A/N: Well, I've come back. :) This will probably earn me flames and lost fans… but, all's fair, I guess. Will contain character death and depression. Oh yeah. This is technically a songfic, but a legal one, as the song lyrics in the story is from one of my songs that I play with my band. Enjoy.
This angst fic will be an experiment, trying to make a fast-paced angst piece, in contrast to the usual syrupy slow staple ones.
Warning: Senseless Gratuitous Angst Ahead.
Disclaimer: I own a Taco.
What A Wonderful World
"You never realize how much you need someone to hold your hand until there's no one around."
-Raina1
The rain felt warm and sticky as the tiny drops insinuated themselves into his suit. Thousands of them screaming as they came crashing down to their soft pitter-patter deaths on the grass.
Lifting his hands, Seeley Booth tried his best to shield his eyes. Acidic. That's how they felt. Didn't really matter if it was because of pseudo-natural reasons or just his warped judgment.
The sky was a beautiful crystal blue. Green treetops matching the blindingly red petals of the rose he was holding in his hand. But weather always loved to play tricks on him, it seemed. But he was in a place that was not normally visited by such lovely and gay backdrops, so- of course, it had started raining.
Mother Nature loved her clichés.
Blue. Just like her eyes. As that singularly damning thought crossed his tired mind, the nightmare decided to wake him up.
In my dreams, I'm still waiting, still waiting
Still hoping, still crying- too tired for stopping.
Losing a bit of myself everyday
Losing a bit of myself every way.
Every word blinding, why can't you see?
I need you to dream a little to save me.
He still couldn't believe what had happened.
It had seemed so surreal. So unappealingly unacceptable that he had consciously forced the events out of his memory. The only problem with being a detective- and one that worked for the FBI, no less- was that he had an exasperatingly detailed memory.
It had seemed so simple, then. They flirted, laughed together, and then went back to their separate homes every night. Always the same dance, moving in orbits- but never touching.
Of course, like white clouds, all those suppressed emotions finally came bursting out.
The only problem was- it had never found exactly the right timing.
It was either he was moving too fast or she was; never in tandem- or too synchronized for their own good. One could never tell.
And then, like some avenging angel too long scorned, her best friend had asked him out on a date.
He didn't really know why she had asked him. Maybe it was to make her jealous enough to bite the bullet and lay her claim on him. Or maybe it was just because she really did like him, and thought that the course was clear.
It had already been three years, after all. Sexual tension is well and good. But tension had become the thing to them- no longer just a precursor.
The means had become the ends, so to speak.
Or at least, to his eyes. He had never given himself the chance to try and see what she was seeing.
And so, with a flutter of silk and a smear of lipstick, everything finally fell apart.
Burning like iced rain poured down inside,
I've got no place left, got nowhere to hide.
Hanging in hell for what you have to say,
Hanging through hell, in waiting, I lay.
Every look hurting, why can't you see?
I need you to dream a little to save me.
They had screamed at each other a lot, that night, tore at each other with memories one only had to glance at the other to recall with vivid alacrity.
But neither the harsh words nor the broken vases had hurt the most.
The final blows were the tears left unshed.
And that budding miracle they had glimpsed in their time together- always just a sliver of color, a tiny band from a rainbow, had died along with the words that would never be said.
After that, nothing had felt the same. The nightmare coming home and roost.
Faces that they met had felt soulless. Catching baby murderers and sexual deviants just left them hollower, more tired. Nothing and no one could ever break through to them again. Not even Angela- with her sweet, loving smiles for him, and guarded and apologetic ones for her.
Everything you see are just reflections of what you feel inside. Another cliché that had fit.
The stars are not enough, I know.
He had promised her the stars, one time.
Heart torn apart, painfully slow.
And she had laughed at his sentimentality. Who was he to offer such grandiose and arrogant presumptions?
Who was he, indeed?
Hearing those words, too much to ask,
He was the man who loved her.
The man who had wanted so very desperately for her to accept him.
The man who had, in desperation, turned to another for warmth and solace when she had wounded him, again and again.
The angel I loved, only a mask.
The man who had taken an unadulterated bittersweet joy from seeing her flinch when she saw him with Angela.
The man who had waited on her front porch the next day, hoping for a reaction- even the slightest bit- to last him until the next time.
Every touch bleeding, mercilessly.
The man who had never been satisfied with what she could give, and had demanded from her more faith than she could muster.
The man who had wished she would finally allow herself to hope that he was everything he thought he could be.
The man who had wished she could dream.
The man who had woken up in an ambulance, covered by burns, as it was pulling out of the sidewalk beside the smoldering remains of her home, a bomb, and her.
Because you couldn't dream a little to save me.
Until all the stars are alight, he would never be the same again.
The thorns on the rose stem cut his palm, and he reveled in the pain he inflicted.
Putting it slowly below her name, he read the epithet one last time.
Carved in granite- in life, and in memoriam.
He turned and walked away. Warmth dripping down his cheeks.
The rain felt icy cold.
A/N: Not my best, but... Well? An experiment, like I said. I'll probably get flamed for this. And Booth's sadism and Tempe's lack of reciprocation is just something that Booth sees. Remember, this is a highly biased POV. He couldn't make any justification for what Tempe was thinking.
The Angela/Booth thing is sort of an answer to Ataea. I used specific imagery from the song What A Wonderful World. I love that song. Also, If you're from the Philippines, and like the song, please support my band At Any Rate. We hail from The University Of Santo Tomas. ;)
If you guys could, please read and review- and maybe read my other fics. I assure you, they are way better, and would give you a better sense of a happier world after reading them.
Thanks.