Disclaimer: I do not own John Doggett or Monica Reyes, or any of their angst.
Notes: Most of this short little thing was inspired by the episodes Empedolces and Release, and the song Angel by Sarah McLachlan (if you really want to get the full effect of this I suggest you download it and listen as you read...) It's pre-XF, very recently after John and Monica found Luke. I think John and Monica's angst is really beautiful and ugly at the same time...and that's sort of what I wanted to portray in this. R/R...flame if you must but comments are savored. Oh, and the title is taken from Sarah McLachlan's wonderful song.
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Tears stained her bare skin as she looked up into his eyes, those eyes that were still wounded, open, bleeding with an anguishing grief and regret, emotions which clouded any real vision left in those once sparkling blue irises. Her own tears rained onto his bare skin, full lips seeking to comfort his, knowing that this was wrong, knowing it how much it was hurting them both, knowing it would never change or make anything alright again, knowing it would never bring him back...no matter how much their minds pleaded the same hopeless prayer or screamed forgivness.
He almost wanted to hurt her, to snake his hands around her beautiful neck and feel himself taking back a life that could have so easily been his son's.
Their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, and their souls seemed to wrap around one another, not caring how ugly with hate and scarred with sorrow they had both become.
Monica ran a weak hand through John's hair, the other wrapping around his neck, bottom lip captured between her teeth and a sob being forced back down her throat when the haunting picture of that day came slithering back into her mind.
John let his eyelids fall closed over his burning eyes when he pushed into her, and when their beautiful, bittersweet release came they each cried out; cried out for all of the hurt he was and would forever carry with him, for everyone everywhere who had lost someone they had loved as much as he had loved his son, for lives selfishly taken and taken for granted, for this divine sadness that swept them both from this cold, black hotel room and saved them drowning slowly in their own bitter emptyness.
He collapsed exhausted into her arms and could no longer pretend he didn't feel this way, could no longer control his sobs, crying again freely onto her bare skin as she wrapped him up in her embrace. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her heart wept silently with his. As quiet and incoherent I'm sorry's were whispered from Monica's lips into his ear her arms wrapped more tightly around him, this agony overhwhelming her because she could do nothing more than this.
His hands formed angry fists, clentching and unclentching her dark hair inside them, his mouth trailing gently up and down her neck, and they knew that this was the closest thing to madness, to comfort, to heaven, to hell, to love that could be found in such a pair of tortured souls.