Title: Not My Season Summary: "But my God it's so beautiful when the boy smiles..." Notes: Response to two challenges in one - Clay's "2 AM" Challenge and the most recent Seven Deadly Sins challenge, Envy. I also feel I have to blame this on one of Clay's livejournal icons. Also note I finished this about ten minutes ago, and haven't edited it yet, so forgive all typos/bad sentences. Pairing: Ry/Col ~~ This is going to be one of those nights, I realize, as I wake up trembling from head to foot. One of those damn introspective nights when I see how fucked up my life is. I don't want to wake Ryan - he doesn't understand why I do this, and it's always awkward when he stays up, thoughtful, trying to keep me company but not sure exactly why I need company in the first place. I slip out of bed, startled by how cold our bedroom is outside the covers, and head downstairs. I'm boiling a pot of tea before I've really considered the idea, and as the steam rises gently from the edges of the water, I drift into thoughts. By the standards I set for myself, all those years ago - I won. No, really, I did. Hands down, no competition. That's what I tell myself, over and over, to drive away the desperate loneliness. I won. I was so...triumphant, the day of our wedding. Standing next to the pastor, he looked like the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, nervously twisting that damn Celtic ring on his finger, intensity burning in his bright eyes. As I walked toward him, the best man reached forward to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment, and Ryan turned, a tiny smile on his face. My world flipped lazily a few times. I kept walking. I smiled at him, robotic. I said my vows. I put the ring on his finger. I did everything perfectly, exactly according to plan. I won, didn't I? My friends always point out that I got his house and his checkbook and his supportiveness, his willingness to defend my ideas against the critical fury that is LA. I know what the real prizes were, though - I got his ring and his children and his arms to hold me tight late at night when I wake up knowing that it's all turned out wrong, somehow. But Colin...Colin got his smile. I think, sometimes, I hate Colin for that, for being the only person on the planet who can win get one of those too-rare, absolutely joyful smiles. I hate him for being the one thing I can't be, for being the real love of Ryan's life. I've been everything Ryan's ever asked me to be, given him everything I could think of. And I only hate Colin when I realize that everything I've done isn't enough and could never be, because I'm not Colin. The kids - he was so happy the day Mac was born, eyes sparkling. Colin was there, Deb on his arm, looking so delighted for us. It didn't change that I resented his presence - I couldn't have Ryan's heart, but I felt like I deserved his attention, this once. Oh, he was sweet and lovely and patient, holding my hand and telling me how wonderful I was, how much he loved me. It didn't change the hard cold fact - that his heart was beating just outside the room, in the form of a pair of warm brown eyes. I fell in love with Ryan for his smile, you see. When we first met, I didn't notice him, not as anything special...then one day I saw him talking, and I watched him laugh. It might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, spotting that smile across the room. It might also have been the worst, come to think of it. It would be years before I realized that the adoring, honest smile I'd seen would never, ever be aimed at me, and by then it was too late to back out. There's no way to get out of this, now, almost thirty years into our marriage. I can't turn back the clock, and I can't tell if I want to. All I know for sure is that Colin is the only one he smiles at. I still don't know if I hate him for it. The tea is boiling, I realize with a shock, and reach for it. My hands are too shaky, though, and the water sloshes over the sides of the pot to run over my hand. I can't keep back a cry, and the pot crashes to the floor. Boiling water is everywhere, including my feet, and I give another yell as I stumble backwards a step, only to trip and land on my ass, feet, hands and shins stinging. There's a slow, sharp sound behind me, and it's a few seconds before I recognize it. Clapping. "Ryan!" His chuckle is low, sympathetic as he steps out of the shadows to help me up, sensibly wearing slippers. "That was a nice one, honey," he teases, pulling me to my feet and into a hug. "Feeling wierd again?" "Yeah," I answer, hoping against hope he'll drop it and go back to bed. No such luck. "Sit down and I'll clean up." He gently steers me towards the kitchen table, so I give in and plop down into one of the little wooden chairs. I hate these things - the seats aren't comfortable, but they look nice. "What was it this time?" he asks casually as he mops up the still- steaming floor. "Actually I think it was the episode of the show Mac forced me to watch tonight, for the fourth time I might add." He stills for a second, then straightens, towel in hand. "Which show?" "Whose Line." "Yeah? Was it funny?" I snort. "Ryan, if all of you were gagged and immobile, the show would still be hysterical. Of course it was funny - up until you kissed some WWF wrestler and Colin both within the span of two minutes." He buries his face in the pantry, under cover of reaching for another teabag, to hide his blush. "I remember." "Mac was having a fit, and Sam kept blushing. He's so shy about seeing you on stage." I keep babbling inanely about the kids' reactions, hoping against hope my reaction won't show. The way he grabbed Colin... "Yeah, he's wierd about that." "Well, wouldn't you be?" Oh, damn. Some of my bitterness emerged in my voice, I realize, as Ryan turns to look at me, finally. "Is that supposed to mean something?" "No, Ryan, of course not." He sets a mug of tea in front of me, eyes bright. "You sure?" He sounds almost like he wants me to call him out on it. "Positive. I'm just tired." "Okay if I go back to sleep? I have to be up tomorrow for that meeting..." "It's okay. Goodnight, honey," and I kiss his cheek. He's warm but distant, and I feel another little shudder. Tears are streaking my face by the time he's out of the kitchen, but I ignore them and lean forward, heart shattering all over again. Because in that whole conversation, he never smiled at me like he smiles at Colin, not once. I don't think I won after all. ~Fin.