Rated M for... well pretty much suicide. You can interpret the end how ever you wish. It's possible I may do epilogues, but I'm not promising anything. I'm still working on Philadelphia. I'm putting a lot of effort into it because I don't want to disappoint.

Disclaimer: Recognizable people and places are not mine.

SK

She couldn't say for certain when she started feeling this way. She still loved her job. Sometimes she felt like it was the only thing keeping her going, sometimes she felt like it wasn't enough. She wanted to say definitively that it was during, or maybe right after, the Lauren Eames case that she started feeling this way but she couldn't because she knows that it has been far longer than six weeks, the Lauren Eames case only made her realize she was feeling it. It was a scary feeling, uncertainty. Micah would say 'At least you're feeling something!' but at this precise moment she longed for the days when she didn't feel anything. Or at least didn't know she was feeling something.

This, the uncertainty, the feelings, the overwhelming sense of everything she's done and will do in the end will be for nothing, is what brings her to holding her sharp, finely honed, paring knife to her left wrist. She has regrets. She made mistakes. She hadn't adjusted, she was still sad. Even more so now and the onslaught of feelings was one she couldn't handle. She'd never had to before, let alone so immensely, and so perfectly alone. She had said to Lauren that people assume that when you're alone you must be lonely. An astute distinction. At the time she applied it to herself, now looking around herself and seeing everyone but her so happy, and markedly neither alone nor lonely, she knew she was painfully both. She sucked in a breath and let it out shakily. She pressed down tightly and tried to see her wrist through the tears in her eyes. Finally she opted just to shut her eyes. She pulled the knife, the blade gliding smoothly across her wrist. She knew it would hurt, she had looked forward to it, she didn't expect it to hurt so much. Before she lost her nerve she quickly picked up the knife off the counter, already covered with blood, and shakily repeated the action on the other wrist.

She watched the blood pump out of her with a morbid fascination. Her body had pumped a rush of endorphins through her body, she could barely feel the gashes on her wrists anymore. Blood pounded loudly through her veins trying to get blood to all her organs while simultaneously try to repair the self inflicted wounds. She barely heard her phone ringing through the haze. She stumbled to the small glass table in the living room to where her phone was. She fell heavily to the ground as she answered the phone. Booth's voice carried smoothly through the phone and her tears started anew. Even to her it was a romantic way to die. She knows, logically, that suicide is a deplorable way to escape one's problems, but she also knows, emotionally, that no one will be overly digressed by her death. She thought of her regrets. They mainly surrounded him. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him goodbye. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to tell him she loved him. But she couldn't get the words out. Her vision was blurring and blackening around the edges and her breathing was coming in short gasps now. All she could do was cry. She couldn't help but want him here with her now. She could hear Booth, she recognized his voice as panicked, but her brain wouldn't tell her what words he was actually saying.

He was panting now, no longer talking. He told her to open the door, the no nonsense tone almost made her want to smile. Maybe she would have, if she wasn't so weak. Dying like this was actually a terrifying thing. It wasn't like having a gun held to your head. Here you feel yourself slipping away. She fleetingly thought of Heaven and Hell and wondered to which she's be heading. She could feel her regrets. She could see it in front of her and she thought, maybe I'm already in Heaven. Deep brown, albeit panicky, eyes were over her. Looking down on her. How could this not be Heaven? Because in Heaven the face of the man you love isn't begging you to hang on with your blood on his face and hands. And in Heaven those warm, reassuring brown eyes you care about so deeply don't have tears in them because of you.

She was so weak now, the flow of blood from her wrists weakened and she was so damn cold only slightly warmed by his lap which she was now laying in. She didn't believe in absolutes but she wanted to believe she absolutely succeeded. She looked up into his eyes as a tear fell, landing on her cheek, mingling with her drying ones. "Booth" She said in a raspy whisper. Her mouth was sticky and dry but she had to tell him, she didn't need to. She wanted to. She tried to lift her hand but failed miserably "I love you." She whispered to him as he grabbed her hand. A sob broke free from him and her heart ached at the sight.

He bent to her kissing her fiercely. "I love you too. I'm so sorry, baby." He said kissing her again repeating himself over and over peppering kisses on her. And when she went even more lax in his arms he pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Please don't leave me." He implored "Don't leave me." He said as his sobs racked his body.

And as her world went completely black her body went limp… She didn't want to.

FIN

I hope you enjoyed it. =) As always, reviews are appreciated.