Title - Dying
Author - Kiley
Rating - M (just one swear word)
Pairing - Bosco and Faith
Disclaimer - no these characters are not mine i just base my petty ideas around them in the shallow hope that someone will like them.
Author Notes - First Bos Faith Ficlet, tehe i'm trying to be an all rounder guys... so i hope you enjoy... song is "dying" by five for fighting
Summary - The one man production of i'm in love with my partner, but she doesn't love me back.
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I'm Dying, Dying to wake up without you,
It's the darkened navy clutched between his rigid fingers that indulge the blazing anger beneath the masquerade he manages to perform for her.
It's the textured finish of the badge against his finger tips that allow him several moments to breathe.
It's the blue midnight eyes that are so transfixed on the mirror. On the dependent mess he's become.
He's fucked without her.
He knows that, she's the poison luring him towards the magnificant finish.
It's the plastic of the buttons that entrance him even more so, the lights reflective as he moves solemnly around the confines of his bathroom.
The restless sleep still evident against the clammy flesh of his forehead. Several beads of sweat hanging futiley from the creased lines, just above the contorted brow. It's his lips that grimace in a time wearing frown.
A thin line impaired within the bone structure of his being. It's the sadness that he's become.
without you in my head again
It's not the first time that her hazed image has invaded his sleep, It' been doing so ever since her careless abandonment of him.
The way she carelessly brushed him aside as though he were nothing more than a faceless toddler tugging relentlessly on the leg of her pants.
It is the first time that it has rendered him breathless, void of anything but whimpers and inaudible murmurs.
And so he sits, cradling the shirt that confines thousands of memorys.
The first day they met.
The first day they fought.
The first day he considered her as... .
He sighs clutching at the shirt in anger once again, denying it freedom by digging his blunt fingernails into the light weight material that now seems so heavy with baggage.
It's the green eyes that haunt him, inescapable because of the unique colour he had become so accustomed to.
It's the painted lips, the wide eyes that attracted him.
But he doesn't know what tore them apart.
And he's pretty sure, she doesn't know either.
I'm Dying, Dying to forget about you,
He succumbs to the comfort of the loneliness of his bed, the image of her becoming clear as he swallows hardly, the back of his throat void of moisture.
He closes his eyes tightly, squeezing them so tightly that it seems his lids disappear.
It's no use. The memorys snare in, like the scaled snakes, poised, ready to attack, to paralyze like the dreaded poison that flows through his veins.
The confines of the squad car, the way she would curl up her lips at the intended attitude he would ooze just to get a rise out of her.
The way golden strands would fall from the briskly done bun she so frequently wore, errant strands normally decorating her forehead.
The certain strands that he would so longly want to tuck behind her ears.
It's those glistening orbs that sting him the most.
The way they had pierced his when she had screamed that he was useless.
It hurt.
He couldn't forget, as much as he tried.
He couldn't hate her.
He couldn't forgive her either.
that you ever lived
As a young child he had succumbed to the theory that if things didn't work out the way you wanted them to, forget all about them.
Forget they existed and move on.
It was the same theory he had supplied for all the women he had slept with over his life time. Each being inadequate for the same reason.
They weren't her.
They didn't capture his eye or his imagination.
They didn't, They couldn't live up to her.
She was what he had been addicted to for years. And like a drug, he couldn't shake the constant, nagging cravings for her.
He wasn't strong enough to push her from existence, into oblivion.
And so the unsettling cravings simmered beneath the exterior of a hot-headed, gun-ho Bosco. The stereotype that he knew she loved, that he didn't mind playing.
The one man production of i'm in love with my partner, but she doesn't love me back.
It was all climaxing to be too much for one man to continue playing.
He was at his wits end.
Ready to fall, ready to crash and burn.
There's a shade come over this
heart that's coping with
laying down to rest
In the same nostalgic manner he sat alone at the local bar. Awaiting her presence like in the good old days. Where after work they would sit for hours talking, about anything and everything. He didn't mind that the bar was littered with peanut shavings and spent ciggerete butts.
All that mattered to him was the lack of company. And just how lonely his life was now that she had moved on.
He knew that it was an event bound to happen.
She would move on.
All good things must come to an end. And they certainly had.
They often passed each other in the cluttered corridors of the 55, a mere nod the only key to his existence, there eyes met, but it wasn't the same.
It could never be the same.
Stroking his chin in thought he felt the slight indentation of the evidence of why it would never be the same.
The hindering scar that now obscured his right cheek. The spidered lines etched deep within his skin.
I'm Dying to live without you again
She exhaled deeply as she pushed the door open slightly, the warmth seeping into her cooled skin. Her eyes scorching from the continuous rubbing that her fatigue caused her.
She scanned the near empty bar for a familiar face, or atleast one that she knew. And it was then her breath caught in her throat.
Her old partner.
She felt a cautious lump rise in her throat as she studied the appearance of him.
Age had gotten the better of him. His figure slumped over bench, a finger tracing the rim of glass before him, the foam slowly dissolving. She winced involuntarily as she glanced at the scar bestowed upon his right cheek. The midnight blue eyes she once admired, darkened with a sense pain.
She sighed to herself deeply, heading for a seat near the back of the bar, to avoid confrontation.
Her lips pinched by teeth.
She hadn't seen him in so long.
Silently she eased her self into a chair curious to watch the once well known stranger.
I'm Dying, Dying to find a distraction,
Solemnly he drank the beer before him, before returning to tracing his finger around the rim, his eyes transfixed by the reflections of the lights against the honey coloured remains of his beverage.
He pushed the glass aside sharply as he reached for the shot he had purchased as a tease, and raises the glass to his parched lips, tilting his head back he jars the glass sharply tipping the tepid liquid down his throat awaiting the burn that would linger.
He placed the glass back against the counter his eyes heavy with the languid feeling of fatigue sweeping over him.
He shakes his head slowly as if to vacate the constant thoughts of her from his mind, while awaiting the slight buzz from the consumed beverages.
He awaited them as though a small child for christmas, the tainted but none the less there buzz that would render him in a peaceful sleep.
An induced sleep, but a sleep none the less.
get you away from me
As the night grew on, the buzz never reached it's desired destination. Leaving him excrucinglatingly pained by both a burning hole in his wallet,( the price for a cheap thrill seemed to cost him more these days) and an angering head ache that accustomed the amount of alchol he had consumed.
He pitied himself for the mess he had created on his own behalf.
He pulled his slouched figure from the bar stool, his feet dragging against the floor, his shoes sticking every now and then from spilt beverages.
Shrugging on his jacket he ran his blunt fingertips through his buzzed hair, his eyes slightly glazed now that he had counted how many shot glasses he had lined up before him.
Shaking his head slowly in disbelief he counted them slowly before cursing under his breath.
He murmured a quick thanks to the bartender before staggering towards the exit, his hands delved deep within his pockets as he pushed the door open.
I'm Dying, Dying to reach a conclusion,
She heard the bell jingle, before she sighted the figure of his once familiar body.
She walked slowly, the concrete wet beneath her pointed feet, her heels clicking as she walked briskly to catch up to his figure.
The street lights reflected in the pools of accumulating water.
She called out his name, relishing in the familiarity it once represented.
Visibly he slowed his steps, waiting for conformation that she was really there, that this wasn't in his head.
He heard the hurried breaths, the quickened steps of her heels as she caught up to him. He stopped when he felt a reassuring tug against his wrist, and saw the beautiful green eyes that had hurt him so many times.
"Faith"
He spoke quietly extending his hand to her cheek, his thumb caressing the softness of her brow.
He pulled his hand away as quickly as he had touched as though she had burnt him, her graceful features contorted into a perfect frown.
so that the world can see
Her confusion angered him, igniting the emotions withing the stone mask that had been his apparel for the last year.
He drew his hands from within his jacket clenching into fists of hurt.
She didn't understand.
He searched her eyes for anything remotely reflected in his own.
I miss you.
I needed you.
I care about you.
I love you.
Dancing in the silence they were surrounded by he swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat.
It was still the same.
He should of known better.
"I have to go" He murmured quietly, his fingers threading themselves amongst his other fingers.
"Bos"
He shuddered hearing the name he had once been tenderly associated with, his eyes brimming as he turned to face her.
"He doesn't exist anymore"
It's the same old story of
love and glory that
broke before it bent ...
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