Fighting Oblivion

By Angelfirenze

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were or will be.

Summary: A collection of Bobby drabbles featuring Thursday lyrics; this is the fourth installment, again continuing when he is thirty-nine years old. It's still 2000, post-Alex, but now Bobby has just discovered his father has died…canon, I suppose. Except here it might be AU because Bobby is identifying his father's body, which was found in an apartment. I don't actually know how Bobby's father died. Bad me, I haven't seen any season other than this one and reruns over the summer. Bad, bad me!

Rating: R just for caution...

A/N: Although the lyrics, as usual, are from Thursday, the title comes from the song from Puddle of Mudd.

Heel Over Head

I'm writing you this letter to let you know I'm not alright...And in this city the streets are paved with hate...And you cry yourself to sleep tonight...And say "No, there aren't enough love songs in the sky..."

I'm staring into the closed eyes of a man I haven't seen in more than twenty years. My father, cold and still in a morgue here in my home, my home of New York City. I still remember the sound his shoes made on our linoleum floor the night he left. It was shortly after we found out my mother was sick. I was afraid of her and her screams of how I was the spawn of the Devil. I remember the word games he used to teach me. Only now have I realized what they were. Code. The ME has a strange look on her face. A funny mix of pity and exasperation. I don't want her fucking pity. I don't want anyone's pity. I'm sure the exasperation comes from the fact that I've been staring wordlessly at his body for over five minutes. I'm sure she expected me to sniff him, or start playing with his hands, or something. Like I usually do. But there is no usual in this.

Not when this is my father I looking at.

Never.

They say it doesn't happen that often…But it's happening right now…

1 for A, 2 for B, and so on.

9 12/15/22/5 25/15/21, 2/15/2/2/25

I LOVE YOU, BOBBY

He gave me a slip of paper that said that before he left. He told me to always keep it with me and, despite my base inclination, I have always done so. The thirty-two year old paper is yellowed and folded over with deep creases and worn from my hands, but I've kept it. I actually wrote back to him on it.

9 12/15/22/5 25/15/21, 4/1/4

I LOVE YOU, DAD

I'm writing you a second time…To let you know nothing here has changed…

My eyes burn as I ask the ME if I can take custody of his body so that I can arrange a funeral. I doubt anyone will come but me. It doesn't matter.

Before the ME takes his body back to the morgue, I slip our paper back into the pocket of his suit jacket. I love you, Dad. I forgive you.

In these city streets I hide my face…I turn away when you look at me…

Then I leave, to go back to work where I'm stared at and talked about and ridiculed. Then again, I'm going back to Alex. I'm going home.

Will you look back on this night…As the day that ruined your life…Will you look back on these city streets and say, "Oh, God, where are you?"