(no subject)
Title: Though We Haven’t Yet Said Good Bye
Author: cecism
Fandom: Private Practice
Characters: Cooper/Violet
Prompt: #13 - I want to hurt you @ un_love_you
Word Count: 1,109
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Author’s Notes: I know, I know. I last updated in December. Shameful, isn't it? But I have this chronic ailment where I'm terrified to post fic, and I don't know why.
Written in response to Amy Brenneman's TV Guide remark: "Wow, I lost my dude." (Spoilers: 1x08 onwards)
The morning Violet wakes up to and realises it has been eight weeks is an irritatingly sunny day.
Her coffee tastes more bitter than usual, and her hair won’t behave, and the morning traffic is especially heavy; she wonders if it’s an omen.
They’re all waiting for her in the conference room when she arrives but she takes her time in opening her appointment book and straightening the cushions on her office couch. They can wait, and they do.
She says little during the meeting. Naomi asks her what’s wrong when everyone else has left. Violet tells her, it’s just one of those days.
She treads the corridor back to her office and she feels like the other doctor’s presence is haunting her. Violet knows this is ridiculous - for she’s over a mile away - but despite her psychiatric expertise she can’t seem to shake the mentality. The Southern, loud voice that was disproportionate to the woman’s petite frame, the relish of shown authority, the notion that she was apparently better than the whole of Oceanside. (Just because she came from a freakin’ hospital.)
When Cooper had confessed that his so-called girlfriend was indeed Charlotte King, Violet had given herself a mental timeframe of two months. That was all she needed in order to ride it out. Rarely had Cooper lasted in an association - Violet never considered them ‘relationships’, and she didn’t think he did either - longer than eight weeks, and if he did, the woman had always stuck around long enough in order to steal something from him.
Despite her flaws, Charlotte didn’t strike Violet as the thieving type; so if Violet’s theoretical pattern rang true, all she had to do was wait eight weeks and it would simply become another notch in Cooper’s belt, and nothing more.
This was the day Violet had drawn an asterisk next to in her appointment book, and yet the mere thought of Charlotte is lurking around Oceanside like stirring dust. Violet drinks more coffee and notices the cup has left a brown ring on the open page of the book. She rips out the page and throws it in the trash.
She can’t understand why Charlotte King has managed to eclipse the eight-week expiration date so rarely surpassed.
She hasn’t asked Cooper why. Not at the very beginning, and certainly not recently. She can’t bear to hear his answers, his excuses, his defensive justifications as to why the blonde doctor is more than a one-night mistake.
Cooper isn’t aware that today is significant. On his way out to get a sandwich from the downstairs deli, he asks Violet for an afternoon consult and she agrees. He doesn’t comment on her dismal mood and she wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want to, or because he doesn’t notice in the first place.
He sometimes buys her an apple cinnamon muffin from the deli when he knows she is having a tough day. She now holds the feeble hope he is going to get lunch purely so he can bring her back a muffin, but she doesn’t see him for more than two hours, and when she does her psych consult on his patient that afternoon she feels foolish for even contemplating it.
She craves a muffin despite not being hungry enough to eat one.
Violet reaches the end of the day and she congratulates herself for it. If something happened that warranted such congratulations she would normally go to Cooper’s office and ask if he wanted to get a drink when they left. He’d usually oblige. Today has passed and he wouldn’t know why she would be pleased about it. She still wants that drink; maybe two.
After some deliberation, she stops by his office anyway, letting herself inside. He looks up from his work and gives her a smile.
She clears her throat. "Do you wanna come over for dinner?"
Cooper gives the paper on his desk a look of guilt. "I told Charlotte I’d pick her up."
"Oh, okay." She nods and doesn’t know whether to leave or stay. She wants to do the former, but feels like she should do the latter. She wants to ask him how he’s doing, which is strange. She’s always known how he’s been doing - until now, it seems.
It hasn’t consciously occurred to her that her so-called latest news about his life had dried up weeks ago. It’s foreign territory; she doesn’t like it. He isn’t a stranger but has an unnatural edge of unfamiliarity, and for the first time in years, she doesn’t know exactly what he’s thinking.
She can’t remember a time where she had taken a step back and seen Cooper as a mere colleague first.
"Well, good night, then," she eventually tells him, abruptly leaving his office and closing the door behind her. She wants to think that he’s watching her leave but she doesn’t think he is.
She orders take out when she gets home and gets enough for two by default. She doesn’t notice until she’s full and realises she has leftovers, and as she puts the containers in the fridge she wonders if she’ll eat them.
Violet has lots of friends. She knows this; a handful from med school, some from previous work practices, and two from high school she hasn’t spoken to since Christmas. She isn’t lacking any friends, she tells herself.
Yet none of them invite themselves over for calorie-laden food when it’s an especially rainy day, or ask for help when they’ve bought a particularly challenging piece of flat-packaged furniture from Ikea, or swap her CDs over in her car because they know she doesn’t mind.
They don’t buy her apple cinnamon muffins on bad days, and she knows no one else can. She wouldn’t let them, anyway.
She isn’t sad, Violet decides; just wistful. Because there’s a difference between sitting alone on a couch, and sitting alone on a couch and knowing that it’ll still be empty tomorrow and the next day and the week after.
She stretches her legs out across it, simply because she now can. She doesn’t have to make room for someone else and their DVD collection and their beer and the tub of chocolate chip ice cream with the two spoons to share. She doesn’t have to think about kicking anyone out because she has an early patient the next day, or sharing the car in the morning because it’s a waste of gas to use two. She doesn’t need to remember any of this, because no one else will be here anymore.
She wonders if Cooper, wherever he is now, is just a little bit sad that he’s not here anymore, either.
Author: cecism
Fandom: Private Practice
Characters: Cooper/Violet
Prompt: #13 - I want to hurt you @ un_love_you
Word Count: 1,109
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Author’s Notes: I know, I know. I last updated in December. Shameful, isn't it? But I have this chronic ailment where I'm terrified to post fic, and I don't know why.
Written in response to Amy Brenneman's TV Guide remark: "Wow, I lost my dude." (Spoilers: 1x08 onwards)
The morning Violet wakes up to and realises it has been eight weeks is an irritatingly sunny day.
Her coffee tastes more bitter than usual, and her hair won’t behave, and the morning traffic is especially heavy; she wonders if it’s an omen.
They’re all waiting for her in the conference room when she arrives but she takes her time in opening her appointment book and straightening the cushions on her office couch. They can wait, and they do.
She says little during the meeting. Naomi asks her what’s wrong when everyone else has left. Violet tells her, it’s just one of those days.
She treads the corridor back to her office and she feels like the other doctor’s presence is haunting her. Violet knows this is ridiculous - for she’s over a mile away - but despite her psychiatric expertise she can’t seem to shake the mentality. The Southern, loud voice that was disproportionate to the woman’s petite frame, the relish of shown authority, the notion that she was apparently better than the whole of Oceanside. (Just because she came from a freakin’ hospital.)
When Cooper had confessed that his so-called girlfriend was indeed Charlotte King, Violet had given herself a mental timeframe of two months. That was all she needed in order to ride it out. Rarely had Cooper lasted in an association - Violet never considered them ‘relationships’, and she didn’t think he did either - longer than eight weeks, and if he did, the woman had always stuck around long enough in order to steal something from him.
Despite her flaws, Charlotte didn’t strike Violet as the thieving type; so if Violet’s theoretical pattern rang true, all she had to do was wait eight weeks and it would simply become another notch in Cooper’s belt, and nothing more.
This was the day Violet had drawn an asterisk next to in her appointment book, and yet the mere thought of Charlotte is lurking around Oceanside like stirring dust. Violet drinks more coffee and notices the cup has left a brown ring on the open page of the book. She rips out the page and throws it in the trash.
She can’t understand why Charlotte King has managed to eclipse the eight-week expiration date so rarely surpassed.
She hasn’t asked Cooper why. Not at the very beginning, and certainly not recently. She can’t bear to hear his answers, his excuses, his defensive justifications as to why the blonde doctor is more than a one-night mistake.
Cooper isn’t aware that today is significant. On his way out to get a sandwich from the downstairs deli, he asks Violet for an afternoon consult and she agrees. He doesn’t comment on her dismal mood and she wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want to, or because he doesn’t notice in the first place.
He sometimes buys her an apple cinnamon muffin from the deli when he knows she is having a tough day. She now holds the feeble hope he is going to get lunch purely so he can bring her back a muffin, but she doesn’t see him for more than two hours, and when she does her psych consult on his patient that afternoon she feels foolish for even contemplating it.
She craves a muffin despite not being hungry enough to eat one.
Violet reaches the end of the day and she congratulates herself for it. If something happened that warranted such congratulations she would normally go to Cooper’s office and ask if he wanted to get a drink when they left. He’d usually oblige. Today has passed and he wouldn’t know why she would be pleased about it. She still wants that drink; maybe two.
After some deliberation, she stops by his office anyway, letting herself inside. He looks up from his work and gives her a smile.
She clears her throat. "Do you wanna come over for dinner?"
Cooper gives the paper on his desk a look of guilt. "I told Charlotte I’d pick her up."
"Oh, okay." She nods and doesn’t know whether to leave or stay. She wants to do the former, but feels like she should do the latter. She wants to ask him how he’s doing, which is strange. She’s always known how he’s been doing - until now, it seems.
It hasn’t consciously occurred to her that her so-called latest news about his life had dried up weeks ago. It’s foreign territory; she doesn’t like it. He isn’t a stranger but has an unnatural edge of unfamiliarity, and for the first time in years, she doesn’t know exactly what he’s thinking.
She can’t remember a time where she had taken a step back and seen Cooper as a mere colleague first.
"Well, good night, then," she eventually tells him, abruptly leaving his office and closing the door behind her. She wants to think that he’s watching her leave but she doesn’t think he is.
She orders take out when she gets home and gets enough for two by default. She doesn’t notice until she’s full and realises she has leftovers, and as she puts the containers in the fridge she wonders if she’ll eat them.
Violet has lots of friends. She knows this; a handful from med school, some from previous work practices, and two from high school she hasn’t spoken to since Christmas. She isn’t lacking any friends, she tells herself.
Yet none of them invite themselves over for calorie-laden food when it’s an especially rainy day, or ask for help when they’ve bought a particularly challenging piece of flat-packaged furniture from Ikea, or swap her CDs over in her car because they know she doesn’t mind.
They don’t buy her apple cinnamon muffins on bad days, and she knows no one else can. She wouldn’t let them, anyway.
She isn’t sad, Violet decides; just wistful. Because there’s a difference between sitting alone on a couch, and sitting alone on a couch and knowing that it’ll still be empty tomorrow and the next day and the week after.
She stretches her legs out across it, simply because she now can. She doesn’t have to make room for someone else and their DVD collection and their beer and the tub of chocolate chip ice cream with the two spoons to share. She doesn’t have to think about kicking anyone out because she has an early patient the next day, or sharing the car in the morning because it’s a waste of gas to use two. She doesn’t need to remember any of this, because no one else will be here anymore.
She wonders if Cooper, wherever he is now, is just a little bit sad that he’s not here anymore, either.