Fic: I Hate How Much I Love You
Sep. 9th, 2008 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: I Hate How Much I Love You
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Stella Willoughby, Tonya Parker, Arthur Sloane
Rating: G
A/N: And another. Whee.
Stella looked down into her tea. It was utterly irrational. This whole… idiotic mess. She had been fine without not only him, but any man, for most of her life. She had her books, and her work, and it should be fine. She didn’t … He had his family and she had her work and why the hell were there teardrops in her tea.
--
Tonya was on her fourth martini of the evening. Not that it mattered. Nothing to get up for in the morning, no one to yell if she had a hangover. She toasted to the sole remaining photograph she possessed of detective Arthur Sloane; terror of the mob, good friend, and unlikely hero. Also, miserable wreck, last she checked, but you couldn’t win ‘em all. So she’d been told. Ah well. Another martini seemed in order.
--
Arthur stared at the bottle of bourbon. He hadn’t touched it, but having it out on his desk felt somewhat… appropriate. He’d allow himself one childish gesture. One more, at least. He’d had enough of them. He didn’t bother telling himself he didn’t miss her. Of course he damn well did. No, the lie he was working on tonight was that she was happy with what she’d chosen. And that wasn’t really a lie. Well, not an awful one at least. The bourbon sure would have made it easier to swallow, though.
--
She took a breath. Just one. She leaned against the closed door, eyes closing. She’d thought it was over. She though she was over him. She was. Over him. And that sob that escaped… it was just a yawn. She was damn tired after that stupid story. That was all.
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Stella Willoughby, Tonya Parker, Arthur Sloane
Rating: G
A/N: And another. Whee.
Stella looked down into her tea. It was utterly irrational. This whole… idiotic mess. She had been fine without not only him, but any man, for most of her life. She had her books, and her work, and it should be fine. She didn’t … He had his family and she had her work and why the hell were there teardrops in her tea.
--
Tonya was on her fourth martini of the evening. Not that it mattered. Nothing to get up for in the morning, no one to yell if she had a hangover. She toasted to the sole remaining photograph she possessed of detective Arthur Sloane; terror of the mob, good friend, and unlikely hero. Also, miserable wreck, last she checked, but you couldn’t win ‘em all. So she’d been told. Ah well. Another martini seemed in order.
--
Arthur stared at the bottle of bourbon. He hadn’t touched it, but having it out on his desk felt somewhat… appropriate. He’d allow himself one childish gesture. One more, at least. He’d had enough of them. He didn’t bother telling himself he didn’t miss her. Of course he damn well did. No, the lie he was working on tonight was that she was happy with what she’d chosen. And that wasn’t really a lie. Well, not an awful one at least. The bourbon sure would have made it easier to swallow, though.
--
She took a breath. Just one. She leaned against the closed door, eyes closing. She’d thought it was over. She though she was over him. She was. Over him. And that sob that escaped… it was just a yawn. She was damn tired after that stupid story. That was all.
