You Should Stay

by Miss Elisha

A series of drabbles featuring George and Alicia. Set in my Gain of a Loss universe and referenced in chapter 7 of GoaL, but a year before that story starts. Sequel to my You Should Go drabble series, and a continuation of that story.

4. Chapter 4

But I did stay with her, off and on, for months. Sometimes there was nothing for weeks, but there were stretches when I'd see her often—she'd show up at my place, or we'd run across one another somewhere, or Fred or Angelina would set something up for the four of us. Very occasionally I'd go to her, and those were the awkward times. It's one thing to satisfy a mutual need, or even to offer solace to one who needs it; it's quite another to go seeking it for yourself, requesting it of someone in particular. It was mutual, and that did make it easier, but at times it felt a heavy burden to lay on a friend. There was guilt there still, relief, responsibility, and somewhere along the line obligation came into play. If something bad happened, if there was an attack or if someone died or disappeared, we were together, whether by her prompting or mine made no difference. It was inevitable, and expected, and understood. The reminder of current circumstances compelled us to forget, and that meant the morning would find one of us in the other's bed.

It hurt to stay. It hurt to go. It hurt to knock on her door and to shut it behind me the next day. The only thing that didn't hurt was doing nothing, and that was worst of all.

And as much as we both knew we couldn't stay together, couldn't keep this up, we did. We didn't acknowledge it though, never mentioned or made reference to any relationship between us, even in our private conversations. The closest we ever got was our acknowledgment that no relationship existed, that we were free to do as we pleased.

She'd come to me that evening, after we hadn't so much as glimpsed each other in weeks, and simply sat down on the sofa without so much as a greeting. She'd been on a date, of all things, and not the first, with someone she'd met at work, and by her account it sounded like it went very well. She almost smiled a time or two just telling me about him.

"You know, Alicia," I began, relieved and frightened to be giving voice to the freedom she had always had, "this thing between us, it's not—"

"I know."

"And if you want—"

"I know."

"If he makes you happy--because I know this doesn't--you should stay with him. Let him give you something I can't. You should stay with him, and let me worry about me."

"Not tonight. Maybe not ever."