For a challenge. -bites nails nervously- Um... spoilers for Boomerang - more specifically, part two - you know which bit I mean. Not mine, not any of it: characters are Bellisario's, lyrics are Martina McBride's. Thank you to delgaserasca for the wonderful beta job.
How Far?
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How far
do I have to go to make you understand?
I wanna
make this work so much it hurts,
But I
just can't keep on giving, go on living with the way things are…
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Sometimes, you wonder why you even bother. This is one of those times; damnit, you're not even on the same continent and he can't just let go. You hate this— this thing you have – which isn't really a thing, you realise, but a non-thing, a nothing – it never is, never was, and you doubt it ever will be unless a certain Navy Commander pulls his head from his six.
You want this – it – him, you've wanted him for four years, since you met, since your hands touched in the rose garden you knew this commander, this man, was going to have a somewhat serious effect on your mental health. And he has, you admit, defeated you; you work with him, you eat with him, you've even been on vacation with him – well, work-related trips abroad, at least – and you're so in love with him, you've cried yourself to sleep, embarrassed to show anyone but the pillow your tears.
When he said no this time the first thing you considered was pinning him – all six-feet-four-inches – against the nearest vertical surface and kissing him senseless; location, audience and consequences be damned. He's as good as told you that you're the one he wants.
So next time, you tell yourself, scrubbing at your stinging eyes with your fingertips and (successfully) fighting the urge to drink yourself unconscious – next time you see him, nothing will have happened. The conversation, and any previous, will be nothing. You'll distance yourself and your emotions until he's ready.
(If he's ever ready).
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So I'm
gonna walk away,
and
it's up to you to say how far.
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