Solitude

By Lizz Browne

 

A/N: I had to do it. I had to write angst. Nothing belongs to me, not the characters, which are property of Universal and Donald Bain, not the song, called Hey There Delilah if anyone is interested. I did manipulate the lyrics a bit as some of them just didnít fit the characters age-wise. That said, enjoy!

 

 

George Sutherland arrived at his London flat at 2 in the morning. He was exhausted after a long night of pouring over case notes for the latest incidents in the London area. They had finally given up, and he sank into his armchair with a bowl of microwaved rice and the remote control. Turning on the television, he began mindlessly flipping channels.

 

Hey there Delilah

Whatís it like in New York City?

Iím a thousand miles away

But girl tonight you look so pretty

Yes you do

Times Square canít shine as bright at you

I swear itís true

 

It took him a minute to register the familiar face, but when he did, George immediately flipped back to the channel. It was Jessica. She had just finished a press conference about her latest book. George sighed. She looked beautiful, wearing black and red, her golden hair shining and blue eyes sparkling. It suddenly hit George full force how much he missed her. She wrote him letters, and the occasional phone call, but that was all she had time for. He wondered if she was happy.

 

Hey there Delilah

Donít you worry about the distance

Iím right here if you get lonely

Give this song another listen

Close your eyes

Listen to my voice itís my disguise

Iím by your side

 

He sat, staring at the television long after the press conference had ended and some game show that asked stupid questions to even more stupid people came on. As he finished the last of his rice, George had made his decision and picking up the cordless phone, he dialed Jessicaís number. After three rings she answered, her voice sleepy.

 

He had waited too long to call. She was happy to hear from him of course, and they chatted about this and that for a few minutes. But it was late and she was tired, and they both had busy days ahead of them. He told her he missed her, and could hear her small sigh on the other end of the line. She was patient and told him she missed him as well, and that perhaps around the holidays her schedule would permit her to spend a few days with him.

 

A few days.

 

Hey there Delilah

Iíve got so much left to say

If every simple song I wrote to you

Would take your breath away

Iíd write it all

Even more in love with me youíd fall

Weíd have it all

 

The next day George threw himself back into the case with a renewed vigor. Anything to take his mind off her. His colleagues and friends were confused, but they knew better than to question. After all, despite his calm exterior he was still a Scot. Questions could be dangerous sparks.So they let him work himself into the ground, treading carefully, keeping out of his way so as not to set him off.

 

Leaving him completely isolated.

 

A thousand miles seems pretty far

But theyíve got planes and trains and cars

Iíd walk to you if I had no other way

 

When at last they forced him to leave, to go home and rest, home was the last place he thought of going. Home was where he would think about last nightís phone call, and how she had cast him off as just another appointment she had to keep. Instead he found himself wandering about the cold dark streets of London, drowning in his own sorrow.

 

Hey there Delilah hereís to you

 

At last he found an Irish pub still open at 3am. The barman was the only person in the place, polishing glasses and watching the television. Settling on the stool in the corner, George ordered the first of many drinks that night, and mulled over his options, cursing himself for being a fool and falling for a woman who lived so far away, and who obviously had a life with which she was quite content. It was an organized and carefully stacked life, where there was no room for another person.

 

So George Sutherland spent the rest of the night in the bar, trying to forget, while glass after glass was silently raised towards the television across the room. It was her favorite movie.

 

This oneís for you