Fighting Oblivion
By Angelfirenze
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were or will be.
Summary: This is now definitely to cheer myself up because John/John lost ()...Anyway, I was listening to Thursday on Tuesday night (squee) and came up with this...A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics, this is part II of the first, continuing when he is thirty-one years old. It's now 1992.
Rating: R just for caution...
Pieces, part II
This is what you see…When you look in my direction…
He's only been out of academy for six months and already he's been through two partners. A tiny part of him, the part that says it hurts, knows they won't be the last. Just like he knows this one is already afraid of him and he's only worked with her a week. They would stick with him—persevering, they called it—for a few weeks, but they always left. He would always creep them out, sooner or later. He tried to act normal, tried to think about things the way he knew they probably did. It made his head hurt, actually, the slower change of pace. Like a caffeine addict suddenly deprived of their morning espresso. Ironic, really.
His reputation preceded him, he heard.
The signals that we send over the air…
He tried really hard, he did, but sooner or later, he slipped up and tapped a pen too much or went in depth about ancient death rites for the Egyptians three thousand years ago because of the way a body was stored and the direction it lay in. No one ever saw the correlation between the two except him, and he was too impatient to fully explain, and so they left. Two of them, so far, and more on the way. Now he was on his thirdandnotthelast. He scrutinized her while trying to be normal about it. Thompson had complained that the way he tilted his head during interrogations was...creepy. So he tried not to. It was very difficult.
This is how it feels when you don't even fit into your own skin and it's getting tighter…Every day, I'm getting smaller…
Now she was watching him. Impulsively, he looked away, cursing the slow blush that crept up his face. To save face—part of him screamed at everything else, asking why the hell he should care what she thought—he eyed the coffee pot behind her and immediately stalked toward it, desperate to seem…normal. He didn't want his new partner to run away just then, even if he knew she would later.
If I keep holding my breath, all of this will fade away…