Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Fic's mine, though.

The Best of Me

There's an itch that roams across your body, rooted in your heart, and it can't be relieved, no matter how hard you scratch. It isn't the rash Stork said it may have been after flying through some uncharted piece of sky filled with strange, dark clouds. The others have their own opinions; Junko says it could be something you ate that didn't agree with you, Aerrow suggests a sickness of some kind and Radarr agrees. Piper hasn't given her two cents – yet – but that's alright. Because it's all her fault, and she's none the wiser.

She's under your skin, flowing through your veins in place of blood. Even the air you suck in a little more desperately than usual smells like her, like the mist-scented shampoo she used just this morning and the lavender lotion she rubs on her hands to keep them moisturized. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. Her working on crystals or bobbing her head to that god-awful music she prefers over your hard rock. Her with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips as she compliments the shine you've given the hangar after hours of cleaning.

Except that wasn't you that cleaned the hangar until it sparkled. You were slacking off in your room, headphones on and eyes closing slowly but surely. It was your clone – one of the many – that managed to coax that smile out onto her lips. It was him that stole a kiss from the corner of her mouth before sauntering away like the cocky bastard you are.

It was him she followed. His hand she took hold of. His eyes she stared into, the fire of her eyes burning whatever piece of your soul he claimed as his own.

She kissed him back on the opposite corner of his mouth, and you remember it as clear as crystal. A part of you is thrilled, but you know that part of you is him – the one she thought was you, the one she marked so she could pick him out of the crowd of your many clones. The rest of you, on the other hand, is insanely jealous and angry because it wasn't fair.

She notices you rubbing at your arm. "Finn? You alright?"

"Uh," you snap out of the trance you worked yourself into, sorting out your memories from his, understanding the things he felt and what you feel now. "Yeah. Sure. I'm good."

She swats at your hand and eyes the red marks your nails left on your flesh. "You're scratching an awful lot," she murmurs, her fingertips tracing the outlines.

You shiver under her touch and wince inwardly at your sudden lack of control. "It's nothin'."

"If you say so," she shrugs and pulls away. "Just leave it alone, ok? You're gonna rub yourself raw."

"Bet you'd like that," you mutter under your breath as she walks away. If you got down under your own skin, then she could have her Finn back, the part of you that still burns too hotly for her, the part that was the best of you – because it's quite obvious that the rest of you isn't good enough for her.