The Scoobies are at lunch; I'm just waiting for Wilson to come by, and then we'll go too.

Not much to say about Thanksgiving. Chase covered; the caf had free turkey dinners for hospital staff, so of course I came in. Football. That's it.

I've been spending most of my time trying to not think about how completely I screwed this up with Stacey. But then, I didn't screw it up, did I? I got what I wanted.

I think.

God, Stacey -- am I ever going to get her out of my head?

When she left... things had been awful between us for forever. She was so unhappy. I'd lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to tell myself that she was just being too sensitive or was having PMS or something, and when that stopped working, I'd try to just not tell myself anything at all. And then that telltale smell of her cigarettes would come through the crack in the window.... I knew things were getting bad when she started smoking again. She'd nagged at me ever since she'd quit, so for her to start again.... I felt awful at first, and then I tried to not care, and then I was secretly glad -- every cigarette she smoked was a point for me. And then I would feel awful again about keeping score.

"But with you I was lonely."

But what about me? Without her, I've been lonely. I hated her for leaving, and I hated her for not coming back, and I hated her because I missed her so much and I hated missing her. I hated that I missed her. I hated knowing that I couldn't make her happy.

But she didn't come back, the months turned into years, and I thought I was getting better because I wasn't thinking about her all the time, and then all of a sudden she's having dinner with Wilson and showing up in the clinic, and not only am I thinking about her all the time I have to see her. All the time.

And then realizing that she was lying, that she was lonely with Mark, knowing she she did have feelings for me, knowing that she did want me. That she did want me. Knowing it. That it wasn't just this bull about me Being The One but Not Being Good Enough -- that she did miss me. That she did want me. That I was good enough for Stacey.

And then confirming it. Plugging in the copier in the dark office, waiting for it to warm up so I could make the copy, holding the objective evidence in my hand.... Knowing it. Lying next to her in the attic, knowing it. Going to her in her office, having her treat me like an adult instead of screaming at me, knowing it, having her treat me like a person, the ice on my chin, knowing it, knowing that Stacey wanted me....

I know Stacey, and she knows me. I got what I wanted. I got her to admit that she did want to be with me. Or that she had wanted to be with me. Whatever. I know I could have made her happy and I made her admit it. And now she knows I could have made her happy. And now she knows I won't make her happy. I was doing her a favor; she should have known that all along.

She knows, and I know. That's all I wanted.

That's all.