The Whole Story  The Whole Story by Mireille. Romantic, m/m relationship,
rated PG. The Whole Story (immediately after "The Edge") I took her home.
That's not the story I'm going to tell tomorrow, of course, or at least,
not the whole story. In the version I plan to tell, I took her home, but
then I went in with her and didn't leave until morning, which will explain
why I'm still dressed like this. And that's the only way I'm going to tell
it, after tonight. But tonight... He's been a bad influence on me; I have
the urge to be honest, and three o'clock in the morning is too late to go
to confession. I could have talked to myself, I guess, but that didn't
seem like it would do the trick. I wanted to get this out in the open, to
put some distance between myself and the truth so that I could, maybe,
start ignoring it. So I stopped by the station to pick up this tape
recorder, to tell--for one time only--the real story, which I can then
throw away like it never existed. Or keep, for those long winter nights
when I feel like torturing myself with the truth. The truth. I think
Cortez expected more from the evening, but I didn't feel like playing the
game. Not after the conversation I overheard when she was getting her
coat. So I took her home. And left, politely, thirty seconds later,
without even so much as a kiss good-night. And I've been driving around
since then, wishing I were dead. Which will explain, in the morning, why
I'm still dressed like this. And all the time, I've been telling myself
it's no big deal, right, he asked her to go for some coffee. Even trying
to make myself believe that he'd have asked me, only I appeared to be
occupied with Cortez. I made a pretty damn convincing argument,
too...except that I could tell by the expression on his face, even from a
distance, that it had happened again. It must have happened this way with
Victoria, too. Just suddenly, he was in love with her and it was like he
always had been. If Victoria's anything to judge by, it's like he always
will be, too, but I've been telling myself that everyone has someone like
that in his past. Reminding myself that she's gone and it's over, and that
he'll get over her in time. It seems that he has. I could force the issue,
I suppose, corner him and demand "Why not me?" but the only purpose it
would serve would be to humiliate me. Nothing will dislodge him when he's
committed his heart to someone. I was thinking--I had hoped--it might be
me. I don't know whether he swings both ways or not; I have my suspicions,
but it's not something I've figured out how to work into conversation.
With anyone else, that would be the big question. With anyone else, if we
got past that hurdle, I'd be all right; if he were a normal person, this
would have just been two people getting a cup of coffee, and I still might
have had a chance if I moved quickly enough. But not him. No, I've got to
fall for the one man who would never, ever get involved with someone he
doesn't love. So this thing with Thatcher's going to be serious, at least
on his side, and if she breaks his heart, I'll kill her. But that means he
doesn't love me--not enough, or not in the right way, anyway. I always
meant to tell him at least part of this. Meant to make it perfectly clear
that I'm bi, at least, just in case he wanted to do something about it.
Somehow, I never quite worked up the nerve. I suppose that's a good thing,
though, considering. It could make things a bit awkward: him being kind
and understanding about it, and me trying to find a rock to crawl under
and die. So we'll go on the same way we've always done, working together,
being friends. And I'll get used to that ache from something in my soul
that keeps trying to tell me that something in his might just be a perfect
fit. And I won't ask him why it wasn't me. I don't really want to hear the
answer, anyway.