On Letting Go by Ashily

Title: On Letting Go

Author: ash ily

Summary: In one moment, a single second, my perfect life came to an end. And for three months, I entered into an affair that changed everything I thought I knew.

Disclaimer: Patterson owns.

Warnings: Slash.

Notes: Could it be? Really? –gasp- Ashily's writing again!Well, my friends, it's true. I've been to hell and back, as they say, and now I've finally gotten everything on track again. I'm at a boarding school now, (blehh, send me back to public school) and I have a wonderful boyfriend who continues to make my life better everyday.

Not that you guys really care.Anyways, I'm hoping to keep the updates rolling on this one, if you guys like it.Remember, I love feedback!

Prelude: Your Call

The call came in the late afternoon, the October chill had not yet reached Southern California, and the sun was blazing high in the sky like any other day. I was just leaving the office, on my way to the chic little hybrid foreign car I was oh-so-proud of at the time. In one hand, I was checking my voicemails on a Blackberry that cost a fortune, and in the other I was juggling an overstuffed briefcase filled with office files. My head was somewhere else, with my cohabitating fiancé and our looming date, the personal invitation to a swanky office party stuffed in my pocket and the files I needed to look over in my briefcase. You were the farthest thing from my mind.

The number was from an area code I didn't recognize, which usually meant I wouldn't answer, but I was in a good mood, and I figured it had something to do with work, so answered anyways

"Hello?"

The murmurs, so soft, so delicate, I barely caught them.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Fang…" Your voice… your breath, in my ears again.

Ice swept through my chest , seizing my heart in a chokehold and tightening it with every shallow breath. I hadn't heard that name in years and years, it was like a slap in the face now, dredging up all those old memories I'd worked so hard to bury in the farthest corner of my mind.

"Who's this?" Edge crept into my voice I don't think I meant. I was scared again, sixteen-years-old and confused as hell, afraid of what tomorrow might bring.

"It's me, Fang, it's me, don't you remember?"

That's when everything good in my life came to a crashing halt.

I dropped my briefcase right then and there, forgot about Lexus and the rock I put on her finger, and the office party that had excited me so much now seemed to trivial and insignificant. My classy little condo, my little European sports car, my Armani suit, none of it mattered to me anymore. In short, my entire existence was shattered into tiny, little worthless pieces.

I opened my mouth and crash landed on a name I hadn't said in years, it was yours, "Iggy"

"Is this a bad time?" I thought I heard you sniffle, just a little, like you'd been crying. The thought made my stomach turn.

"No, no, not at all," I fumbled with the straps on my briefcase as I tried (in vain) to pull myself back together into the calm, cool no nonsense guy I'd come to be, "Uh, what's up?"

"Fang, I need you, there's something I need to tell you…"

"Baby," My lips slipped over the words easily, like it was just yesterday that I'd held you in my arms and kissed you goodnight. Even though my brain was screaming Lexus! Lexus! Lexus! when I closed my eyes and tried to picture my busty, beautiful fiancé (the woman who's hand I was to take in marriage!) the only thing I could see was a gangly blonde boy, with big blue eyes and a shy smile- god, you were so beautiful, not even half as beautiful as I remembered.

"Baby, what is it?"

"I miss you, so much, Fang, it hurts so bad…" It just about broke my heart, hearing you say that, hearing you crying, saying my name, it was like that last time all over again.

"Please," I had to shut my eyes to stop myself from turning into a big, sobbing mess, "Just tell me what's wrong."

For the longest time, you didn't answer, but I could hear you, breathing so quietly on the other line, it made my heart flutter. "Fang, I'm sick. I'm really, really sick."

I was so scared, I didn't know what to think. All I knew was that you were hurting, and I had to fix you. My mind starting rolling off all these possibilities, AIDS, cancer, tuberculosis, I thought maybe you called me cause you needed money, maybe you were living on the streets or something. God, I imagined all the worst things. "Do you need money? A doctor? Somewhere to st-"

"Fang, I'm dying."

And if I had to pick one moment in my life, one pivotal point that changed my life, I think that would be it. No, I don't think it, I know it. I couldn't say if it was for better, or for worse. But after that, things were definitely very, very different. And I couldn't turn back.

Dedication: to my beautiful boyfriend, Collin.

Who makes everyday of my life a happy ending.

Thought I'd just add that since I forgot to last time.

98 of everything cute and fluffy in here is inspired by him. :)

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Note on Updates: Due to the need to make the Dean's List, as well as the need to see my friends during my time at home, I really wouldn't expect updates more than twice a week.

NOTE ON POINT OF VIEW, EXTREMELY IMPORTANT.
Since I've gotten a couple questions about this, I might like to add, this story is told by Fang, as if telling it to Iggy. So the 'I's and 'me's are all Fang, while the 'you's are Iggy. (This'll tie in at the end.)
If it really gets confusing for you guys just let me know and I'll rewrite it, mmkay:)

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And thanks to Giga, who betaed this. :)

Chapter I: Hello Again

You've got this look on your face I haven't seen before, and for some reason, it scares me. You've cast your face down into your coffee mug, and you pretend not to notice when I slide into the booth across from you. And when you speak, your mouth makes this small, almost smile-twitch- of course, you're talking into the coffee, not at me.

It's kind of funny, considering I blew off my fiancé, my job, my friends and on a whim flew from California to New York, checked into a shit hotel, then spent most of today waiting around for this exact moment, and now, I'm starting to think this all might just be a huge mistake on my part.

"So," I say, the words echo harsh in our silence, "how have you been?"

"Good," you draw the word out slowly, unsurely, "And yourself?"

"Alright," I answer.

It's weird, how much you still look like yourself- if that makes sense. Your hair, still long and blonde, your physique, still tall and gangly, even those little twitches in your hands, your tone of voice, I swear, you still look sixteen years old. Only one thing is different, the glasses, dark tinted aviator's, for some reason, I don't want to ask.

"Are you hungry?" The steam from your coffee wafts over to me as you speak, and I know my mouth is watering. Truth be told, I'm starving. But the nervous churning in my stomach feeds me an easy lie.

"I'm fine, if you want to get something, though, it's on me, I insist," And I'm really hoping that didn't come out as conceited as it sounded.

"It's alright, I had breakfast."

"Oh, okay, then."

I sigh deeply when the next silence overwhelms us. There are two halves of me, screaming and tearing at my insides. There's Fang, still sixteen years old, wanting nothing more than to grab you and make you mine again, who needs to touch you and feel you, and know you're real. Then there's F. Gage Isaacs, successful businessmen, who wants to chicken out and slink back to the airport and catch a plane back to California. But I can do neither, so I wait.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"When in the afternoon?"

"Three."

You nod, then, I watch as a pained grimace crosses your lips for just a millisecond, and you sigh, "You probably deserve to know what's going on."

You don't wait for my reply, instead, a soft string of words begin to slip out of your mouth, like drops of rainwater, and you explain to me about how after you left- after I left, you pushed yourself to pass the New York High School Equivalency Test, and scored a perfect 100. You tell me how you used your share of our big government check to rent an apartment in the East Village and find a shitty janitorial job at a convience store. You tell me about how it all went for your Brown University tuition, earning you a bachelor's degree in chemistry. You laugh and tell you me how you then turned around and decided to get your graduate's degree in music. You tell me how hard it was to find a job, how you had to spend months unemployed living off of a dwindling savings account, before finding a locally famous independent label willing to give you a try, and how you've been there ever since.

And then, you take a deep breath, and for a second, the world just stops.

And then you tell me about the "flu" you got in the spring, and how it never quite went away. You tell me about months of testing that followed through the summer and into this fall, finally coming down to one small genetic glitch tracing back to your eye surgery years and years ago, which you now know, will shorten your life drastically.

Here, you pause, and I suck in a deep breath, and force out my words with careful, even, measured breaths, lest I feel myself start to choke on a sob that threatens to rise, "How long?"

"Till New Years."

New Years Day was less than three months away. Lexus and I had been planning on going to the Caribbean to celebrate, she liked to keep a countdown on the fridge, and last I checked- yesterday- it was 90 days away.

"I called you," you say slowly, telling yourself more than me, "Because when I die, I want my possessions to be passed on to people who were meaningful in my life… And Fang, you were very meaningful to me."

I nod, "Yeah, sure."

"When I was arranging my will I thought I should check in with you, make sure you wouldn't be too opposed to the idea."

"Of course not!"

"Good," for the first time, a small smile flickers across your face, "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, so much, you have no idea." My heart is aching with each beat as I realize every word of what I'm about to say is true, "Nothing in my life has ever made me as happy as you did. Everything since then, it just means nothing to me when I try to compare it, I don't even know how to explain it, it's just so…"

"It's okay, Fang. I know."

I sigh, letting out a breath I now realize I've been holding for a very, very long time.

Your fingers drum against the countertop, and I watch, listening to the rhythm you create- and slowly, hesitantly, I reach out and rest my hand against yours. The electricity between us charges now, and I can see that you're nervous too, the way your thumb twitches, the way you breath as if to speak but bite your tongue again. You're still sixteen, somewhere inside, and so am I.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I don't think you do either.

Alright, I'm sure you don't want to her this, but I had originally written almost this entire chapter like last week, and then I lost it when my computer restarted, sad, no? And trust me, the original one was much better, which is sad. ):

AND OH MY GOD.

I've also been having personal issues for the past two weeks. (Seriously, don't even ask.) And last night, all I wanted was a little cute fluffiness to make me feel better, so I was looking for some Figgy and you know what? THERE IS NONE! O:

Sad, no? I had to relocate to RENT to get my slashy goodness in. (Mark/Roger is so adorable. Seriously.)

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Chapter II: The Air is Cold and So Are You

I want to hold you, but I don't think you'd let me.

The sky is grey overcast, the same color as the waves crashing against the rocks of the shore. I think it's going to rain. It's the same sort of day that brought us to this place nineteen years ago, a dark, unhappy day with gloom whistling in the breeze.

You've brought me to this pier that might've once had its glory days, maybe it housed a ferris wheel and cotton candy vendors, but now it's all turned to moist, rotting pine cracking at every other plank, if you look though, you can still see dates and initials carved in- "Josey and Ned, forever in love, '69" and what not. It makes me laugh, to think of how many of them probably divorced, broke up, separated or just brought themselves to the edge. I wonder how many of them actually kept their silly teenage vows. Or how many ended up like us.

Another wind blows through, pushing me back west, back home. I'm shivering now, and I can't say I'd mind feeling a little California sun. Because right now, it's freezing, it's wet, it's miserable, and yet, despite all of this, there you stand- pressed up against a rotting railing, holding tight to the edge, pushing forth into the face of the wind, I fear the next gust might blow you over. So thin, so delicate, it scares me. I want to grab you, steady you, hold you, protect you, promise you, make it right again. I'll be your ship, if you'll be my figure head, and together we might sail…

I step closer, daring to believe that maybe you might just let me touch you like I used to. Maybe, you might let me forget nineteen years of everything I never wanted. But when my hand brushes against the small of your back, even the smallest ripple of touch, you hug yourself tighter. And inside, I'm screaming, what did I do

Nineteen years is a long time to hold a grudge, but for some reason I wouldn't put it past you.

The long silence we're living in is only filled with the sound of the waves, not a breath, not a noise, just the waves, sloshing in time with the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. And that's all there is, for a very long time.

"Are you seeing someone?" I can only just hear you above the roar.

I don't want to answer you, but I do, "Yes."

I can hear the wince in your voice, hear the hurt carry from your heart through your vocal chords, "Is it serious?"

"Yes." I admit, more to myself than to you. This is serious. This infidelity, this meeting, these words. It was all too serious.

"Married?"

"Engaged."

"You love her, then." This isn't a question, and I don't have an answer. Because had you said the same thing to me just yesterday, I would have said yes, I do very much, thank you. Lexus was everything I could have asked for. She was a professional photographer and part time painter with a few galleries under her belt, but she'd told me time and time again she'd give it all up to live at home and raise a family, if that's what we wanted. She was smart, she was funny. And she was beautiful too, legs for days and days, tiny waist, graceful hands, shimmery hazel eyes and long hair she always wore flowing down to her thighs. And all these traits I'd held high, that I'd paraded around at cocktail parties and fantasy baseball tournaments, just faded into the background. Traits, that's all they were, nothing of any real relevancy.

"I thought I did," I say softly, my fingers running down the curve of your back, pleading for attention, "But Iggy, I swear-"

"Fang!" You turn sharply, and suddenly I realize, you are taller than me, more than I cared to remember. I guess I forgot just how menacing you could really be, your brow knit, your mouth set and your fists clenched, more angst ridden teen than mannered adult, "Don't do this."

"Igg-"

"No, listen to me, Fang. This is important." I shut my mouth, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood, so the words won't slip out: I love you, I love you more than anything, please just tell me, lie to me, you love me too.

"Don't ruin your life for me, Fang. Don't give up everything you have going for you on some stupid affair going nowhere. Don't read into this, it's just-"

I don't want to hear it anymore, not your voice, not mine, not any sense of reason. Instead, I wrap you up in my arms before you can protest, and I crush our mouths together, just like the first time all over again. And it's awkward, at first, you wriggling against me, me pulling you closer, fighting each other for room to breath but then, it fits. Just like that, everything is back to the way it was.

And when we're both blue from lack of air, I finally let go, and I can't help but smile. Because the way you look at me, the way the corners of your mouth upturn in that little smile, I know it's what you really wanted. You will never convince me otherwise.

"Iggy," I say softly, my arms circling your waist, pulling us hip to hip, your smile grows, "You don't have to tell me about ruining my life and stupid affairs going nowhere."

"Please," you plead, although without nearly as much feeling, "Don't make this mistake."

"Don't tell me about mistakes," I throw my arms around you, begging you not to speak. And when you don't, I put my lips against your ear, squeezing my eyes shut, "When I left you, that was a mistake. These last nineteen years have been a mistake. I know what I'm doing. Please, don't make it bad."

I wait, expecting the worst. Pushing, protesting, accusations, the whole nine yards, but then, I feel you hugging me back, clinging to me, almost, and very softly, I hear you say, "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that."

My heart melts right into my stomach, and that's it. I'm yours, do with me as you wish, because it's hopeless now.

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By the way, personal issues fixed. :)

So hopefully that means I'll be updating more. :p