Twenty: Without
Heavy gray clouds blanket the sky, covering the world in a dismal, sad, lonely feeling. They held strong to their threat of rain, bloated with the life giving substance. They had been lingering since dawn broke, blocking out the sun and any feelings of happiness, hope. Keeping smiles locked away while people rushed from one place to another to make sure they beat the heavenly water. It always seemed to happen that the saddest days were dark and dreary. Some would say that it was the affect of the weather but he knew that it was quite the opposite. Even if the sun had been there to greet him in the morning he still would have felt depressed, empty, an ache in his chest that would not go away. The weather didn't matter. Let it be cloudy and windy, for the trees were dancing and swaying in the gusts preceding the storm front. The weather was just a minor role in the grander scheme of things. And when the clouds finally decided to let go of their burden he would remain where he stood, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, his head bowed. So what if he got soaked and ended up catching a chill? That was a minor worry, something he didn't waste any time thinking about. In fact, where he was, nothing really mattered anymore.
He let his eyes gaze upon the ground but they didn't focus on anything in particular. He was too lost in his mind to see what lay before him. Images kept replaying in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. No matter what he tried there was no way to drive them from his mind. For all he knew they would be there forever, haunting him until he eventually ended up in the grave. And at the rate things were going it wouldn't be a long wait until he was six feet under the tundra. He felt a shudder pass through him, the ache in his chest growing worse. How could it have led to this? It was never supposed to end like this, with such…final consequences. There was nothing he could do about changing the past. He didn't know the secret to life or time travel or how to work magic that would allow him to put the fragile pieces back together. He hated it, feeling useless. Every once in a while he would found himself consumed by that daunting feeling but there was always something that he could do about it. For the most part it was simply solving an open case, finding justice for the person wronged.
This time around he didn't even have that option.
In what turned out to be a handful of minutes his life fell apart. He fell apart. And try as he might there was just no putting the pieces back together, either they refused to be fixed or they just didn't fit together anymore. He felt the tear slide down his cheek leaving a path of despair in its wake. Another one soon followed and before he knew it he was crying silently, his eyes closed, his head bowed. The wind continued to whip around him, tugging mischievously at his coat and playing with his hair. For the most part he was able to ignore the weather as it slowly progressed, the first few droplets of the rain splattering on the pavement, the leaves of the trees, and on him. He knew that before long the raindrops would mingle with his tears and nobody would see that he was crying. Did he care if they saw his weakness? They had to know by now that there was no coming back for him. There was no putting the pieces together.
Not as long as those images flashed vividly in his mind every time he tried to sleep or when he merely blinked. The what if's haunted his every breath. He wanted nothing more than to have a second chance, to do things differently so that they would end on a happier note. But that would never happen. The past was said and done, the future laid before him.
A future that seemed bleak, alone. Cold.
"Bones?" he called. He searched frantically through the building, his chest aching, every breath harder than the last. No doubt he had a broken rib or two. His pain could wait. He had to find Bones. He had to make sure that she was okay. Stumbling up the steps he yelled her name again. "Bones?" Why won't you fucking answer me, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He knew that it would only cause more pain. It took a lot of concentration to work the stairs and keep the darkness away. The pain…he wanted to black out, find refuge from the increasing pain but not until he found her. Then and only then would he close his eyes for a little peace. When he reached the top landing he found a door barely hanging on, one shove would have been enough to send it toppling. Breathing like he'd just run a twenty-mile marathon he slipped through the crack between the broken door and stained wall.
And there she was.
"Bones!" he yelled, all thoughts of his pain long gone. He rushed toward her, falling to his knees at her side. There first thing he did was search for a pulse. But he couldn't find one. There was no pulse; however, there was a great deal of blood. The tears pricked his eyes, the pain in his chest going numb as he tried to find out where it was she was bleeding from. He tried to perform CPR but he couldn't do it. He had a hard enough time breathing for himself. Cursing, he slammed his fist against the wooden floor, the anger bubbling up in him. At least he could rest easy knowing that back-up was on the way. He could even hear the sirens. They were roughly five minutes away.
Five minutes seemed more like an eternity.
And something in him snapped.
Pulling together energy he wasn't even aware he still possessed he trumped down the stairs, nearly falling once or twice, before returning to the main floor. The sirens had drawn closer, less than three minutes out now. There would be help for her, help for him. But there was still something that he had to, something that would allow him to rest. Walking into the first room off the entrance he found a man sprawled on the floor, his back arched, an agonizing look on his face. Booth liked knowing that the pain registered was something he had delivered…but it hadn't been enough. He wasn't himself anymore. He was someone else, a passenger along for the ride. He remembered retrieving the gun that lay on the floor a few feet away and pointing it at the unarmed, injured man on the floor.
And as the cavalry came bursting through the door he pulled the trigger.
Cold blood. He killed somebody in cold blood, shattering everything that he had built over the past few years. One minute, a single beat of his heart and the world stood still. He exhaled, the image fading from his mind as he opened his eyes. The rain began to fall in earnest as he looked at the patch of earth before him. It was all that he had left now, a pile of dirt, a stone with written words. He hadn't been there to save her. For once in his life he had been weak and because of it he lost the one thing that meant more to him than life itself.
And the ache, it would never go away, he knew that. He would never be without, the simple 'what-could-have-been' never far from his thoughts.