn't know a good thing when he sees it."
She smiles, slightly. "You know, John – it scares me, too. I think I've been bitten nearly as many times as you have."
I want to kick myself, yet again. Idiot, I think to myself, furiously, you're not the only one who's ever been hurt. How many men have just thrown her away because of ridiculous things? "I know."
"And you can stop kicking yourself now," she says, softly, stepping away from the door, a little closer to me.
I reach to push her soaking hair away from her face and find her cheek cold to the touch. "Did you walk?" I question, as she struggles out of her wet coat. "Because you're freezing."
"I know," she answers, shivering. "And I didn't walk – got the train and ended up getting caught in the rain between the station and here. Did I leave anything here? Something dry?"
She's wearing the pair of her sweats she left here and an old shirt of mine, toweling her hair dry, as best she can, in the bedroom, when I make my way in. "Was this planned?" I ask, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
"What? Me showing up dripping at your door? Uh, no," she laughs. That sound should be enough to drive any sane man crazy. "I don't know how I ended up over here, but I did. I didn't want to bring it up at work…"
"Too messy," I agree, seeing where she's going. We probably would have had a fight if she'd approached me at work. Besides, even involved with me, she doesn't want the whole office knowing her personal business.
"But I didn't want to leave it hanging, either," she sighs, "believe it or not, I was happy."
I kiss her, softly. "Me too, Liv. Blame it on the cynical old man who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, but I knew we were both happy – but I had to question you. When there are younger men around, why the hell would you bother with me?"
"None of those 'younger men' can accept the job for what it is. And, at my age, I'm meeting more married guys than anything else. If I meet a single one, he's very recently divorced – and we all know what that's like."
"Yeah. Especially when you've been there," I comment and she playfully jabs me in the ribs.
"But I don't want to be a fill-in - or the other woman. I tried dating younger guys, but that didn't work either. I don't know why you and I do, though."
"Neither do I, sweetheart. Neither do I." I kiss the back of her neck, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the rain she walked through.
"You're done being paranoid about me?"
"Paranoid? About you? Never. Not unless you work for the FBI."