"I want your love and
All your lovers' revenge
You and me could write a bad romance"-Bad Romance Lady Gaga

It wasn't surprising, really, that she'd ended up here. It was actually kind of surprising that it had taken this long. She'd gone almost six years before she started actively pursuing the things that would probably make her shiny new life implode. Jaimie Ann Anderson Allen could call herself whatever she wanted, could change her name and her birthday and every damn thing, she could even clean herself up, but she couldn't change who she was, no matter how damn hard she tried.

She rolled over, studying Carter's face in the light coming in through the windows. She slipped out of bed, collecting her clothes from the floor.

"You want some breakfast?" he murmured, sitting up and watching her. "I could make you something, eggs, pancakes."

She shook her head. Now he was acting like her dad or something, not that she'd ever had a dad, so more like what she imagined a dad acted like, and that made this whole thing even more fucked up. And it was pretty damn fucked up to begin with.

"You have to eat," he pointed out.

"I need to stop by my place," she said, slipping into her jeans. "I'll just pick something up." She looked up at him. "Don't offer to make me pancakes."

"You like pancakes."

"It's creepy," she shrugged.

"Okay," he said slowly. "How do you feel about bacon?"

She sighed. "Have you seen my bra?"

He leaned down, locating it under the bed and holding it out towards her.

"Thanks," she said softly.

She walked around the bed, reaching for it, her hands brushing his. And then somehow she was leaning into him, his fingers coming up to cup her face, tucking her hair behind her ears as she sank back into bed.


"You gonna fill me in on the latest chapter in the saga of Dean and Jaimie?" Carter asked, refilling Jaimie's glass.

She drained it before answering, setting it back on the table. She was stretched out on the couch, boots kicked off as she wiggled her toes, stretched her arms over her head. She waited so long before answering that he opened his mouth to speak again when she finally started.

"It's over," she finally said, staring up at the ceiling.

"Don't you ever get tired of that song and dance?" he asked.

"I think it's really the end this time," she said.

"Will you still be able to work with him?"

She nodded. "We've done it this long, right?"

"That's why they have rules against that kind of thing," he murmured.

She sighed. "Carter, I really cannot take the lecture tonight, and I'm way too drunk to go home, so could we please just skip it for now? I already feel like enough of an idiot."


She reached for her glass, realized it was empty and pushed it towards him. He hesitated and then filled it back up.

"Stop looking at me like that," she snapped.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like I've already had enough."

He shook his head. "I'm not judging you, Jaimie. I'm not exactly giving lessons in how to deal, here."

She pushed herself into a sitting position, sipping the drink this time. "You're the only person I know who's more fucked up than I am."

He laughed humorlessly. "Thanks."

She stood up, wobbling a little, and walked around the table, perching on the arm of his chair.

"Jaimie," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't act like you've never thought about it," she said softly.

"People think about a lot of things they shouldn't do," he protested.

She leaned in, kissing him, soft and sloppy and sad.

"This is not a good idea," he said when she pulled back.

She swallowed, eyes getting watery. "Please," she whispered. "I cannot handle one more person rejecting me right now."

"There's at least a hundred reasons why we shouldn't do this, Jaimie," he sighed. "I'm not your little boyfriend, I'm not Dean."

She shrugged. "And I'm not your ex-wife." She paused, chewing on her lip. "I feel like there's this hole inside of me," she said quietly, hovering over him. "And some days it's so huge, some days it feels so empty, I feel so empty, that it's like it actually starts to hurt, there's this ache inside of me, Carter, and I think that you can make it stop for a little while."

"I don't know if I can fix you," he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I don't think this is the way to do it."

"Maybe you should stop thinking," she whispered, leaning closer, her lips inches from his again.

"I'm giving you one more chance, you can still back out of this," he said even as he finally started to kiss her. "You can still come to your senses, decide this is a bad idea."

"I've never been sensible," she said, straddling his lap.

They were both drunk, probably pretty damn drunk, so it would have been sloppy, should have been bad, but it wasn't. Or maybe it was and they were too damn drunk to notice.

Jaimie didn't think so, though, she'd had more than her share of bad sex, and was pretty sure it had been more than pleasant.

She woke up a little sore in all the right places, with Carter fully dressed and perched on the table in front of her, holding a cup of coffee. Extra sugar, she noted as she took a sip, just like she liked it, in her favorite mug.

"Figured you'd want time to get yourself together before Dean and Ty show up," he said.

She sat up, at some point she'd ended up with a blanket tucked around her body, and nodded. "Thanks."

She took a shower and changed into a extra set of clothes she had in the loft and found Carter in the kitchen. Her mug had been refilled and she wrapped her hands around it, leaning against the counter and watching him cook an egg.

"You miss it don't you?" she asked. "Having someone to take care of?"

He glanced up at her. "Maybe you haven't noticed, I don't really have a lack of needy people in my life."

She shook her head. "It's different. None of them are really yours." She shrugged. "It's okay, I miss it too, taking care of someone, someone taking care of me." She paused. "Maybe we could sort of be that for each other for awhile."

"I don't think it's that simple," he said, reaching for a plate.

She smiled. "It never really is. At least this time we're both going in with eyes wide open."


"How long?" Dean demanded. He slammed his hand against Jaimie's desk. "How long have you been fucking Carter?"

She shrugged. "When did you decide you cared again?"

"Dammit Jaimie," he muttered.

"I'm serious. Maybe you could come up with color codes or something, like the terror alert. Green means you give a damn, yellow means you don't, blue means you're fucking someone else too."

"That's not fair," he snapped. "You're not fucking some random guy, you're fucking Carter."

"Yes," she nodded, "yes I am."

"You really do just jump onto the nearest dick, don't you sweetheart?"

"That's me." She rubbed her temples. "Are we gonna be able to work together?"

"Like you're worried. I'm sure your new boyfriend will make sure it all works out okay for you."

"There wasn't any overlap," she sighed. "If that's what you're worried about. If it hurts your fragile little male ego, you made it perfectly clear we were through and then I started sleeping with Carter, so stop acting like the victim here."

Dean slammed the door behind him and Jaimie turned slowly, watching Carter walk out from the back of the loft. She waited for him to say something and when she didn't she reached for her things, leaving silently.


Carter's bed was really nice. Maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising to her, but it was, it was warm and soft and she could snuggle into it, and when she got comfortable she never wanted to get up.

She heard him walk in, waited in bed until he got to the doorway and stopped.

"You should've called," he murmured.

She rolled over. "Because you feel like a crappy host or because you don't want me here? Cause if it's the latter, you're gonna have to be less subtle and kick me out and if it's the former, I figured you'd come home eventually."

"You sure make a lot of assumptions about people."

She shrugged. "You're here, aren't you?"

He leaned against the doorframe. "You should talk to Dean. You can probably still work things out."

She shook her head. "That's over. I accepted it." She stared at him studying his face. "Do you still think about her when you're with me?"

"Nicole?" he asked, even though he already knew, even thought she knew he knew.

She nodded.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Who do you think about? Dean or Scott? Both?"

She smiled tiredly. "Scott wasn't very good in bed. It would be hard to confuse the two of you."

"Dean then," he said.

"Yeah, sometimes. Not as much as I used to."

"Well I guess that's something." He tossed his jacket towards the corner of the room and slipped into bed next to her. "You're exhausted," he said when she started to kiss him. "Get some sleep."

"I didn't come here to sleep," she protested.

"I'm trying to take care of you here. It'd be a lot easier if you listened."

"Careful," she said. "Someone might almost call this a relationship."

"I don't consider anything a relationship until I get to serve pancakes," he said, fingers combing through her hair.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "What is it with you and those damn pancakes?"

He shrugged. "I make good pancakes. You'd like them."

"God, are we bantering about breakfast foods?" she muttered.

"No," he answered. "You're so tired you're delirious."

"Fuck you," she said, closing her eyes.

He tucked his body around hers, getting comfortable. "Maybe later, after you get some rest."