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"Not Enough"

Jeremie grinned at the little blonde boy on the other side of the checker board and moved one of his pieces in a relatively easy place to claim. The child spotted the move, laughed, and jumped over it with his own black circle.

"Got you, Daddy!" he cheered triumphantly, swiping the red off the board.

"Guess you're getting smarter than I am," Jeremie teased. He glanced at the digital clock on the end table next to the couch and sighed at the time. "We'll have to cut this game short, Michael."

"But whyyyyy?" the boy whined, his green eyes round in disappointment.

"Your mother will be here any minute to pick you up. There's always next weekend."

"Are we still going to the zoo?" Michael asked excitedly.

"Of course," Jeremie promised. "Maybe you can bring a gorilla home to show Mom."

Michael looked thoughtful for a moment as his father cleared the board, then carefully asked, "Daddy, why don't you and Mommy live together anymore?"

Jeremie froze for a second, then continued cleaning up and answered in a thick voice, "It's complicated, Michael."

"What does 'comp-ik-eted' mean?"

Jeremie gave a very tiny smile as the three-year-old stumbled over the word. "It's...hard to explain."

"Don't you love each other?"

"Yes, but...not in the same ways." Jeremie looked at his son and added quickly, "but we love you very much."

Michael frowned. "But...if you still love Mommy why can't you live together? So I can see you everyday?"

"You'll understand when you're older." Jeremie winced at the cliché and smiled apologetically at the boy. "And if you want to see me during the week just ask Mom, or call me."

"But it's not the same," Michael mumbled, pouting stubbornly.

Jeremie nodded and bent down low to hug him close. "I know," he murmured, squeezing tight.

The doorbell rang and he regretfully pulled out of the embrace, maneuvering easily around the furniture of the apartment to open the door. A sopping wet pink-haired woman stood at the threshold, a distressed smile on her face as he moved aside to let her in.

"How hard is it raining?" Jeremie wondered out loud, not sure whether to offer a towel or the whole dryer.

"I just hope my car doesn't get carried away in a flood," Aelita countered, the smile now much more sincere when she saw a boy running towards her to wrap his arms around her legs.

"Mommy!" Michael cried out, soaking in the rain without complaint. Aelita kneeled down and kissed him on the forehead, pushing a blonde lock out of his eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart," she cooed, keeping her voice warm and light as she ruffled his hair.

"Michael, why don't you go get your things," Jeremie suggested, digging through a linen closet. The child nodded and raced towards his room at the end of the hallway. Jeremie offered the pinkette a blanket, trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly thudding with a slow sort of anticipation.

"Thanks." Aelita gratefully draped the blanket over her shoulders. Jeremie gestured to the sofa and she sat down.

"Can I, um...get you anything?" Aelita shook her head and he took the loveseat.

This is...awkward. The thought was redundant but true nonetheless. Ten years ago Jeremie never thought he would've been married to the assumed A.I. that he had found in an abandoned supercomputer, let alone have a child with her. Five years ago he never would've thought they'd be divorced. It was a knee in the groin every time he remembered that fact—he'd had the one perfect girl in the world, the one person he knew he could never live without...and lost her.

"Jeremie, I..."

He looked up from the floor; Aelita was biting her lip and focusing very hard on his coffee table. She was still beautiful, so much so Jeremie couldn't help but stare. "Yes, Aelita?" The question came out in a more strangled voice than he'd intended, but she was too preoccupied to notice the difference.

"I thought...you'd like to know...I have a date."

It was like he'd swallowed a boulder and it crushed his heart. Jeremie's eyes had already been on her face, so when she looked up to gauge his reaction the intense seconds of staring felt like years. He tried to concentrate on his breathing instead of her statement, on inhaling and exhaling at an even pace, but the words seeped into his head all the same. I have a date...Of course she has a date, the logical part of his brain jumped in, the part in charge of feelings still attempting to keep up. Look at her.

Then he stopped breathing altogether as the anger hit. He was looking at her, and it was now impossible to tear his gaze away. No! Jeremie wanted to scream at her. No, you don't! Instead, all he could reply with was, "O-Oh."

Aelita swallowed hard—had she seen the torrent of emotions in his eyes? "Yeah, my manager, Sophie, set it up. Jean is supposed to be a nice guy."

Jean is a stupid name, Jeremie thought bitterly. "Right."

"Jeremie, it's...it's been a year—"

Ten months.

"—and...it's time to move on."

Jeremie forced his eyes away from hers and pasted a smile on his face. "I know. Have fun."

Frustration broke into Aelita's pleading expression. "Don't do that, Jeremie."

"Do what?"

"Act like you're fine with this," Aelita snapped abruptly. Jeremie was taken aback by the fire in her green eyes and fought the urge to recoil; he was vaguely reminded of a winged elf in a virtual world up against a team of hornets.

"What difference does it make?" Jeremie muttered monotonously.

Aelita stood up and shrugged off the blanket. "It's like you're lying to me," she murmured quietly. "I want to know it matters to you."

She might as well have slapped him in the face—she wanted to know how badly she'd wounded him, like his pain would bring her some kind of peace of mind. He rose to his feet and choked out, "I-I actually have a lot of work to do—"

"Goddamn it, Jeremie!" They both looked down the hall to make sure Michael hadn't heard, and Aelita hissed in a low voice, "You always do this! You always try to avoid the problem! Why won't you just talk to me?"

Jeremie took a few deep breaths; he wasn't going to yell if he could help it. "Fine," he shot back evenly. "It matters. It hurts. Is that any better?"

Aelita's face softened and she took a cautious step towards him. "I don't want to hurt you." He said nothing to this. "Jeremie, you're...my best friend."

He bit back a resentful laugh—some friendship. The most time he ever got with her were the strained minutes of waiting every weekend it took for Michael to get ready to leave. And despite the ugly emotions that boiled inside him as a result of seeing her, Jeremie hated it when she left even more. Even now it felt like fighting an instinct by not wrapping his arms around her and kissing her face.

"What do you want from me, 'Lita?" Jeremie asked despondently.

"I want you...not to hate me." She spoke in a small voice, and the fury in her eyes had faded into...fear? Fear of what?

Jeremie shook his head. "I'll never hate you, Princess." He tasted the nickname on his tongue like a rare and burning treat, like chocolate that sent acid down his throat to say it. He figured it couldn't hurt anymore to continue, "I love you."

Aelita looked like she might cry as Michael came barreling down the hallway with his backpack and leaped into her arms. She almost lost her balance and Jeremie automatically held out an arm in case she fell, but she straightened up and adjusted her hold on the boy, who's face was buried in her neck. Aelita glanced at Jeremie and blinked away the tears, cradling her son like he might break. Jeremie leaned in and kissed the top of Michael's head goodbye, stealing a whiff of her scent in the process—another sweet, flaming sensation.

"I...I wish you wouldn't," she croaked out, trying to get it past the lump in her throat. "I wish you would move on, too."

Jeremie hadn't moved away from Michael, who seemed sound asleep, or her. "I can't, Aelita. Don't ask me to, because I can't." He met her eyes and noticed this was as close as their faces had been in months...close enough to kiss... "I-I'm still in love with you."

Aelita looked away from him, then slowly stood up on her toes to brush her lips against the side of his face—but one peck on the cheek would never reverse the damage. "I know, Jeremie, but...It's not enough."

Ow. This actually hurt to write. I'm not exactly sure where this idea came from. With three major exams starting in three hours, I decided to forget sleep and go on an all-night writing binge. If I don't conk out in front of my laptop I'll post the next oneshot tonight—it's unrelated and much less angsty—and if not then tomorrow night.