Disclaimer: You know, I own a video camera, video editing software, and a cardboard skull, but I don't own Bones.


I own a guitar, tons of drumsticks, and a camera with excellent voice recording ability, but I don't own Thriving Ivory.

A.N.: Please for the love of all things holy do not berate me if I have a bit of Bones trivia wrong in this fic. I just started watching this summer so I might not know everything. (Although, I think I've seen almost every episode thanks to WGN, Z42, and TNT).

This is just something that was floating around in my writing journal for a while and I decided it wasn't doing any good just sitting there for only me to see, so I, being the benevolent being that I am, decided to share it with you, the lovely people I don't even know. Enjoy, you bunch of perfect strangers!


She makes herself at home

God, its better than her place

He froze at the doorway and watched her work. She was painstakingly tweaking some minor aspect of a reconstruction she was doing for their current case.

She told him once that she started doing art as a release. So that she could escape all the darkness in the world.

She loves the little things

God, we all need something

As one hand worked on adding more vectors to the model, the other one absent-absentmindedly toyed with a trinket from her desk. She had several little knickknacks around, most of them were gifts from her friends. They gave them to her because they knew that she appreciated things like that.

He knew that she appreciated little moments even more. He knew that she appreciated things like a friend's laughter, the first snow of the season, and the color of the sky on a summer afternoon.

She swears this life is often overrated

In fact, he knew that she appreciated these moments so much that she thought of life as a whole was not nearly as important as the sum of its parts.

Won't see her in the movies

Ain't no Marilyn Monroe

She was exceptionally beautiful, but she wasn't an All-American beauty queen.

She wasn't twig-thin; she didn't have wide, innocent blue eyes; her hair wasn't platinum blond.

But he wouldn't have it any other way. He loved the soul he saw in her dark, almond-shaped eyes. He loved her straight hair that reminded him of caramel drizzled over chocolate. He had even mostly moved past his annoyance at the fact she was just a bit taller than him.

She calls herself Maria

Because she likes the name

She was mortal Brahma, a creator. She had even created herself from the confused heap of her childhood, she had created a goddess in the form of a human. She had established herself with a name of her own fabrication. Angela Montenegro, the name that came to her in a dream.

Sometimes, she would appear in his own heavenly visions. The kind of things that would make him smile in his sleep, but wake up sad because she wasn't really beside him.

She swears this life is often overrated

She can't relate to a world that only knows her by her face

Is there anyone still breathing?

As beautiful as she was, she always seemed to work behind the scenes.

She gave faces to the dead and didn't worry about promoting her own.

She cried over the fleeting nature of life, he knew; he had held her when she sobbed/

When she went out, men would stare at her beauty; he knew that if they could see how beautiful her heart was, they wouldn't be able to stay away. But all they saw was her face and that didn't bother him; he'd rather keep her heart to himself.

And she thinks that I'm the one that makes it rain

When it came down to it, it was technically not his fault that they weren't together. However, he couldn't help but to think that it was.

She wanted happy and he wanted happily ever after.

He still felt some resentment over how it ended and if the revelation of the tattoo was any indication, she still felt the need to underline that it was, in fact, over. But he stood firm in his desire to keep his work of art.

One day, it would be a romantic gesture, now it was just a depressing reminder of what once was and could have been.

She never cared for reason

She was so different from the rest of them. Most of their minds, her best friend's being one of the worst, saw the world in black and white.

Polar.

Everything was one way or another.

She saw the world in a glorious spectrum of monochromatic glory.

Somethings were more wrong than others, but a lot of the world was varying shades of gray.

She was people, like Booth, he was squint, like Brennan or Zack...well, not nearly as bad as Brennan or Zack, but he certainly wasn't one of Booth's 'normal people'. He didn't know how she survived here with her soft heart.

And no religion at all

She says it makes her feel unsteady

Without a god to blame

He knew she was one of those people who believed in things like fate and miracles. He had never been one to keep those types of beliefs, but during their time together, he couldn't help but think that their relationship was arranged by the hands of a higher power. (And it helped him cope when it ended to think that it might have been the fault of an omnipotent third-party)

He couldn't help but think that this same deity held something against this earthbound goddess; he had thought that on the nights after rough cases when he held her as she sobbed out, questioning why a merciful god would allow such beautiful people to die so prematurely.

She can't relate to a world that only knows her by her face

Those were the nights marked by the days that she felt her work was morbid and tasteless.

With DNA, x-rays, and dental records, what good was a computer-generated face?

It just added insult to injury. It just added humanity to the horrible deaths she tried to distance herself from.

Those faces she made haunted her at night and he was always there to soothe her back to sleep.

Is there anyone still breathing?

The days after those dreams, she would see everyone as a 'death-mask'.

She would think about what it would be like to construct a face and it be her father's, her best friend's, or his.

There was nothing he could do on those days, but hold her close and let her hear his heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest as his lungs functioned as they should.

Thoughts of those days and nights made him worry.

Did she still have those fears? Those nightmares that made her scream out in the middle of the night?

If so, who comforted her? Or was she all alone with just her and the blank faces of the dead?

He swore that if he ever got her back, he'd never let go.

And she thinks that I'm the one that makes it rain

She looked up from her work to see a pair of intense blue eyes studying her.

"Hi, Jack," she said, smiling. He smiled back.

For now, that was all he was getting and he would take it.


A.N.: The song was Overrated by Thriving Ivory. I actually think that I cut it a little short, but I was in class when I wrote this, so I just went with what I could remember and the only lyrics website I could access from the school computers. I hope you liked this story and will (pretty please) review it. That would be great. A nice big review. Yep, that would just be swell.

That date right down there, that's how long ago I wrote this...and its just been sitting there...lazy fic.