A/N I've not written a Bones fic for a while, so here we are. Thanks to the beautiful Irony882 for all her wonderful editing!
The rain fell with intense force. A monotonous beat leaving no surface free from the tune of the water; a surprisingly soft melody despite the ferocity of the storm. He found it soothing, watching as the current washed the dirt and autumn leaves down the gutters and into the storm drains. Some part of him wished he could follow the flow, disappear into some unknown space until he decided to resurface. He was tired of having to live completely oppressed by fate, by the outcome of the decisions he made. Sure, he believed in God, believed his life was already chosen, but it was still crushing never to be free. If he could not disappear, he at least wished, prayed that the rain would wash away all his troubles, the tension.
The tension he felt could be overwhelming. Terrifying. The power within him would raise to an incalculable force - a response to various stimuli that was typical of primitive reaction within societal construct - Temperance would tell him that whenever he brought it up. But recently, the past couple of years to be precise, that power seemed to get more frequent and more powerful. He did not know whether it was the intensity of the cases he had been working, or the person he had been working the cases with.
The reason he felt it today was, he knew, due to both. The case itself was simple: a body found after four years, stabbed to death. It was the age of the victim that was unsettling. The six-year-old, killed by her mother in a drug-induced attack. People like that do not deserve kids. But now, it wasn't just the little girl's face which was imprinted in his mind, it was also the face - well, what was left of it - of the mother after meeting the business-end of a 9mm. 'Self-inflicted' said the coroner. Suicide. Booth had contemplated that during his time in the Army. After each life he took, he often wondered why he deserved to continue his life when he was doing exactly the same thing as the people he was sent to kill. Taking lives. Playing God.
But then, it was God who stopped him. Stopped his career in the army, put him on the streets locking up killers rather than killing them. He was not directly responsible for the lives ended with capital punishment. That was the jury's decision. He and his partner simply spent the days making the everyday lives of American citizens just that little bit safer. He remembered briefly, what a professor had said to his class on his first day at the Quantico Training Facility.
"You fine people must not get complacent. You are, quite literally, this country's future. You will keep the people safe, you will train the next generation of law enforcement. You will work together as a team to ensure good lives continue, terrorists do not prevail, and America remains the Land of the Free. Your partner, your team, will become the most important people in your life. Together, you will all do great things."
He smiled despite himself, "Your partner, your team, will become the most important people in your lives." Bones was definitely important, though it was hard to deal with her sometimes. Even with the young victim, Temperance refused to show any emotion. He knew she felt it as he had had the conversation with her several times, but it was still infuriating. He did, however, catch a glimpse of pain on her part and it was that and that alone which kept him going. Knowing he was not alone in his sadness and disgust was refreshing. No one else seemed to feel for the lost young life, even the mother.
He leaned back against the wooden bench, the metal plate bearing a dedication dug into his back, endlessly reminding him of death. It suffocated him. He leaned forward, his head on his hands and his hands on his knees. The water dripped down his face, following the angles and curves of his features.
He felt her behind him. There was no need to turn around. He whispered a soft "Hey, Bones," leaving his head resting on his hands. She didn't respond, just sat down next to him on the bench, seemingly uncaring about the rain that was soaking through her thin coat. She wasn't prepared for the weather, neither of them were. Although it was mid-fall, the breeze had been warm and the outlook good. Even the weather people missed the huge rain clouds that had formed over the horizon, before swiftly spreading to oppress the city.
He forced his head up, catching her concerned gaze. For once, she wasn't rationalizing, she was accepting, comforting him in a way she probably wasn't even aware of. His hand found hers, grasping it tightly, trying to squeeze the hurt out of both of them.
"You're cold," she stated, running her soft fingers across his skin. She reached down for his other hand, and brought them both to rest with hers against her stomach. The warmth he felt had nothing to do with the warm jacket she was wearing. He merely nodded as a response, feeling curiously tired. "We should go," she tried again, and it hurt him that she was hurting. The worry and pain was obvious in her voice, her posture. He was sure he'd never acted like this around her before, and he forced a smile, willing himself to his feet, hands still clasped in hers.
He didn't ask where, she just led him to her car which was waiting near the gates, rivers of water running down the icy metal. He paused at the door, revelling in the feeling of the final few cleansing raindrops on his skin before he stepped into the car. The feeling vanished once inside, leaving him feeling numb, the only reminder of the pain was the dull sound of drops on the window.
EN: Not sure if I'll continue this. Let me know what ya'll think. Thanks.