Disclaimer: No, NCIS isn't mine. Unfortunately.
Post Twilight angsty Tony centric oneshot. Spoilers for Twilight, some for SWAK and teeny ones for Kill Ari.
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The rain thunders down.
It rattles the windows, pounds the pavement, and batters the lone figure on the park bench.
Tony sits, letting the rain hit his face, his body, almost hard enough to bruise.
Rain.
Most people don't care either way about it, but Tony... Tony is different. Tony loves the rain. He loves it, yet loathes it at the same time. He loves it because it reminds him of the last time he saw her... yet hates it because it washed her last touch from his skin. Her precious blood... stolen by the raindrops that fateful night.
He snorts to himself before looking up at the person who has materialised in front of him. He smiles.
"Hi."
"Hey yourself."
He pats the space on the bench next to him, shuffling over slightly to give the visitor room.
"Ducky is not going to be happy with me." He says to himself.
"No Tony, he won't. You should go inside, you don't want to get sick again."
"Nah. I'm staying here. I can talk to you here. I like talking to you. I can talk freely when we're alone, see? No-one to overhear."
"You're going to get sick if you stay out here much longer Tony."
"I don't care."
"Well I do. I'm going now; if I'm not here you'll go back inside."
"No! Don't go. I'll go back inside. Stay with me. Please?" He begs. His companion sighs but nods, standing up. A hand is offered, but Tony doesn't see the point in trying to grab it, pushing himself up from the bench instead.
They walk together, side by side until they reach the road. There, she turns to him, touching her hand to his arm before walking away into the distance. Tony lowers his head. She'd lied to him. She'd left him, again. He turns, wandering back into the park. Common sense screams at him to get inside, but he ignores it. He just wants to talk to her again, for longer this time and if staying outside means he has a chance of seeing her again, that is where he will stay.
For as long as it takes.
He feels the cough rising in his chest, but he doesn't care; for if he becomes ill again it will serve as a reminder of her. If he becomes ill again he can talk to her in front of everyone else, like she's really there and no-one will care; they'll blame the fever, they'll say he was maddened by the delirium. Only it wouldn't be that, would it? Not really. Once his fever breaks of course, he'll have to go back to pretending, to acting like she isn't there, watching over him from a distance. He can't tell anyone about her, they need to get past their grief, they need to be allowed to get over it. He doesn't deserve to get over it; he needs to suffer. He should have seen the gun, pushed her out of the way, died in her place. Now he's seeing her everywhere, and he deserves to. He can't tell anyone about her, they'd think him mad, and he doesn't want anyone thinking that, because it's not true.
Or is it?
-Finis-