Author's Note: I know this story is a little slow to start, but that's kind of the idea – I go for the gradual build up style I'm afraid. But please stick with it, I know where this story is headed and I think it's a place you'll like. And please review and let me know what you think. Thank you to my faithful reviewer on the last chapter.
Disclaimer: As before.
He'd flown into London for the interview process in typically Seattle weather. Grey, rainy, overcast. He felt at home already.
From the airport, he took the train into the city. Checked into his hotel. Walked around, got a feel for London. It was bustling, but not in a stressful way, just full of life. He went to a few touristy spots, Trafalgar Square, the Houses of Parliament, but he didn't go in anywhere, he just wanted to soak up the atmosphere.
It didn't take him very long to decide he liked the place that he might, hopefully, be soon calling home. He'd never been further from the States than Canada before (which, let's face it, wasn't the hugest leap in the world from Seattle), and he felt rather adventurous in a way flying to London for a job interview. Very… cosmopolitan… or something along those lines anyway.
The hotel was quite nice, certainly better than a commuter-convenience pit stop. His room was large and airy, and there was a gym and health suite in the basement that looked tempting but it had been a long flight, even longer since he got up that morning, and he needed a whiskey, not a workout.
He made his way down to the bar, not intent on a session given how important tomorrow would be, but the couple of drinks to settle the nerves couldn't do any harm. He settled himself on a stool at a bar that was inarguably cleaner than Joe's but not upmarket enough to make him feel out of place.
The bartender was the chatty sort, very much like Joe in fact. He had that way that bartenders had about them, all knowing. He wondered how many people's lives they must have an insight into.
'What can I get you Sir?' He was slightly surprised to hear an American accent, vaguely East Coast somewhere, but diluted by distance from home. If he got this job and stayed in the UK, would his accent fade away to nothing as this man's was?
'Scotch thank you, no ice. Room 2012.' A glass was placed on the counter in front of him and Alex took a sip. Mm, he'd given him the good stuff, definitely tasted better now than it would on the bill when he checked out.
'So, what brings a fellow countryman across the pond then? Business or pleasure?' the man had asked.
'Business.' Alex wasn't being deliberately evasive, but he was more in the mood for a quiet drink than being subjected to psychoanalysis. Besides, if this guy was anything like Joe he'd be too damn accurate.
'Let me see, I'm usually good at this. You're a bit too scruffy to be some high flying businessman, that's normally the type we get in this place. We don't usually see much of the Hollywood set, they prefer somewhere a little higher profile. Besides, you don't have the starry look about you.' Alex chuckled, and allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation against his will. What harm could it do?
'You're not there yet,' he smiled.
The bartender gave him a triumphant smile. 'Twenty bucks says I'm about to be.'
'You're on.'
'You're an aid worker, probably a doctor, who's spent the last however many years doing innumerable good deeds in Africa or somewhere, but you're run out of money and are back and on the scrounge with the big businesses.'
Alex nodded slowly, impressed. The guy might not have hit the nail on his head, but he wasn't a million miles away. 'Not bad,' he conceded. 'Not good enough to take twenty bucks off me, but a pretty good shot.'
The bartender grinned widely and drew a crisp twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and pushed it across the bar. 'How close was I?'
'Close,' Alex said. 'I am a doctor, but I'm not nearly selfless enough for humanitarian work. I'm a surgeon, I'm over here for a job interview.'
'Long way to come for a job.'
There seemed to be another whiskey in front of him. 'Yeah, well, it's an amazing job.' Somehow, it sounded unconvincing, even to his own ears, even though he knew the job was fantastic. He drained the second glass, telling himself that he should be going a little steadier.
'She must be an amazing girl.' Alex looked had looked at him, a furrow of confusion across his brow, wondering if he'd heard him right.
'Sorry?'
'For you to be running this far.'
Alex looked at him sharply. Was it that obvious? Was loss and regret written all over his face or something? Did he reek of a broken heart? 'No,' he lied as casually as he could. 'There's no girl.' Not technically a lie, he reasoned, Addison definitely wasn't a girl. She was all woman.
'Sure there's not,' the other man said knowingly. 'Why do you think I'm here?'
Alex laughed. There was nothing else he could do, except cry maybe, but he wasn't that screwed up. 'A lot of miles to run.'
'Technically I sailed. I'm from Cape Cod, always been into boats.'
'Was it far enough? Was it far enough to get away from her?' Somehow, he felt like he needed to know. He needed to know if he ever stood a chance of escaping from the prison that he had slowly but surely built for himself inside his head.
This time, it was the bartender's turn to look confused. 'What do you mean, get away from her? I was running to a girl.'
'Oh, sorry, I thought…'
'No problem mate. Running after her was the best thing I ever did.' As he wiped down the bar, Alex noticed the wedding band he wore, and visions of an unattainable happy ending flashed before him. 'Do you mind if I ask you something?'
'No, not at all.' This guy was too much like Joe to tell him it was none of his business. Joe had been a witness to enough of his end of double-shift drinking sessions to know the score.
'You're obviously crazy about her. If she isn't in London, what are you doing here?'
'Because…' Because I'm scared. Because it's been seven years, and I'm still fucking scared. 'Because it really is an amazing job.'
'You'd pick a job over love?'
'It's more complicated than that.' How to explain that even though he didn't have the guts to go after Addison, devoting himself to Neo-Natal surgery was his twisted way of devoting himself to her. Even if she'd never know.
'How?'
'I… Like I say, it's complicated. They're sort of… the same thing in a way.'
'Right.' The bartender looks distinctly unconvinced, and Alex might have argued with him, except for this guy had sailed across the ocean to marry the love of his life, worked in a hotel bar, and looked as happy as Hell. It was pretty clear who was in the right.
'Another whiskey?'
'Sure thing.'