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Starting January 18, 2010 we will be resuming our weekly discussions on various characters, couples, and plot points for the show Grey's Anatomy. If you are interested in seeing a similar discussion for another show let Danielle know. Be sure to check out some of the new fanfictions that been posted and show the writers your support!

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Rulers Supreme
1The woman lying next to him could have been any of the number of women who had graced the spot she now lay. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow, if he bent to smell it, it would smell of jasmine and cigarette smoke. Her body was long and slender, every inch of it tanned to a golden brown. As she shifted from her side onto her back, Alan gave her one more stoic glance. The sex had been the way it always. Physically it had been out of this world, emotionally there had been nothing there. Not that he had expected any less. Emotions had no place being connected to sex. Emotions and sex led to heart ache and a deep rooted loneliness that made a man want to fill the void any way possible; even if it meant bringing home sable haired, golden skinned college students that liked to be spanked.

Leaning his head back against the mahogany headboard, Alan stared up at the ceiling. All in all it was a nice ceiling; vaulted with crown molding and a rather intricate light fixture that looked to have naked cherubs on it. Tara had teased him mercilessly over those naked baby-faced angels. Tara. The woman lying in her spot bore a resemblance to her. Hell, they all did. Every last one of the women he had picked up at those ridiculously loud and smoky clubs looked like her. He supposed he had some sick fixation on her. He let’s out a chuckle at the thought. Wouldn’t the world find that hilarious? Alan Shore purposely picked up women who looked like his ex-girlfriend because he couldn’t quite let her go. Denny would tell him that it was love. Alan wasn’t sure what he would call it, certainly not love. It had to do with her being the one to end it.

He raises a hand and scrubs it down his face as he slides out of the bed, careful not to disturb the budding masochistic next to him. Not bothering with clothes, he makes his way toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony he seldom used. He starts to open the doors, if for no other reason than to escape the jasmine smell that seemed to permeate his room. Tara had used jasmine as well. He stops himself just in time. The people in the building across the way, as well as the people on the streets below, would frown upon his naked state. He toys with the idea of saying to hell with everyone else and going out anyways. The slight spattering of rain against the glass was the deciding factor, the streets of Boston were safe from his lewd presence for the time being. Instead, he stands there, staring out, the gauzy curtains making the world appear in a fog.

A frown turns his mouth down. His whole world had been foggy, mundane. Work, women, and nothingness. That was his existence. The frown deepens. For the first time in a long time he realizes that his life wasn’t what he wanted. He had told himself he was happy, that his life was perfect. It had been his way of dealing with the loneliness that had set in with Tara’s departure. He was tired of it. He was tired of picking up women who looked and smelled like her. He was tired of the empty feeling. He was just plain tired of Tara.

It was a bit of a shock to come to that conclusion. It takes a moment to realize he was serious. He was tired of holding onto nothing. He had been holding on, there was no doubt about that now. The frown lifts a bit. In realizing that he was ready to let her go, a sense of peace settled on him. The time had come for Alan Shore to start living. The sound of sheets rustling remind him he is not alone. Tomorrow. He would start living tomorrow, he thinks as he smack the bare ass of the woman lying in his bed.

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