King of Fools
Apr. 29th, 2010 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
The gate on my elevator rolls up and I step into the entryway of my home. It’s quiet, like it always is. It’s empty like it always is. Usually, that’s just how I like it, the industrial feel of my apartment clashing with the deep, rich earth tones that I’ve decorated the place in, contrasting with the brick and concrete while blending in. Making what should be a cold environment feel at once warm and relaxing.
I slip my shoes off by the coat rack to my right and sigh, the thick oriental carpet padding my feet. Walking into the living area, I hit the ‘play’ button on the answering machine. Jack’s sweet voice plays for me, “Hey, Ang, look I know you said you wanted to be alone, but…if you need or no if you want, come by. I’ll be here.” I hit the delete button and reconsider being alone tonight.
I need…
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I try to figure that out. I need to rewind this entire year and start it over. For me… for Jack, Booth,
But mostly, I need to for Zack. My sweet, wonderful…
This shouldn’t be happening. None of this should have happened.
He shouldn’t be in the hospital. He shouldn’t be cutting deals with the D.A. He should be in his apartment above Jack’s garage or in the lab with
I close my eyes, standing in my living room, trying to find some type of center after today. I wait, breathing deep, but the stillness I expect to usually flow through me doesn’t come. Instead, I feel the tension and energy bubble its way further to the surface.
Resigned, I make my way around the partition that separates my bed from the living room and kitchen area, stripping as I go. My clothes lay where ever I throw them. I move to the bathroom and wash my face clean of the makeup, the war paint, from today. I scrub, peeling away the layer of cosmetics and then reach for a towel. Blotting my face, my angry skin stares back at me in the mirror.
Rolling my eyes, I think maybe I took that metaphor a little too literally.
Ignoring my dark circles, I pull my hair back in a tight ponytail. From the bathroom, I turn left and climb the small set of stairs that lead to my art studio. I flick on the light and reach for a clean pair of shorts and t-shirt from the small stack that sits next to a pile of dirty ones. I slip on my clothes then turn to my left to the touch screen computer monitor sitting on the opposite side of the stairwell.
The display on the computer screen controls the home theatre system that’s housed on the lower level in my living room. It links to my house computer and queues up my vast storage of digital media. Out of all my guilty pleasures, I think my music is the biggest pleasure and the biggest collection. Over two-hundred gigs worth of audio pleasure. I purse my lips and scroll through my files.
I don’t know what kind of music to listen to. Half of me wants something dark, melodic and sad. The other part wants something hard, angry and loud. I suppose it would be those notions of Kübler-Ross’ five stages of grief. I’m sure that Sweets would definitely say so. He would also probably try and get me to open up and discover my true emotions about this whole Gormogon ordeal.
It’s pretty cut and dry.
I’m pissed. I’m sad. I’m hurt.
I give a bitter chuckle and snort, “See, PBS was right,
I refocus my attention on selecting the right music. It plays to my creative process and I need something cathartic. I give in and queue up a Nine Inch Nails live album.
Maybe not the healthiest choice given my mental state, but I shut my eyes and surrender to the pull of the music that sounds throughout my apartment. The heavy bass kicks in and colors splash behind my eyes. They swirl and mix as the instruments join in and Trent Reznor’s voice shouts into the microphone.
I spin away from the control panel and move to prop a blank canvas on my easel. I roll my work station forward and uncaring; I give a slight kick to my stool sending it crashing to the side. It rolls to a stop against the far wall.
I begin with my pallet of colors choosing things that would blend well or clash depending on their placement. It’s here I find my focus, the energy that’s coursed through me all day. The highs and lows I’ve felt fuel the creation. I begin painting. I'm half blind to what actually is being painted, of the image that I’m forming.
Instead my mind wanders, it goes to the only logical place it could. To Zack and the screwed up situation we’re all in.
I said to Tempe earlier tonight that Zack loved her, but qualified it with “as much as he was capable”.
I don’t believe it. In my heart, it sits like curdled milk or a lead weight.
The first tears come unbidden dripping from my chin and clouding my vision. I drop my brush and crumple to the paint spattered floor. My knees draw to my chest and I hug them, rocking as the sobs finally come.
I struggle for control, nearly hyperventilating. With an effort, I manage and sniffle my way through the pain lodged in my chest.
It’s just not fair. It doesn’t make sense.
I snort.
I really have been around
Her short answer to my question of why, “Logic,” she said.
My ass it was logic. It was the most illogical thing I’ve seen. I pull at the neck line on my shirt and wipe my eyes. I blink and look up at the canvas. I laugh bitterly at the dark, reddish, brown background framing the cherub features of Zack’s face.
**********
A quick glance at the clock by the nurses’ station and I know I don’t have much time to visit, but…
I need to.
The blips and bleeps of the monitors that fill the hospital provide this odd sort of comfort. It lets me know that hearts still beat and air is still breathed. With the washed out white walls of the hospital, I think it would do their patients here a world of good to see some color.
I peek in at Zack, lying there with his bandaged hands. There’s a guard outside his door now. They think he’s a flight risk.
Maybe they’re right. I’m not really sure. Where would he go?
The all too familiar pain stabs me in the chest again and I think of
And there’s where all of this breaks down for me. People don’t do things like that. Not people like Zack or
I walk over to the nice, muscled looking agent who’s babysitting and flash my I.D. “Can I go in for a while?”
The bald headed, goateed agent nods mutely as he checks me out. I smile and brush past him. Zack’s head turns to me in surprise. I do the only thing that I can and offer a little wave and smile of my own.
“What are you doing here?” he asks evenly.
I pull up one of the chairs and shrug. “It seemed like the best place to be.” His head bobs and causes a piece of his hair to fall across his forehead, unthinking I reach out and brush it back. My hand trails down the length of his temple and I cradle his cheek.
I get that you can’t judge a book by its cover, that people are deceitful, but Zack, it’s like saying that Tempe has it in her to be intentionally hurtful and cruel. While she’s not the most socially graceful person to run around, she’s never been overtly cruel. It’s not in her. It’s probably one of the million reasons why I love her.
“Where is Hodgins?” he asks. There’s pain in his eyes, regret that I’ve never seen.
I shrug again. “Home, I think.”
He nods. “Visiting time is almost over.”
“I know, Zack.”
His lips form a thin line and he huffs. “Is Doctor Brennan okay?”
“Zack,” I try to say it softly, but the anger from earlier surfaces and I bite my lip. “None of us are ‘okay’ and we won’t be for a while.” Unable to resist, I ask, “What the hell were you thinking? Explain it to me, because I just don’t understand.” I stand and pace, wringing my hands as I carry on, “I’ve tried. I’ve run it all through and I know I’m not as smart as you or Temperance so you’re just going to have to explain it to me.” I level a glare at him and add, “In smaller words.”
He looks away from me, his eyes falling as he shrinks into the bed. I stand over him and grip his arm, pleading with him silently.
Finally, he says, “Angela, you can’t understand. Perhaps there is nothing to understand. My logic was flawed.”
“Ms.,” a woman calls from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see a nurse poking her head in. “Visiting hours are up, I’m going to have to ask you to come back tomorrow.”
I nod and ask, “One more moment?”
She dips her chin in agreement and backs out of the room. I look back at Zack and see something pass over his face. Emotions that I can’t define.
“Angela, I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Make sure my replacement is good to Doctor Brennan and watch out for her. It’s not safe.”
I can’t not lean down and brush my lips across his forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I whisper against his warm skin.
I right myself and am halfway out of the door when I hear him say, “You don’t need to. I’ve failed everyone.”
**********
I shouldn’t be here. It’s the only thought running through my head, until…
I remember how she looked before I left work.
She shouldn’t be alone tonight.
I find my resolve and rap on her apartment door. I wait and am nearly ready to bolt before I hear the security chain slide across the door and Tempe pokes her nose outside. I smile at her antics. “It’s just me,” I say as non-threatening as possible.
She snorts and swings the door open. I watch her usher me in and rub her eyes.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, apologetically. I really didn’t think she would be sleeping. I walk into her apartment and see some files strewn about.
She wasn’t sleeping, but she was up to something.
“No,” she confirms, “I was just going through some of Zack’s cases.”
“Why?” I ask plopping down on the sofa.
She looks at me like the answer should be obvious, but relents when I give her an expectant look. She shuffles over and sits down next to me. “Ang, he lied about Gormogon, I need to know he didn’t lie about other cases. I figured I’d get started on some of the extra work.” She picks at a thread that’s come loose on the edge of her shirt and my hand covers her own, fidgety one. “Caroline’s worried about cases he worked going before an appellate board. I told her I’d review and report my findings.”
“He didn’t,” I say gently.
“We can’t say that for sure,” she insists half heartedly.
“I can. I mean, sweetie, doesn’t it seem odd that Zack would do this? Really?”
My best friend looks at me sideways. “He fell victim to false logic, Angela.”
I shake my head as my face sours at the parroted line. “So you’re saying that because Zack thought the Gormogon was right, he threw away everything that he’s spent his life on? He threw away the one thing that he loved and the one group of people that he fit in with?”
Pain flashes across Tempe’s face and I feel bad for bringing this up. I feel bad about a lot of things, but causing Brennan pain trumps them all.
“Here’s what gets me, sweetie,” I lay my head on her shoulder and continue, “He loves you. He looks up to you, but he did this, the one thing that he had to know would take him away from you. It doesn’t make sense, Temperance. Not even a little. False logic and all.”
It’s then that I feel her tremble. My arm snakes around her waist and I tug her closer. She starts to speak, but stops. She doesn’t need to. The tears magnify her pale blue eyes and I nod, knowing I have my own set of tears threatening to spill over.
Her’s start to fall and mine follow closely behind. I pull her flush against me as she cries. Finally, after everything, Booth’s faked death and Zack. I think this may be the first time she’s allowed herself to grieve. I hold her and rock her as my own tears drip down my face for the second time that night.
She clutches my shirt as I smooth her hair. Through her tears, she manages, “I let him down, Ang. I let him down.”
“No, no, no, you didn’t.” I tighten my hold and protest more, “I don’t know why he did what he did, but something seems off. Tempe, he wouldn’t have done something like that without something forcing him to. You two are too much alike. There’s got to be more.”
And that’s really what it is. What this niggling feeling in the back of my brain’s been about since they arrested him. Temperance and Zack are cut from the same cloth; they think alike, they act alike. Tempe’s a little more arrogant, but she should be. Zack worships the ground she walks on and he wouldn’t have ruined his relationship with her without good reason.
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “He did. I see why he did. That’s what makes this so hard. If it had been me, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have followed the rational path.”
My mouth drops open and I can’t believe the words that just past her lips. “Rational?” I spit, “Since when is killing someone and then eating them rational?”
She shakes her head and says, “You don’t understand.”
Those same words Zack tossed at me not more than an hour before. I want to press, but I don’t. Instead I hold onto her. Not sure if it’s for her benefit or my own. I’m not really sure it matters anymore. I don’t argue. Not now. Not yet. Later, when I can think clearly and I don’t have my best friend cradled in my arms because her protégé just became a convicted felon.
Chapter 2 - Bad Luck