This is (probably) a oneshot. I would like to do a series of 'from a stranger's point of view' fics, but I think I would probably end up telling the same story just with different narrators each time, so I don't know yet if I will. How about you tell me if you want more chapters, and then I'll decide. Deal? Okay, deal.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones in any way, shape or form. The narrator of this story, however, is all my own invention.
Enjoy...
I like it when the sun rises slowly so that the sky turns purple and orange, and when you actually see the hand of the clock move. I like it when cars pull over to let ambulances past, and mornings where the grass is dewy and the mist hangs low. I like it when you open a book for the first time, and anything could be between those two covers. I like people-watching. I like wondering where they have come from, why they are in my diner, who they live with, who they love, what their childhood was like. They are all mysteries, just like books. Between these people's covers, there could be any story, any feeling, any past. Don't you find it amazing, that all that life is just sitting there in front of you, hidden away? Or at least, people think it is hidden away. But if you watch for long enough, like I do, then it is easy to start seeing more. It becomes easy to understand what sort of story is going to pan out on their pages. This is why life is better than books. No matter how long you study the cover of a book for, you can never learn any more than when you first saw it.
But I knew before it happened that the man with the red hair had some bad news to tell. And that it wasn't the first time, either.
I knew that the man that always carried an umbrella, even in summer, hated his job. It was never what he had wanted to do, to wear suits and live in the city. He didn't want to be a high-flyer, but he was, at least in one sense of the word.
I knew that the man and lady who came in every morning for breakfast, seperately and alone, would one day start to talk; become friends. Now, they still come in every morning, always together.
Working in this diner day after day, hour after hour, you get lucky. You sometimes get to bear witness to things that people themselves haven't even noticed yet. Take this one example:
When they come alone, they both always sit there, over in that corner, in the same seats and at the same table. They both look strangely dissapointed to be alone, as if they somehow need the other to complete the jigsaw. I don't think they even realise this is what they are feeling. But I see them looking at the empty seat opposite whilst they eat, and glancing at the door slightly more often than necessary just in case the other comes in. They are always quiet; subdued.
The lady always pulls out a file, or her laptop, but she never seems to get that much work done. The man always fiddles in some way, flipping something that looks like a poker chip in his hand absent-mindedly, or folding up the napkin into a swan; a boat; a hat.
One day her phone rings; I hear her end of conversation, because the rest of the diner is almost empty:
"I'm in the diner."
"Yeah."
"No, I haven't yet."
"Okay...Yeah, I'm here on my own."
"I'll see you in a minute."
When she puts the phone down I can see her change immediately, as if something inside her has just woken up.
When they come in together, they are like different people, and they don't stop talking. Anyone else would think that they hated each other, because a lot of their conversations tend to turn into arguments. But I can see past this. You remember at school, when hating someone meant that you fancied them? Exactly.
Even when they do sit in silence, usually late in the evening, when I imagine they have just had a hard day at work, it is never awkward. It is always as if they have both silently recognised that words at that point are not necessary. Sometimes when they do this, I see their eyes connect, and they will look at each other for several moments, unflinchingly. I can practically feel the electricity coursing between them when they do this. Sometimes, from the look in his eyes, I wouldn't have been suprised if the man had just leant over the table and kissed her right there and then, in front of everyone. And probably the only ones that would have been shocked by the action would have been them.
At the moment, they might have no idea. But one day they will realise. One day it will suddenly click. Something that strong always comes out eventually, I know. I have seen enough to understand. After all, everyone always says that a picture is worth a thousand words.
So, did you like it?
