Fic: Rain

[polytikal.livejournal.com]

Title: Rain
Author: polytikal
Rating: R
Pairing: Nick/Sara, Greg/Nick
Summary: Greg hates her.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything.


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It definately wasn't the first time.


I think, maybe, when I was 9. Susie Parker was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Ryan Jenkins was the meanest sonofabitch I'd ever met. I don't know what she saw in him, or, at least I didn't see what he had that I didn't. I was being either really brave or really stupid.

It's funny that I remember it being a Friday, the point during the week where my happiness was at it's peak. I was invincible as I walked off of that bus. I didn't even notice it was raining. I was just solely focused on getting her. I walked right up to him, bit my bottom lip, squeezed my hands into fists, and kicked him in the knee.

"Why does she like you?", I demanded.

"Why? Because I'm not a little weakling like you.", he spat back.

It took just a little shove from his two hands to send my flying to the ground. I felt his spit on my face first, and then the water seaping through my clothes. She got off of the bus wearing the prettiest pink dress in the world, simply took his hand, and held her laced umbrella over the both of them.

"Pssh. Fag."

They walked away slowly, almost mocking me. I didn't think 9 year olds could feel the emotions that I was feeling, but I thought wrong. There was a disgusting weight on my heart, a confusion, a hatred, but most of all, a sadness. I convinced myself I wasn't crying, I did, but I couldn't tell one way or another whether or not the water running down my face was rain, or tears. I can remember everything about that day. I remember my mom had packed me my favorite, Macaroni & Cheese, for lunch, which was still warm because I kept it in my new Spiderman thermos. I remember I had gotten an extra 5 minutes on the swing because I'd made an A+ on a spelling quiz that day. I remember the smell of the new perfume Mrs. Applebaum had gotten. I remember that cool, dead, blue bird I'd never seen before on the playground. But most of all, I remember laying on that sidewalk for over an hour. I remember how truly dark and gloomy the sky was. I remember how cold each drop of rain was. I remember the red Nissan that drove by, dousing me with a mixture of muddy water and god knows what else. I remember coming home way past the time that I was supposed to, getting a slap in the face from my mother, and crying myself to a slow-coming sleep. I hated him.

Almost as much as I hated her.

And I almost know I'm going to regret writing this down in my notebook. It's not so much that I hate Sara, but I hate what she is to him. I hate the way he looks at her. I hate the way she looks at him. I hate the goodbye kiss they give each other before they go on seperate cases. I hate the way she acts the night before they're about to go out together. I hate that she makes him happy. I shouldn't, but I do. It's supposed to be my job. I know it. Fate must've fucked up somewhere. Right, getting off topic. God. Why should I have to write this down? I swear, one of these days, I'm going to run up to her, bite my bottom lip, squeeze my hands into fists, and kick her in the knee. I'll make sure it isn't raining.

I hate that he'll check an e-mail from her before he checks an e-mail from me even though mine's at the top of his inbox. I hate that he'll answer a page from her in 2 minutes, but takes 2 hours answering one from me. I hate how they eat out of the same Chinese takeout box when we're on a break. I hate how he shares my coffee with her. I hate that on Fridays and Sundays they go home in the same car. I hate that it's really her he's seeing when they're kissing, and not me. I hate how she gets him hard when she wears those slutty, tight, leather pants. I hate how I know when they have sex by the once pure smile on Nick's face the next day. I hate when I do something wrong and he gives me a disgusted look, but when she does something wrong it's a party. I hate the way she gleamed the week after they told everyone, like he was hers. I hate that I'm not the one fucking his brains out. I hate that she makes me hate. I hate having to cry myself to sleep because I'm too scared and jealous and confused to do something about it. I hate—

“Hey Greg.”

God. There she is. Can’t I just hate her in peace? I want to leave the notebook open right in front of her face, so she knows what she is. Not just to me, but what she really is. I want to. I need to.

But I don’t.

“Oh, hi, Sara.”, I say, pretending to be glad to see her.

“I need you to run these DNA samples and crosscheck them with all of…”

I see her lips moving, but nothing’s coming out. I see those lips in my dreams as she wraps them around his cock. It should be me. “It should be my lips wrapped around his cock.”

“What?”

Fuck.

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Just make sure you get those results to me.”

Bitch.

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me sweetie.”

Why? Because he does?

“Oh, sorry.”

God. I only just realized that she’s wearing those leather pants, so Nick must be walking around here somewhere with a boner. Anyways. I hate how—

“Sup G.”

Damnit.

“Hey Nick.”

See? There’s that boner.

“Got your page.”

“That was almost 3 hours ago.”

“I know, Greg. I had to process a—oh. Hold on.”

He’s being paged. I’ll give you one guess.

“It’s Sara. Um, I’ll get back to you in a little bit, k?”

Ding ding ding, I was right.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Hey man, lighten up.”

Sent me over the edge. I stood up so fast my head spun. I just stared at him.

“You want me to lighten up!? God. Fuck this!”

I was so loud and made such an exit that the entire lab was looking at me. I didn’t make eye contact with a single one of them. I had gotten mad pretty fast. Though I wasn’t cooling down as fast, unfortunately. Everything was so quiet. Not a voice, not a whirr, not a breath, just my footsteps. The rhythm of my pace and the silence of the building reminded me of my hour on the wet sidewalk. I think Sara just finished pushing me to the ground and spitting on my face. As I got out to the parking garage I’m sure Nick just stepped off of the bus in the prettiest pink dress in the world. As I pressed my forehead against the window of my car, Sara just finished calling me a fag. And as the tears streamed down my face, they walked away. She’ll never be able to love him like I can.

“Greg.”

“Hm. Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“Greg.”

“Yes, Nicky?”

“Greg.”

My forehead was stuck to the window. I could see two perfect streams of tears running down the side of my car. I could see the can of Coke I’d half finished on my way here. I could see the movies I was supposed to return to Blockbuster yesterday. I could see that missing pink sock I’d been looking for. I could see Nick’s reflection. He looked like he was worried. Sort of.

“Greg, please. Just look at me.”

“Always bossing people around.”

The window pulled at my forehead as I tried to peel it off. I took my lab coat sleeves and dried off my eyes. I couldn’t look in his eyes. He had nice loafers on, though.

“You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about, or why I was crying.”

“Not really.”

What? Was he cute and psychic?

“You—.”

And there was that damn notebook. I hadn’t noticed at first because I was too busy admiring his loafers. I was shaking with panic and fear. Did he read it?

“I didn’t read it.”

Ah, he’s cute and psychic.

“Oh.”

“But I’m pretty sure I know what’s in it.”

“How?”

“Well, the picture of Sara taped on the back with horns, a mustache, broken glasses and a missing tooth scribbled on it was a pretty big giveaway.”

“Oh.”

“Greg.”

“You already said that, like, 5 times already. I think you’ve got my att—.”

I imagined him to taste salty and sweet, but instead it was a new flavor that sent messages like ‘I love you, too’ and ‘I’m here for you’ to my head. His tongue was soft and slow, sliding across mine like butter on a skillet. His lips sucked affectionately on my face, and I opened an eye to find that both of his were closed. And then a whimper. Not me. Not him. I didn’t want it to end yet, but he broke the kiss. For her.

“S-Sara, I…”

She’s crying as much as I was, if not more. But I don’t feel sorry for her. I feel like I just picked myself up off of that sidewalk, hijacked that school bus and ran over Ryan Jenkins. And I loved it. Because you know what? She’ll never be able to love him like I can. I know it.


And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like it’s raining any more.



FIN


I know, weird ending, but I thought it felt right. Feedback greatly appreciated. :)