Angela stood inside her friend's boss's reception room. She had only been in there once before, on a quest of her own. She didn't like the reason she was there now. They had been called individually, told to come there, then called in his office, one by one in an agonizing time frame. It seemed as if hours had pasted before the next one was called as the previous slumped out of the office. She took out her drawing pad and started a few sketches. Something, she had to do something to get her mind off what she was about to be told.
"Mrs. Montenegro. Deputy Director Cullen will see you now." went his secretary. Deep breath. Angela walked toward his office hoping it all would be some sick joke. She could tell by the look on Cullen's face that it wasn't. "Mrs. Montenegro…" he drifted off as the tears began to pour down her face. "He… He wasn't supposed to leave us. He was our rock when Bren started to fall. How the hell could you send him back over there? Why the hell didn't you stop them? You should have stopped them. I know you could have. He was your best Agent. He and Bren had the highest solved cases rate and yet you let them take him. This is your fault and I will never forgive you for it Samuel Cullen. Never." She picked up her letter and stalked off, tears streaming down her cheeks, dripping off and wetting her shirt. She never noticed, and if she had, she wouldn't have cared.
She cried through the day as she locked herself away in her office, drawing. She drew pictures of the children Booth should have had, the family he should have been blessed with. She drew of holidays and ends of cases when the team went out to celebrate, when he and Brennan went to the Diner. Each work of art was smudged with tear drops, but it made the pain, which was the main focus, even more real. No one else, other than her team, would ever see these drawings. The rest of the world wouldn't understand.
As day turned into night, the sun fading to darkness, Booth's death became real to the pained artist. The day had been passed with some hope, still, that it was a sick joke. The "Haha, Ange. It was all a joke. Booth is alive and well." never came.
When her lover and best friend besides Bren, came home that night, they curled up together in bed, weeping as they slept, hoping to wake up and it be a dream. She would always carry that hope, no matter how real the death of Special Agent Seeley Booth rang true in her brain, it would never be so in her heart and soul. He was still alive, even if only in spirit.