Title: Cold Call (1/1)
 Author: fran58
 Email: fran58@WonderHorse.net
 http://www.WonderHorse.net or   http://www.WonderHorse.net/authorspgs/fran58/fran58.htm
 Category: V
 Rating: PG-13
 Distribution: Wherever - just let me know.
 Spoilers: Avatar
 Disclaimer: Characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
 Productions and 20th Century Fox.
 Summary: "They say that friends make the best lovers.   Now I am
 left to regret the chance for a friendship I let pass by."

 Author's Note:  Ok, I'm a big idiot.  I forgot to thank people on the
 first post, so here goes... Thanks to Judy, Heather and Mary for
 your help and time.


 Cold Call

 The telephone against my ear matches my mood and the room.
 Cold.  As I listen to her voice, the slush in my veins grows even
 colder.

 "I'm sorry, Walter."  Her precise voice is kind, apologetic and
 breaks slightly at the words.  "I know the note wasn't enough, but I
 can't talk about this now."

 No, the note wasn't enough.  Hell, a novel wouldn't have been
 enough.  I blink, trying to slow my breathing, trying to stop the
 pictures of her and the words she may have said in a different time
 and place.  A time when things were better.

 Once, she shared her soul with me, at least in part, even as
 she shared her body.  The part of herself that was necessary to our
 coming together.  I always knew that she kept a portion of herself
 tucked away.  If there ever had been a time when complete
 openness and availability were possible, it was long past.
 Perhaps if our jobs were different.  Perhaps if I could be less rigid.
 Perhaps if she could be.  Our lives away from each other demanded
 certain qualities that were hard to shake off after a day of work.
 Yet for a while, it had been good.  It seemed to work.  Maybe it
 had never been anything but need, though I'd like to think it had
 been more.  She isn't a shallow person, and I had assumed that the
 depth of her feeling must match mine.

 The images come back.  Warm nights, light sheets, lying apart, just
 barely touching because it was too hot for anything else.  Sun in the
 morning lighting her face, warming the tones in her hair, showing
 the faint lines around her eyes.  I loved those lines.  To me they
 were the promise of shared lives.  There were cold evenings,
 wrapped up in a blanket, watching the fire or maybe a movie.  
 Later she would turn to me, warm and welcoming, and we would forget
 our sorrows and ourselves in the moment.  Soft skin, soft hair.  Her
 hands always seemed so small compared to mine.  Her voice was
 tender then.  Now it jars me back to the present.  A place I don't
 care to be.

 "I left my keys in the mailbox this morning.  Did you find them?"

 Oh yeah, I found them.  The newspaper and her keys.  Good
 freaking morning.  But all I say is "Yes, I found them."

 The note she left was short and to the point.  She was sorry, she
 had tried to tell me, but I didn't seem to understand what she was
 trying to say. It said she didn't want to hurt me, and that a quick
 parting seemed best.  It was absolutely like her, the words she
 wrote.  There was nothing superfluous, nothing malicious.  Just the
 plain and simple facts.  She signed the letter with her name, no
 ‘Love' or ‘Always' or ‘Fondly' tacked on.  Hell, I didn't even
 warrant a 'Yours Truly'.  We never were much for endearments
 anyway.

 I wonder vaguely if there is someone else.  An image comes to
 mind of a man with dark hair and somber eyes.  If he is the reason,
 she would never tell me, outright.  She would never flaunt this in
 front of me.  I wonder if her relationship with him is -- was ever --
 physical, or if they are above that base motivation.  After all, she
 had me to fuck her.  She could get it out of her system that way,
 and save her soul for him.  Of course, she's known him for years,
 worked with him for years.  Holiday get-togethers had given me
 ample time to size him up.  I remember how, after the first time she
 introduced us, the idea wormed its way into my thoughts.  The
 result of a look or haphazard touch?  I could never put my finger on
 it.  And now - now I just can't help but entertain the thought...

 It's been known to happen.  Christ, I have a pair like that right
 under my nose.  They say that friends make the best lovers.   Now 
 I am left to regret the chance for a friendship I let pass by.

 Maybe I just want someone to blame.  Then I could tell myself she
 wanted someone younger, someone more open, someone with
 hair...  It would give me a place to hang my anger anyway.

 None of this makes any difference, however, as I hold the 
 telephone to my ear still trying to steady my breathing.  
 I can picture her on the other end, standing quietly, 
 choosing her words, measuring their meaning carefully.

 I've let too much time pass without speaking and her voice comes
 to me again. "Walter?  Everything ok?"

 Everything is not "ok" and she damn well knows it, but I also know
 her well enough to know what she is really asking.

 "Yeah... yeah, it's fine," my voice is rough to my ears and I feel the
 last bit of warmth drain from my heart.  The lie comes easily to my
 lips, "It'll be fine, Sharon."

 End