A/N: This is my first fic, and I know we've seen the Gravedigger fics plenty of times before, but I just wrote this and felt like posting. If you guys could just R&R, I would be eternally grateful. Creative criticism is welcomed, by all means, but it's my first, so please be a little gentle.
I'm sorry if this is really similar to anyone else's, if it is, I didn't mean for it to be.
:)
Disclaimer: I wish I could own it – Fox, Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs (no copyright infringement intended).
He collapsed onto the couch in his living room, hoping to find some solace, to find some form of relief. Today was horrible, but it was a different kind of horrible than the grisly world he usually wakes up to. Today he was numb, it was as if he spent the day on auto-pilot, not paying attention to his surroundings, just thinking about that one day where everything changed, that one day where his life was turned upside down, with no hope of righting itself. That day, one year ago, where he lost everything.
His eyes wandered the ceiling, as his head lay against the cool leather at the top of the couch. Unshed tears were burning at his eyes, willing themselves to fall, to take all of the sadness and guilt he felt with them. Not that it mattered, he was in the privacy of his apartment now, no one would notice if he shed a tear, no one would know if he broke down, letting the sobs take over his body. But she would. She would always know, and she wouldn't want him to cry for her, she would want him to move on, get on with his life, and eventually forget about her.
The couch screamed in protest as he sat upright, and eventually stood on shaky legs. He purposefully walked over to the bookshelf, the place of his that was uniquely her. He reached for that Anthropology magazine that she had left at his house; this was where he kept it. Safe away from wandering eyes, but close enough as not to lose it, or forget it's presence. Flicking through the magazine, he found what he was looking for. Tucked inconspicuously inside the pages was a lose piece of paper, off white in colour, and having a courser texture than the glossy pages of the magazine, or any regular piece of paper.
Red Tape, White Bones is in bold print on one side of the paper, even the sight of the title made his lip quiver.
Flipping the page over, he finds the note that he'd read so many times, the note that had made the impact of the loss he and everyone suffered, so much worse. But this letter, this was his, and only his, this was her final words to him, this was her goodbye. People think, that when one receives a letter such as this, it fills the void, mends the broken heart they had, eases some of the pain they. But to Booth, this letter just reminded him of what should have, what could have, but will now never be. This letter reminded him of the chance he missed, the words he hadn't spoken, and the love of his that was gone forever.
His hand quivered slightly as he gripped the page, no matter how may times he read it, he could never seem to prepare himself for that words that always followed.
A lone tear fell onto the paper, with a slight tap. It tracked its way down the page, navigating through channels in the paper due to folding, until finally slipping off the edge into oblivion. The salty liquid trail soaked into the paper, just like so many of its predecessors. His eyes focused on the page in front of him, drinking in the words written in her familiar handwriting.
Dear Booth,
If you are reading this, it probably means that Hodgins and I didn't make it out of the car alive. It probably also means that you are feeling the guilt of the situation, that you are placing all of the blame on yourself.
I know you, Booth, I know the overwhelming guilt you will feel when you can't find us in time. But know this; know that we never blamed you for any of this, that I never blamed you for anything. This situation, I know it doesn't seem fair, but fair doesn't make the world go 'round. There is only one person to blame – the Gravedigger.
If any good comes from this situation, let it be that you catch him, let it be that there are no more victims, no more families left wondering how or why.
I worry that in my dying, I am not making a difference. In work, I know I have done so, but in life, I worry that I didn't take the chances I should have, and didn't let myself be open enough to let people in, didn't get a chance to experience love with someone. I know I say that it's all just chemicals, but you've made me believe, that maybe, just maybe, it is real.
I want to thank you, Booth. You've put up with me when I wanted to shut you out, you put me in my place where necessary, you taught me how to feel, how to love, how to be human again, and for that, I am truly grateful.
Thankyou for everything you've done for me, for every time you put your life on the line to save mine, for every time you've forced me out of the lab, and into the diner. I will treasure the time we spent together, and I'm sorry we didn't let our relationship blossom into what it could have.
I hope you live a long, happy, and fulfilling life, because you deserve all of the happiness in the world.
Love Always,
Temperance.
A few tears made their way down the paper as read, following the same path of ones previous. He sighed deeply, as if to calm his nerves and ward away any sobs that might try and escape his throat.
He smiled lightly at the letter; amazed at how her words could have such an effect on him, how they could make him feel such a jumble of emotions.
"Don't worry, Bones," he said aloud, "you made a difference, you made all the difference to me."
Tears slowly escaped their ducts, ran down his cheeks, and slowed to a halt at the stubble on his jaw. Wiping them away with a hand, he thought back to the day they found them.
They had all been so hopeful, they finally had a location on where they were buried, they could save the ones they loved after all. After finally digging the car out of the quarry, they were all faced with the shocking truth, no one was going home tonight, no one was getting their happy ending.
What Booth saw almost killed him. There in the back seat sat Brennan and Hodgins, leaning against the side door, eyes closed, faces dirty, holding each other in a friendly embrace. It was a picture that to this day still hadn't left him, and he doubted it ever would.
After removing them from the car to be worked on by the EMT's, it was found that each of them had a piece of paper protruding from their pocket. It was their goodbye, their last words, their thankyous to the one who meant the most to them.
He folded the letter and placed it in his pocket, not content with putting it away just yet, wanting to have his last little piece of her with him. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he headed towards the kitchen, or more specifically, the coffeepot. He knew that sleep would not come tonight, and even if it did, it would most likely torment him with images and memories of her. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her face, but rather, he didn't want to be reminded of the chance he'd missed, and the love he'd lost.
"I miss you, Temperance," he said quietly, as if she were in the room.
Having a sudden change of heart, he headed for the closet, and retrieved a patterned doona, one that was of special significance to him, one that used to be on her bed. He lay on the couch, encasing himself in the doona, inhaling the scent that was so uniquely hers, and allowed himself to cry into the soft material, allowed himself to try and get as close to her as he could be.
A/N: Hope it wasn't too bad, please review and let me know :)