Title: You Found Me
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Rated: T
Word count: 1303
Characters: Spencer and Diana Reid, Team.
A/N: This is a fic written for the Fireplace Alliance challenge #2 Songs Interpretation into Writing. The song I'm using was "You Found Me" by the Fray, and the lyrics I'm using are "lost and insecure, you found me…why'd you have to wait to find me." However, I do draw heavy inspiration from the rest of the song as well. I'm sort of vague in that I don't use names, but I hope I drop enough hints and distinguishing factors for everyone to figure it out.
You Found Me
He found it there, on the street corner under the lights of Vegas. A semi annual event had occurred here recently; it rained, and the streets bled neon, light washing the pavement. The dealer stood there in a puddle of green, waiting for his next parishioner. He was the pastor, and he a gateway to the divine.
"Where have you been?" he asks, referring to the dealer's absence the past night. The man chuckled and lighted up a stick, and such was the light cast that his face was in darkness, and the butt's dull glow seemed to be suspended unaided in air.
"I had to procure some merchandise. So what can I get you for? You can ask for anything, 'cuz I got it all." He says it because he knows that no addict could resist such an offer, though most remained within the comfort zone of their favourite drug.
He names his patron, and knows it's a bit obscure, but the dealer nods anyway. Sure he can get it; he'll just need to step into the alley for a moment. He slips into the shadows, swallowed up by inky black that the neon doesn't touch.
He waits there, and it's not long before the dealer is back with three vials of it. He doesn't quibble on the amount, just pays him the money. He didn't even pay attention to where it was slipped inside the dealer's coat; because he found God. His deity, his solace, his sanctuary, and escape.
Like so many before him, he cast away the values of Western society, and at the same time utilized the society's system to obtain his goal. Millions of people slummed in Asia and the Middle East, but only here where people had everything would they throw it away. Here, where no one should fall through the cracks people did indeed do so, and thus lived in squalor and abject misery.
He walked back to the hotel, wondering why it had all happened like this. His world didn't just fall apart, it was forcibly shattered with one swift blow. No one noticed, even though he desperately showed the signs, silently calling for help. But no one called him, and he wondered if things would be different if he told them. Would he have gotten a call on his cell while he was talking to that dealer? Would it have stopped him? He was sure that it would have; he didn't want to do this. Despite his id whispering seductive things about his drug, he didn't want to do this.
But no call ever came, so he kept going down this dangerous one way street, back to his hotel and his church.
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They were all a little lost on this. Sure they knew where they were going, with direction dictated through their earpieces, but what to do when they got there was another story. All of them were in the deep end without a life jacket on this one.
They found him on the floor, the broken door instantly forgotten at the sight of their team mate. He was surrounded in a small ring by his supplies, and a larger one by what they could guess was his mother's things.
Individually they had to wonder why they had waited, or so much as even hesitated to rush to his side. Why had they let bureaucratic tape slow them for even a minute?
Because now they were a little late; but a little was enough. To ruin his career or worse end his life. They had to be perfectly punctual now, getting him to help and salvation.
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He sat there in shock, holding her hand and ignoring the nurses soothing condolences. He was now faced with the harsh reality that he was alone. His mother had gone on, to what he didn't know. But now the one person who truly understood him wasn't there to see through him anymore. The things she knew about him, what he could be and couldn't be, and the things he didn't even know about himself were gone too, and so he felt like part of him had died too, on the lonely white bed.
A hand touched his shoulder, and a gentle voice told him he could stay as long as he liked. He did, squeezing her hand just a bit tighter, not knowing how long he'd have with her before nature took its course, before society moved on. So he stared at her peaceful face, waiting by her side for her to wake up and read Chaucer to him.
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He carefully knelt down, avoiding the vials and syringes. With some assistance, he reached under and surrounded him with his well toned arms and body, as if to shield him. He lifted him up and walked out, not wanting to wait even for a moment.
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The sky opened up as daylight broke, reminding him of the glow sticks he used to use as a kid. The inner glass tube would break, and he would watch the chemicals stream out as they reacted and then as he shook, the streams would fade as the whole thing started glowing. The sun sent rivulets of colour and light up to tint the clouds, then the colour faded as the world was bathed in the sun's glow.
It reached through the window, illuminating the pale form, the colour of which rivaled the sheets encompassing it. Three envelopes lay on the bedside table, the three letters that had never been received or read. He wanted to move them, because he knew what his anguish would be if he awoke to see them there. He had been anguished enough when he saw them, carrying him to the car. But he had also been the one to put them there on the table, from their place in his cold hands.
He looked back outside, watching as dawn broke within the city as well as over it. Cars began their routes, and soon the streets were flooded with them. The inhabitants would be in coffee shops, grabbing sustenance to face the new day.
And yet he slept on.
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He awoke slowly, floating back gradually to consciousness. The sunlight shot daggers into his still closed eyes, and he had to move a stiff arm to shield himself before he could open them. The first thing he saw was the three letters, and with a pang he realized that his mother was dead and she'd never read them. He would have those and the rest of them to remember her by, because she'd never once written back. If only she had; he'd been calling for years hadn't he? Hadn't she seen his pain then, as a mother should? She took and took his love and care, until he had nothing left. Who was she, to take everything from him?
As his brain started functioning properly, he realized that the sheets were too white for a hospital. He shut his eyes, dread building in him, and he wondered if it would ooze out of him onto the pristine sheets.
He turned with difficulty, abused body unwilling to obey though it did. Lids sliding open again, he saw that his bed was surrounded with people. One black man, lithe arms crossed under an angry and relieved glare. Two other men, older and wiser with tense shoulders, showing the burden of past experience and "we've been here before." Two females, one blonde, and one brunette, both showing signs of tears. And he knew that one was there in spirit, bright clothing contrasting with her darkly clouded face.
"You found me." He croaked. "Just a little late, but you found me." His attempt at levity did nothing to quell the burning question inside.
Why did you have to wait to do it though?
~Fin.