Hey guys :)

I have seen barely any Hooten and the Lady fanfic out there and that is just unacceptable so I am being the change I want to see in the world. This is from Hooten's POV during the wedding scene in the finale which unexpectedly BROKE my heart.

So I am intending this to be from a romantic stand point but to be honest I think you could have interpreted that scene from a non-romantic point of view as well. Hooten could have easily been thinking back on his wife or maybe he thought that now Alex was married they couldn't have adventures anymore idk. Anyway, I am writing this from a romantic view because that's how I personally interpreted the scene and I am a sucker for unrequited pining omg, you guys don't even know. That being said, I would be just as happy if the show went down a strictly platonic route but, again, I am so here for unrequited love.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Rated T for its slightly dark tone and general aura of self-hatred.

I do not own Hooten and the Lady or any of its characters and I gain no profit from this - this is intended a piece of admiration for the show and my thoughts on it.


The slowly setting sun danced along the edge of the horizon, lighting up the beach in a blaze of fiery oranges and soft pinks. Ulysses Hooten sat on a small, steadily cooling sand bank at the edge of the beach and tried not to hate how beautiful it was. The all too familiar burn of whiskey as it slid down his throat and heated his already too warm body did nothing but add more fuel to the flames of his growing bitterness. He had a lot to be bitter about.

It had always puzzled him when writers presented bitterness as this cold and hard emotion, unchanging and unbreakable. For him, it had always been scorching hot, the feel of rough coarse sand beneath his cheek; the blistering heat of the sun as coffins are lowered into the ground; the burn of alcohol; the warmth of sore muscles and pulsing black eyes. Hooten's bitterness was an all consuming, ever evolving inferno that had always threatened to burn him alive.

And wasn't it ironic that the only time it had ever cooled, the only time the steady heat of it had simmered down to a manageable log fire instead of branding him with insurmountable pain, was when he was around Alex's fiery temper and searing words. Honestly, he never thought he could feel anything but that blistering bitterness and self-loathing ever again. Then Lady Alexandra whatever-her-middle-names-were Lindo-Parker had quite literally dropped into his life.

At first she had irritated him, really irritated him, that irritation swiftly became respect and soon enough, he actually began to like her. He didn't know when that admiration for her had turned into something more, something deeper, and he didn't really care to, but somewhere along the way, Hooten had fallen in love with Alex and her insufferable need to always be right. It was infuriating. She wasn't anything like his late wife. She had been soft-spoken and kind, non-confrontational but with a spine of steel and a razor sharp wit. Alex was loud and demanding and constantly arguing with him and somehow it had breathed life into him when he had felt dead inside for so long. And now he was watching her walk down the aisle to another man.

He took another gulp of whiskey, watching the light shine off Alex's hair and create a silver halo around her dress. His heart ached; although that wasn't anything new, it just ached in a different way now. Alex couldn't cure the pain of his past or replace what he had lost, and he wouldn't insult either her or the people he lost by wanting her to, but for a while there, she had provided a small blip of happiness in the otherwise desolate landscape of his life. It was more than he deserved.

Hooten was like a curse, a plague on humanity – everyone he loved ended up dead. It took him too long to realise that and now that he had, he would be damned if he ever let it happen again. So he kept his distance and watched Alex marry the love of her life from the shadows with a bottle of whiskey in a bruised hand.

Alex deserved a man who could give her a peaceful life, a man who waited patiently for her to come home every night, with a cooked meal and soft smiles. She deserved the big house with the white picket fence and the whole world at her feet. She didn't deserve the broken shadow of a man who spent his time hopping from one seedy location to another in the hopes of feeling anything other than that searing bitterness. Alex deserved to be happy.

Hooten took one last swig of whiskey before tightening the lid and throwing it in the ocean, ignoring the twisting, knifing sensation in his heart – it was what he deserved. He watched as the bottle was swiftly engulfed by a crashing wave, dragging it into the sea's deathly embrace. He tried to pretend that the bottle was his heart and that he could drown the longing in it but he knew from past experience what a futile wish that was.

Taking one last, gut wrenching glance at the softly glowing lights that framed Alex as she was held in the tender embrace of her new husband, Hooten forcibly swallowed down the bile that was trying to rise in his throat and turned away.

The sun had almost completely disappeared now; all that was left was a small pinprick of molten orange in the middle of the ocean. Hooten bid it farewell and walked away, disappearing into the open arms of the night.