Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Slight mention of character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, would Don have some interesting adventures!
Well, this was some surprise. Have no clue where it came from, no clue what this P.O.V. is actually supposed to be. CC would be lovely, as I am seriously lost as to what this is. I like it though.
"Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone,
Please come back home..."
Fort Minor, 'Where'd You Go?'
If she tried hard enough, if she looked beyond the hazy memories of Charlie's wounded expression, his puppy-dog eyes (they cut her like knives, she remembers) and hunched shoulders, Amita could almost pinpoint the exact moment. It was a muggy summer day, she remembered, with the thick air reminiscent of smog and exhaust. Everyone had retreated to the cool haven that was the Eppes' house, and she was sitting on the couch next to Megan, quietly observing (even then, outside).
Charlie and Larry were exhausting P vs. NP yet again, and Amita recalled with some amusement how Larry had constantly looked over at Agent Reeves, only to attack P vs. NP with a renewed vigor whenever Megan returned the favor. Those side glances and quiet whispers would be swapped with hand holding and lunch dates several weeks later, to the surprise of none but Larry, who would seem astonished (she wonders if it would be that way for her) each time Megan greeted him with a kiss to the cheek and a possessive hug.
Don, David, and Colby sat around the table, beers close by, recounting heroic stories from "the good old days" which seemed to be some vague time period covering everything from yesterday to ten years ago. At the time, they had been discussing last year. Colby was gesturing wildly, fine-tuning some wild exploit involving some stellar shooting and lots of explosions. She remembers laughing at some outrageous statement, (but when does Colby ever tell a realistic story?) flushing slightly as all three men turned to look at her, and exchanging glances with Megan before looking up.
In retrospect, she should have realized what would happen. (Realized she would break them.) She should have connected the dots, filled in the blanks. Hell, she was supposed to be relatively intelligent, brilliant even. No Charlie obviously, but bright enough in her own right. But, she supposed, intelligence didn't necessarily translate into understanding (or wisdom, she thinks). She remembers a time when life was simple, when she didn't have to worry about being the leader (the man of the relationship, she thinks, the damned man) and the realist.
She looked up, looked up and was lost. Lost, floating, swimming, falling into those eyes, (and she knows it doesn't makes sense, how can someone swim and fall at the same time, but she knows what she felt) and she had to tear her gaze away, and Amita remembers knowing it was different, knowing this was not supposed to happen. She can still hear Megan asking her if she was okay, and why are you so red, Amita? And she made up an excuse, she still feels the moment of sheer panic, the beating of her heart and her mind, racing, and lying, it's just the heat and I blush when I laugh.
Charlie looked at her and do you want me to open the door, Amita? No, I'll be fine, thanks (she'll always be fine, she has to be fine) I'll just get some water. Anything to escape the suddenly stifling room, and the curious looks and those eyes. And damn, she had to walk right by him, and (oh, she can still feel his fingers on her arm, and then the image fades out and the touches become a blur of sensation and) she had to turn to him when he touched her arm, and she knows they thought she missed it, but she didn't (he had to ask Charlie, with one of those impenetrable looks and Charlie nods, and no, that isn't how it's supposed to work) and then he stood, and followed her into the kitchen.
And if Amita tries, tries harder to remember than she can ever imagine wanting to, she can still see the look of concern on Don's face, the way his forehead wrinkled just a bit and he asked in that voice of his (and when did Don get that voice, and how has she not noticed it before) what's wrong Amita? Are you okay? And she wanted to repeat her lies, but she can see the images blazoned in her mind, and she (and this is where it all goes wrong, in her memory, and she can't fix it because it happened and it wasn't supposed to) walked towards him, closer and closer.
She saw it in his eyes, (and Don realizes she's not just Charlie's girl, that she's more) saw the realization and the slight longing, and then she wound up kissing him, and it's all that kissing should be, and she knows she's never felt this with Charlie, because with Charlie it's always soft and good and innocent, even though she knows Charlie isn't. But with Don, (oh, and she remembers the sensations of velvet and moisture and the faint taste of beer and Don) with Don it is harder, more impatient and demanding and (she hates herself for this) she loves it, wants more, and damn it.
If she tries hard enough, if she looks back far enough, she can see where it all went wrong, where it all began. She knows that they (Don and Amita, Amita and Don) will last for a long time, longer than she and Charlie would because (Charlie can only talk about math and kiss) Don is more than work and more than sex. And she knows that Charlie will be hurt when she tells him I'm sorry, but she knows she wouldn't go back.
She knows that they (Amita and Don, Don and Amita) will always be more than a memory; she's buried her heart with the agent in the ground, and the ring on her finger will always serve as a memory of (how everything went off course, wrong) how much she loved him and how much he loved her, and (Charlie forgave them, eventually, forgave her) how much she misses him. And now Amita curls up in bed with a memory, and prays for the day she'll have that man with the voice and those eyes again.