DISCLAIMER: Yeah, did you see Angelaís whole flashing scene in the pilot? All me. They asked what they could do to make the show better, I answered. No, really, I donít own them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written in math the day after the pilot episode ran. Inspiration struck in the middle of the lecture, who was I to argue.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Exact Cause of Death
Temperance was tired of Angela's little "glug-glug whoo-hoo!" nights. She loved them; they were amazingly fun. But the nights always ended. And she didn't want that.
It went just about the same every night they went out. They'd go to a bar, get wasted, then come back to one of their apartments and have mind-blowing sex. Then they'd wake up the next morning and talk about random things while they nursed their respective hangovers.
They never discussed what they were doing. Temperance was afraid to bring it up for fear that she'd lose Angela completely. Because she wanted these reoccurring one-night stands to become something more, but she was afraid that if she pushed too hard, it would end. And then she wouldn't even have those few tiny moments.
But in this case, she had decided, wanting was probably better than having. It tore her heart up when Angela would arch her back and scream "Oh, God, I love you!" and Temperance knew (thought, guessed, assumed) that she didn't mean it. And how when she would say it back, that she meant it from the bottom of her heart, but Angela would never know. She was being killed every time Angela called her sweetie or any number of assorted affectionate nicknames, and every time she hugged Temperance, and every time she'd grab her hand, or brush up against her in the lab. She hated having everything she wanted dangle right in front of her face, only to be jerked away the next day, when they'd talk about cases, or movies, or guys, and never what Temperance most wanted to discuss. The fact that she was utterly and completely in love with her.
She didn't know what she would say if the time came. Being `not a people-person', she'd probably go about it in her typical forthright way. Say that she was in love with her. The direct diagnosis. The exact cause of death.
Temperance didn't like their little liquor-induced liaisons. She wanted to be able to express her love when they were both sober enough to actually understand what was going on.
She knew she needed their nights to end. For her health. For her sanity, if there was any left. But she knew she couldn't give them up. She would smile, and joke, and pretend that when they were panting and moaning and touching each other in places mere friends never should, that she didn't feel anything more than the physical sensations coursing through her body. Pretend that she didn't want to take Angela home every night, and kiss her and hold her and never let go. She was tired of pretending, but she wouldn't come clean. And it would be the death of her.
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